House of Blazes by Dietrich Kalteis

Author:Dietrich Kalteis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ECW Press
Published: 2016-10-10T16:00:00+00:00

. . . CLOSING THE GAP

Looked like froth seeping from the breached hydrant, wreckage floating in a whirling pool. Dipping his hat, Quinn drank without thinking about how dirty the water was, then tipped the hatful over his head. Shoving a fellow out of his path, he kept vigil, no time for the pain in his arm, holding the arm tight to his chest. Sharp-eyed, searching every face. His convicts were out here.

Out front of a store called the Emporium, four men rummaged like wild dogs through boxes of shoes scattered around the street. The blond one in a jacket of army blue was no more than eighteen. Full of drink, him and another man were holding bottles and shoes, one grabbing an armful of boxes, another trying on women’s shoes, all of them laughing like fools, Enfields at their feet. The blond one stiffened at sight of the copper, tossing away a pair of lace-ups, bending for his rifle, clucking to the others.

Cocking his pistol, Quinn told him, “Touch it and you can forget about puberty.”

Hands went wide in the air.

“Getting a jump on your holiday shopping, are you, boys?”

Holding his wine bottle, the blond one pointed to the Emporium’s broken front window, saying, “Chased away a pack of looters, think it was my jacket that done it. Just putting all this back, Officer. Doing the same job as you.”

All of them nodding, the one in women’s footwear teetering.

“Looking for two men,” Quinn said. “Grey-haired fellow, the other one younger, about my height. Both looking pretty beat up.”

“That could be just about anybody,” the one with the boxes said.

Belongings wrapped in a bed sheet, a heavyset man tripped into Quinn, sending a knifing pain. Quinn cuffed the man, knocking him to the ground, a rider on a bicycle swerving to avoid them, cursing Quinn, pedaling on.

The man on the ground squinted up, noting the number on Quinn’s hat. Quinn pulling the pinned badge from his jacket, holding the seven-sided star in the man’s face, letting him see the number real close, saying, “You got it?”

“Want no trouble,” the heavy man said, getting to his feet, brushing himself off and moving on.

Holstering the pistol, Quinn stepped past the four men loading the shoes back through the broken window and pinned the badge back on.

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