Raising Hell by John G. Hartness

Author:John G. Hartness
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: John G. Hartness
Published: 2017-11-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

I lay there, face full of broken glass and Chevrolet factory paint, thinking about the poor choices I’d made in life.

That’s total bullshit. I lay there thinking, Fuck that hurt, until the first flashing red and blue lights showed. Then I shifted my internal monologue to just, Fuck. I still couldn’t move, although I wasn’t sure if it was due to Marlack’s spell or the grievous injuries I’d just sustained, and I could tell by the sirens that there were ambulances and police arriving on the scene. The last thing I wanted to do was explain to some overzealous public servant exactly how I was still alive after a sixty-plus story fall onto several tons of Detroit steel.

That’s more bullshit. The last thing I wanted to do was fight Marlack again, but the next to last thing I wanted to do was deal with the cops or the EMTs. So I made myself move. I peeled my broken body off the roof of the broken car like the coyote in a Road Runner cartoon, leaving a fair amount of blood, skin and a couple of teeth behind. I knew from experience that the blood and skin would replace itself in a few hours, but the missing teeth were going to be a problem for the next couple of days.

I had just rolled to the ground and pulled myself up to my knees when I heard one of the last voices I wanted to hear right in that moment, the usually welcome tones of Detective Rebecca Gail Flynn.

“Mr. Harker. This is where I would typically say something witty like ‘fancy meeting you here,’ except that I am totally and completely unsurprised at seeing you here. After hearing reports of strange flashing lights, explosions and a man falling to his doom from the upper offices of the Pantheon Building, it brings me no surprise at all to see you here in the middle of an explosion of blood, broken glass and property damage. I’m not even surprised to see you alive, no matter how bizarre that may be.” She reached down, helped me to my feet, then continued helping me right into a spin that ended with me face-down on the hood of the destroyed Suburban with handcuffs clicking shut around my wrists.

Flynn hustled me into a nearby squad car and gave the uniform behind the wheel strict instructions to take me to jail, directly to jail, and not to allow me to pass “Go” or collect my two hundred dollars. After a quick thump on the roof of the car, Flynn receded in the back mirror and I turned to face the driver.

“I don’t suppose you’d consider a detour through the emergency room, would you? I think my everything might be broken,” I said through the Plexiglas divider.

“Detective Flynn said straight to the station. So you go straight to the station.” He never turned, not even flicking his eyes up to the mirror.

“But do you want to be the one

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