An Echo of Death [A Tom & Scott Mystery: 5] by Mark Richard Zubro

Author:Mark Richard Zubro
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: Mystery, Thriller & Suspense
ISBN: 0312134800
Publisher: St. Martin's Griffin
Published: 1995-08-14T14:00:00+00:00

6

To our right, the backs of buildings extended twenty feet and ended in a chain-link gate which prevented egress in that direction. To the left the alley twisted and curved toward Wrightwood Avenue. Because it had only one exit, the alley was unfrequented.

“I don’t like this place,” Scott said.

“We’ll hurry.”

The gray and chill of the day before had returned on a rising northeast breeze. The mid-October afternoon gave a grim forewarning of an unpleasant winter.

I zipped the jacket Lester had brought me and pulled the collar closer around me.

The buildings surrounding the alley presented bleak, soot-encrusted faces toward us and cast elaborate shadows that made the alley seem even cooler and more sinister than it needed to be. I wished I had a heavier coat. At the last curve before Wrightwood, Scott grabbed my arm and pointed. I saw a row of behemoth-sized plastic garbage cans. In the gathered shadows behind them at ground level, I saw a hint of blue fabric.

Scott hurried over and moved one of the containers. Behind it was Brad. Together we stooped over him. He was on his back. I saw blood seeping from a wound above his left ear. The seam on the right sleeve of his jacket had been ripped open.

“How bad is it?” Scott asked.

“Let’s get those two fags!” a voice called.

I looked up to see five guys who all looked to be in their mid to late teens approaching us from the Wrightwood Avenue end of the alley. It is far too common for gangs of young straight guys to come into gay neighborhoods, hang around, and wait for gay people to beat up. These guys must have known the exit for the Womb, that the alley was rarely used and waited for victims.

I stood up and faced them. I felt powerful and invulnerable as adrenaline rushed through me. I didn’t see any weapons. I knew that Scott and I could take care of any five unarmed teenagers.

“Let’s take them,” I said.

Scott yelled, “Fire!”

The five teenagers gave him an odd look. They took a couple of paces forward. Scott continued to bellow. Scott’s response was certainly one of the ones that was highly recommended by police departments.

A scrawny bepimpled kid, the shortest one of them with the scraggliest hair said, “Nobody’s going to hear them. It’s a bluff. We can take them.”

Nevertheless, three of them hesitated.

Scott tried shouting “fire” again, but no people appeared at any of the dirt begrimed windows or at the dilapidated and padlocked doors.

“Ain’t nobody but us and the fags,” said the skinny kid. He came forward with the confidence that his buddies would follow.

I decided not to wait for rescue or for them to make a concerted move. I launched myself toward the biggest one—maybe as tall as me, but at least fifty pounds heavier. He went into a defensive crouch. At the last second, I pivoted to the right away from him and slapped the palm of my hand up and into the bridge of the skinny kid’s nose.

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