The gun vanished – and so did I! The instant he lowered it I turned and ran, head down and pumping as fast as I could. He shouted after me-and fired!
The gun boomed like a cannon and the slug zipped past my ear and slammed into a tree. I spun about and stopped. This cop was insane.
“That’s better,” he called out, resting the gun on top of the open door and aiming it at me with both hands. “I fired to miss. Just once. Next time I hit. I got the gold medal for shooting this piece. So don’t make me show you how good I am with it.” “You are mad, do you know that?” I said, all too aware of the quaver in my voice. “You just can’t shoot people on suspicion.” “Yes I can,” he said, walking up to me with the gun still pointed steady as a rock. “This ain’t suspicion but identification. I know just who you are. A wanted criminal.. You 86 know what I’ll say? I’ll say this criminal grabbed my gun and it went off and he got shot. How does that sound? Want to grab my gun?” He was a nutter all right, and a police nutter at that. I could see that he really wanted me to make a break so he could fire off his cannon. How he had escaped all the tests that were supposed to keep his kind out of law enforcement I will never know. But he had done it. He was licensed to carry a gun and was looking for an excuse to use it. That excuse I was not giving him. I extended my arms slowly before me, wrists together.
“I’m not resisting, officer, see. You are making a mistake, but I am going quietly. Put on the cuffs and take me in.” He looked downright unhappy at this, and frowned at me. But I made no more moves and in the end he scowled, pulled the handcuffs from his belt, and tossed them over to me. The gun never wavered. “Put them on.” I locked them on one wrist, very loosely so I could slip my hand out of them, then on the other. I was looking down when I did this and I did not see him move. Until he had me by both wrists and had squeezed both cuffs until they had locked hard deep into my skin. He smiled down at me, twisting the metal into my flesh with sadistic glee.
“Gotcha now, diGriz. You are under arrest. “ I looked up at him, he was a head taller than me and maybe twice my weight-and I burst out laughing. He had put the gun back in its holster in order to grab me-that’s what he had done. The big man had grabbed the little kid. He couldn’t understand why I was. laughing and I gave him no opportunity to find out. I did the easiest, best, and fastest thing possible under the circumstances. Also the dirtiest.
’My knee came up hard into his groin and he let go of my wrists at the impact and bent double. I did him a favor, the poor man must have been in some pain, and got him~m the side of the neck with my joined hands as he went by. He was unconscious before he hit the ground. I knelt and started to go through his pockets for the keys to the handcuffs.
“What’s happening there?” a voice called out as a light came on over the door of the nearest house. The sound of that shot would bring the whole street out soon. I would worry about the cuffs later. Right now I had to make tracks.
“Man’s been hurt!” I shouted. “I’m going for help.” This last was called over my shoulder as I trotted off down the street and around the corner. A woman appeared in the doorway and called after me 5ut I wasn’t staying around to listen. I had to keep moving, get away from this place before the alarm was called in and the search began. Things were coming apart. And my wrists hurt. I looked at them when I passed the next street light and saw that my hands were white, and were getting numb as well. The cuffs were so tight they were cutting off all the blood circulation. Any slight guilt I may have had over the dirty fighting vanished on the instant. I had to get these things off-and fast. My office, the only place.
I got there, avoiding the main streets and staying away from people. ’ But when I reached the back door of the building my fingers were’ numb and stiff. I could feel nothing.
It took an intolerably long time to fish the keys out of my pocket When I succeeded I instantly dropped them. Nor could I pick them up again. My fingers would not close. I could, only drag my lifeless hands over the keys.
There are low moments in life-and I believe that this was the lowest one that I had ever experienced. I just could not do what had to be done. I was finished, licked, through. I couldn’t get into the building. I couldn’t help myself. It didn’t take a medical degree to figure out that if I didn’t get the cuffs off soon I was going to go through life with plastic hands. This was it.
“This is not it!” I heard myself snarling. “Kick the door open, do something, unlock it with your toes.” No, not my toes! I fumbled the keys about on the “ ground with my dead fingers until I had separated out the correct key. Then bent my body over it and touched it with my tongue, feeling its position, ignoring the filth and dirt that I licked up along with it. Then I pulled back my lips and seized the key with my teeth. Good so far!
If you should ever be tempted to unlock a door with a key in your teeth while wearing handcuffs I have only a single word of advice. Don’t. You see, you have to turn your head sideways to get the key into the keyhole. Then roll your head to turn the key, then butt the door with your head to get it open...
It worked at last and I fell face first onto the floor inside. With the knowledge that I would have to do the whole thing all over again upstairs. That I did do it, and finally slid through into the office, owes more to persistence, stubbornness, and brute force than to intelligence. I was too exhausted to think. I could only react.
I elbowed the door shut and stumbled to my workbench, hurled my toolbox to the floor, and kicked its. contents about until I found the vibrosaw. I picked this up with my teeth and managed to wedge into an open desk drawer, holding it in place as I closed the drawer with my elbow. Closing it on my hp as well, which brought forth a nice gusher of blood. Which I ignored. My wrists were on fire-but my hands were past feeling. White and deadlooking. I had run out of time. I used my elbow to turn on the saw. Then pushed the handcuffs towards the blade, pulling my arms apart hard to stretch the chain. The blade buzzed shrilly and the chain was cut and my arms flew wide.
Next came the more exacting job of cutting the cuffs off without cutting my flesh. Too much.
There was blood everywhere before I was done. But the cuffs were off and I could see the flesh turn pink as circulation was restored.
After this, all I was up to was collapsing into a chair and watching the blood drip. I sat like this for about a minute when the numbness ended and the pain began. With an effort I stumbled to my feet and dragged over to the medical locker. Getting this good and bloody as well while I shook the pain capsules out and managed to swallow two of them. Since I was already there I pulled out the antiseptic and bandages and cleaned up the cuts. They were more messy than dangerous and none were very deep. I bandaged them, then looked into the mirror and shuddered and did something about the lip.
A police siren wailed by in the street outside-and I realized that the time had come to do some filrious thinking and planning.
I was in trouble. Biliville wasn’t very big, and all exits would be sealed by now. That’s what I would have done first, if I were looking for a fugitive. And even the dimmest of policemen would have figured this one out as well. Barricades on all the roads, copters out with nightscopes to watch the open fields, police at the linear station. All holes plugged. Trapped like a rat. What else? The streets would be patrolled too, easy enough to do by groundcar. And the later it got the fewer people there would be about and the more dangerous it would be to wander around.
Then, in the morning, what then? I knew what then. A search of every room in every building until I was found. I felt the perspiration bead my forehead at the thought. Was I trapped?