A Friend

 The pain was not exquisite.  It was a fiery burning sensation which was too quick
for any kind of  enjoyment.  It would take at least twenty seconds to of reasonably
solitude to use a form of accupressure to make me functional again.  That was twenty
seconds I just didn’t have.
 A garbage can lid provided a sparking surface as another bullet came whizzing my
direction.  I was trapped, in an alleyway, and the only way out is up or through.  Why not
both?  The can lid soared toward my assailant, and he ducked.  Spry little twit.  I went up,
although only a half-meter, my leg was throbbing with great pain.  So much for up.  How
about back?  A dumpster would provide some cover, back me into a wooden fence
beyond that.  I extracted a knife from my boot and threw a brick to my right.  After the
gunfire went to clicks I threw the knife.  I watched it sliced through my assailants throat,
shearing off his adam’s apple.  Blood spattered.  He would die.
 When I had taken my martial arts classes, our instructor often had us break boards
to demonstrate focus.  I have heard many different opinion on that school of thought, but
right now, as I broke pieces of slatting, I thought it came in handy right about then.
 Police cruisers swarmed the area, encompassing the entire block, and I shattered
the fence as silently as possible.  Not very.  There, waiting for me was an unmarked police
car.  There was a man in a rough jacket, tank top and torn jeans smoking a cheroot
standing there, the back door of the cruiser open.  There was a cup of coffee in his hand.
 “You make more noise thanna bull elephant in heat.  Get inna cruiser ‘fore onnna
my rookies blows your tits off.”
 Eloquence, I decided was not one of this man’s strong points.  I noticed his firearm
was not drawn.  The radio crackled something unintelligible.  He picked up the
microphone.
 “Nope, I ain’t seen nuthin, and you know the stupid broad’s not gonna get past
me.  Yeah, Harry, tell the Captain, I figure she’s gone through the sewers again.  Maybe
onna these days we’ll get luck and a giant turtle will drag her carcass out by her tail.
Maybe not.  Lookie, I’hm going home.  I’ll do the paperwork tomorrow, if I feel like it.”
 The pain throbbed.  It appeared I would have no choice.
 “Looks painful.  There’s a dime bag some scumball dropped in the back, and I’m
sure I can find a rig somewhere.” He said, motioning toward a glassine baggie jammed in
the seat.
 “Thank you, no.  A few moments will be all that I require.” I said, to little avail.
He started the engine and we began to drive slowly.
 “So you can talk.  We figured you either for the devil herself or a freak of
somekind.  That’s just make-up, ain’t it?”
 “Greasepaint, as the clowns of  Ringling Brothers would put it.”
 “Nice.  Works real good.  Contacts and false teeth an Spock ears.  Now, sister, the
real sixty-four dollar question.  Why?”
 I had slipped deep into concentration, and rapidly used a technique to accelerate
my healing.  The slug would have to come out, eventually.  I could feel the coarseness of
its inorganic composition nestled within my flesh.  It was going be more irritation
psychologically than physically.
 “An interesting question.” I said to him.  “I could ask the same thing of you.
Shouldn’t you be arresting me?  For that matter, why didn’t you shoot me, become a
hero?”
 “’Cause nobody would believe me.  I’m a dirty cop.  I don’t play by the rules.
That dime bag shoulda told you enough.  The trick is I didn’t get caught.  The trouble is I
can’t get clean.  I kicked my habit.  I lost my wife.  My kids.”
 “What would you have of me?”
 “You do the things I can’t do.  I can do some things you can’t.”
 “A truce.” I stated.
 “No.  An alliance.  Consider my pulling your keaster outta the fire an offerin’.  I
know a friend of mine, he can pull the slug, no questions asked.”
 This I considered.
 “What do you want in return?”
 “For the slug?   I need some info.”
 “Whom?”
 “Brandon DeBious.  He goes by ‘Crimson’.”
 “Blood gang leader, southeast side.”
 “Tell me somethin’ I don’t know.”
 “As of tonight he’s a paraplegic.”
 “Christ.  Y’know, I’ve visited the hospital wards that you’ve left ‘em in.”
 “Heath care is not a dishonorable profession.”
 “Nope, and some of them cons might actually use the nurses aide ticket they get.”
 “Do you realize that all of the individuals I afflict will eventually recover?”
 “Nah, I waz kinda hopin’ Crimson’s was fer good.  The docs say you have some
kind medical training.”
 “Something like.”
 He pulled the vehicle over, and turned toward me.
 “This here fella was a medic inna Gulf.  I usedta sell him dope till he kicked, an
brought me with him.”  I glanced upward toward the house.
 “And his children?  The lady of the house?  What will you say when you drag a
bullet-ridden, she-devil into the home?”  The three bicycles and two cars told me a great
deal.  The officer raised his eyes.
 “Slick.  Yer right o’ course.  Lemmie make a phone call first.  Under the seat is
one of them foil emergency blankets.  You can use it to cover yourself up.  Keep yer face
hidden, he’ll do it no”
 Gunshots
 Instinctively I reached toward the door, it was locked.
 “Let me loose, or I’ll open it myself.” Apparently the tone in my voice was
enough.  I eased the door open, clicked it shut.  This police officer’s instincts were good,
he did the same, firearm drawn.  I slipped into the shadows as he crouched taking point
from vehicle to vehicle.  I looked at things a touch differently.
 I scampered up the ladder of the motorhome adjoining the house, and from there
onto a landing, and finally onto an attic sill.  The light was on.  I scratched at the window.
I herd a rustling, and the curtains parted.  I reached my hand around and stuck my thumb
up.  The window sill opened and a youngster opened the window.
 “H-Hellow?”
 “Back away from the window, I’m here to help.” I said, softly, and in a
non-threatening tone.
 I slipped into the room.  It was a child’s playspace.  The child gasped when I
entered.
 “Do you know what’s going on?”
 “My brother, he’s high, he wants dad to give him money, but dad won’t do it.”
 “Go into your closet, and stay there.  If you can, pile some clothes on top of you.
Look at it as a game of hide and go seek.”
 “Okay.” His face brightened a little.  I made for the door, and eased it open.  There
was a grand staircase off to the right, and I could see the entire well of the house.  There
was a boy standing there, shaking, with a large firearm in his hand, pointed directly at his
father.  His mother was backed behind her, and there was another child on the couch.  Had
to hand it to the old man, he was pretty calm.  I guess being a dopehead at one point does
that to you.
 “Now son, I know what you need, but you’ve gotta try.”
 “Dammit, gimme some fuckin’ money.” He held one hand out. “Can’ you see?  I’m
shakin’ real hard.”
 The phone rang.  Good cop.  That’s using your head.  The kid damn near dropped
his gun.
 “Answer it, dammit.” He said.
 I heard a soft voice speaking.
 “Harold” She called, “it’s for you.” The boy nodded.  The father took the cordless
phone.”
 “Who is it?” The boy demanded.
 “Just Roger.”
 “No tricks, dammit.  That’s one of your sneaky cop-friends.”
 “Hey Roge, how’s it going?”
 The chatted for a moment.  I climbed upon the bannister and extracted a pair of
throwing knives.  I decided against the claws.
 The first knife went behind him, and clattered noisily behind.  He turned toward it,
instinctively, the gun spun with him, away from the family.  The second knife flew, straight
and true, hitting him in the upper gun arm.  I flew, as well.
 The drop was nearly three stories.  I was sure to break a bone unless I connected
with something soft.  Humans are nearly seventy percent water.  I’m sure the hard leather
heels were quite uncomfortable.  I could feel his bones break underneath me.
 The gun discharged, and richoshaied, grazing me.  This time the pain was bearable,
yet burning.  Curiously, he was still awake, and wanted, for some ungodly reason, to
remonstrate.
 The front door slammed in, and my new police friend had a bead on him.  He still
held onto the firearm.  An inside roundhouse sent it sailing, and his hand broken.  In the
same motion, I crouched, and slipped on my claws from twin holsters on my boots.
 “Him, or me.” I stood, getting his attention once again.  He turned, and fainted
dead away.
 I heard sirens in the distance.
 “Vanish.” Roger said.
 Back up the stairs, out onto the roof, and onto the oft peak.  I waited, until the
sirens came and died, the pain became intense, no matter what form of meditation I used.
The sirens drifted away.  I heard a voice.
 “Cat?”  Where are you?  Go inna motorhome, he’s ready for you.”
 I landed not-so-deftly upon it, and slid gently down the ladder.
 Roger had the door open.  The sun’s rays were gently beginning to rise.  He held a
blanket open for me.  Warily, I accepted it, and covered my head, proffering the limb.  The
medic sat, a field surgical pack open, he had scrubbed and was ready.  He nodded to me as
I entered.
 “This will hurt.” He said.
 “Not nearly as much as your son will.” I said, wanting to breech the subject early.
 “I’m not worried.  I’m just thankful he’s alive and not shot down on the street by
another druggie.” Nothing else was said for a long time.  I winced as forceps pulled the
bullet from my flesh.  My other hand snaked out.
 “For my collection.  Thus far, I’ve been lucky.” I said wryly.
 He frowned, and shook his head, dropping it into my palm.
 “You’ll need to avoid using it for at least a couple of weeks.” The medic said.
 “Thank you for the advice.” I replied.
 “I’d like to look at the other.”
 “No, that won’t be necessary.  It’s not that long, and stings only mildly now.  It
was the bullet that was really bothering me.”  I looked upward at the window.  It was
getting close to six.
 “I need to go.  I have other work.” I said flatly, and nodded toward the medic, “I
thank you for your skills, and I’m sorry we had to meet under such circumstance.  I wish
you all the best with your son.”
 “No problem.  It’s kind of nice to actually meet a legend.”
 My eyebrow cocked upward, but I said nothing.
 The two men spoke to each other in general tones, the conversation of old friends,
as if they were meeting over a fence for a couple of beers.  I shrouded myself in the
blanket, flexing the muscle.  Roger led the way out, and put me in the back of the police
car.
 “Neil won’t say anythin’.”
 “Why did he address me as a ‘legend’?”
 “’Cause like it or not, sister, you are.  The cat is in every alleyway.  I’ve talked
with cops outta state that would like to have yer clone in their pocket.”
 “Interesting.  As for our working arrangement, I’ll consider it further.”
 “Sure, I figure it could work real well.  Lemmie know.”
 He drove onto the freeway and began to head back toward the alleyway in which
he found me.
 “You may deposit me at the next rest area.  I can manage from that point.”
 “y’sure?  Look, I’ll take ya anywhere ya need.”
 “That will not be necessary.  I believe our arrangement will be satisfactory.  I will
meet you here in precisely thirty-six hours.” I said, as he eased into the rest stop.
 “’Kay.  Take care.”
 “And you as well.” Without waiting for him to unlock the door, I had it jimmied
and had vanished into the underbrush.  Time for this cat to have a nap.