Ogreness, Black Lake-book5

Chapter 34
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I managed to buy a set of off-brand leathers before all the shops closed, but by then it was so late I didn’t want to spend that many hours on twisty roads in the dark. Deers can do some damage to a motorcycle. And an ogre’s face. I was kind of hopin’ to make it in early enough to make my basketball game Saturday, but Ruffs had sounded excited to step in for me. There would be plenty more games. Just maybe not with humans if things went sideways.

Ezra and I had a nice dinner, pike filets and four pound T-bones just warmed on the grill, the garlic butter still sizzlin’ on top of ’em when they were served.

First light I headed out. Darshee’s helmet gripped a bit tight, but I’d survive. By 10:30 I was through the peaks, mostly ridin’ the brakes on the decline, slowin’ down to thirty for the many, little communities that bookended the highway.

My mind was mostly a thousand miles away, except for those shady stretches where a shiver brought me back to reality. The plains stretched out in front of me from the eastern horizon to the western when the twirly lights in my rearview mirror caught my attention.

Stink. I was coastin’ and let my speed sneak up on me. I hate gettin’ tickets. They’re such a bummer. Been a long, healthy streak. Not since that second summer after finishin’ my masters.

I reached to flip my signal when the cruiser’s siren blared. Had he been back there a while before I noticed? All right already. The Ford must have accelerated hard because it was right on my tail. I hit my signal and braked, hopin’ the guy had good reflexes, he was so close on my tail now.

The state trooper was out of his car before I had the side stand down. He crab-walked toward me, gun raised, double fisted. A little dramatic, guy. Silly humans.

His mouth may have been flappin’, but with the twin’s loud pipes, helmet, and ear buds, there was no hearin’ him. I settled the bike, keyed it off, and raised off the seat, pullin’ off my helmet. As I turned to face the patrolman, a sharp pain twinged in my left breast.

Almost simultaneously I recognized the fool. He was the same cop who pulled over Darshee and Wizper, arrested me. I looked down at the pin hole in my brand new, leather jacket, unzipped it six inches, to find blood slowly pumpin’ out of my chest. Wasn’t no bee sting.

I glared up, at the fear, maybe a lot of hatred, in the officer’s face. He was pullin’ the trigger again. I felt the jacket pull as the round flew through the top edge of my shoulder, pretty sure it missed flesh.

Okay, I was really ticked off now, and Darshee’s helmet was flyin’ through the air as though I’d taken the time to think it through. The gun might have fired again before the five pounds of carbon and fiberglass impacted the human’s face.

On the bright side, the third round flew higher than the second. He flinched good, thankfully.

The sack of potatoes lay still in the gravel of the shoulder, blood gushin’ from his nose, face in general. I rotated my left arm. Ouch. I pulled out my phone and dialed 9-1-1.

“What is the nature of your emergency?”

“A state trooper just tried to kill me,” I said.

The voice stayed calm, and I was repeatin’ my problem to another operator a moment later, as I cuffed the cop with his own shiny things.

“By the way,” I told the operator. “He shot me in the chest. Ya mind sendin’ an EMT? I’m gonna need a bandage.”

I leaned against the front of the trooper’s cruiser while I answered a lot of questions my attorney prolly wouldn’t appreciate me being so open about. I explained that to the operator a moment later, disconnected and called my lawyer. I might not have a guy, but humans file lawsuits for cloudy mornings, so I had a lawyer before I even got out of college. One bit of Papa’s advice I followed. Well, I mostly listen closely to everything he says. He's pretty smart.

I called Doke after that. I figgered he could use a laugh.

The officer moved around about the time my conversation with Doke wound down. I told him to hold on. “Ya be still or I’ll break yar neck,” I shouted. “I’m a little irritated with ya.”

“Ya better hold yar hands up when more cops arrive,” Doke advised.

I mumbled a, yeah. After hangin’ up, I found the cloth Darshee uses to polish her bike under her seat, and wadded up a spitball sized strip and pressed it into the hole in my chest. Hurt a lot. But the blood stopped oozin’ so fast after that.

Five minutes later I was pacin’ back and forth when sirens rose from the south and north. I glared at the cop’s car.

“Hey. Ya got a dash cam in that thing?”

He looked up a moment, a blue-eyed glare.

“Ya better have had it on,” I said.

“Can’t turn it off.”

“Hope ya have another skill ’cause I don’t think police work is in yar future.”

“You intimidated me,” he said. “I feared for my life.”

“Yeah. There’s gonna be a record of ya roustin’ us Monday too. How many others have ya screwed over, ya twit?”

“You’re going down for assaulting a cop,” he said.

In the short haul, maybe.

And as predicted, the new state troopers to roll up cuffed me, let my buddy loose. I was in the back of another tiny Ford headed north when an EMT blurred past on the other side of the highway. At least the cop would get his broken nose wiped for him. I leaned sideways to ensure I bled on the seat, not in my lap. Really didn't work.

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