I left the police station and drove to my office. I didn’t see the olive-drab Chevy anywhere on my route. Captain Jeremy was sure to want his payback for the ass-kicking I’d given him and his car. I wasn’t sure which I’d enjoyed more, hitting him with the baseball bat or that ostentatious Beamer.
I parked on a side street and walked into the alley to go in the back entrance to the building.
The next thing I knew, one of the two Army goons was walking towards me from the far end of the alley. I looked behind me for a place to run. The other one was coming from the other end. I almost shit my pants. Here I was, surrounded by muscle bearing down on me, and Roscoe was safely stored three stories up. Maybe it was for the best. I might have shot a couple soldiers. Paperwork.
I got to the doorway before they got to me and tried to open the door. Locked. I had a key, and I fumbled for it. Before I could get it out, they were on me.
One of them spun me around and pinned my arms behind me. The other one faced me. They were both bigger, stronger, and younger. Other than for that, I was okay.
“Stanley Bentworth, I presume,” he said. “Phony cop. Likes to beat up on our Captain.”
The other one said, “The Captain checked up on you, Stanley. Found out you aren’t a cop. Found out what you are, asshole. Now we’re going to show you what happens to someone who fucks with our people.”
“You guys got no beef with me,” I said. I struggled to get free. The last thing I wanted was to be kicked around by two healthy soldiers. “Your boss likes to beat up on women and kids. Guys like that give the Army a bad name.”
“Won’t work, pal.”
I kept struggling but it didn’t help. “Then tell the son-of-a-bitch this,” I said. “The next time I see him will be the worst day in his miserable fucking life.”
I didn’t think the bluff would deter them from their mission, but it was worth a try.
I could see it now, them saying, “You know, you’re right. We never thought of that. You’re free to go. Have a nice evening.”
I was right. The bluff didn’t work.
The one in front hit me in the solar plexus. I bent over and almost puked. The one in back yanked me upright and held me in place for more punishment. The guy in front caught me with a haymaker across the cheekbone. Things began to go dim. He hit me in the face several more times, but it didn’t hurt anymore.
Three or four rib shots from the front, and the guy in back let go. I slumped to the ground. The parts of me that still had feeling hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. They kicked me in the ribs and head. Then several heavy hits in the arms and legs. There was pain at first with each blow, then numbness, then they walked away, their footsteps echoing down the alley.
“We’ll be back if you insist,” one of them called back to me. “You fuck with the Captain again, next time we finish it.”
I tried to yell back to remember to tell Jeremy what I said, but my speaking mechanism was out of order.
As was almost everything else. I could barely move. And I couldn’t see. My eyes were swelling shut, and blood flowed out from everywhere. I lay there in dirt and grease from the road mixed with my blood into a sickening paste, caked all over my face and in my hair.
And I had just had my trench coat cleaned.
I could lie there all night without being found. People rarely used this alley. Or worse, winos and junkies would find me and steal my wallet and trench coat. And maybe my shoes. They’d probably leave the Mickey Mouse watch.
I felt in my pocket for my cell phone. Just bending my shoulder and elbow shot an excruciating pain up my arm. I thought I would pass out. Maybe I did a couple times.
After a few tries I was able to get the phone out. I held it with one hand and speed dialed the office with my thumb. The other arm and hand wouldn’t move and had no feeling. I had to do it by feel. Both eyes were closed. Willa answered.
“Willa,” I squeaked. I could barely make a sound. “It’s Stan. I’m out here in the alley. Call nine-one-one.”
“Stan? In the alley? What happened?”
Then everything went dark.