Blood Sport (10 page)

I hooked my foot around his ankle and he stumbled, losing his footing and falling backwards, still holding my arms. We fell together and hit the floor hard. The impact bumped my knife out of my hand and it skittered away from me. I dove towards my knife while he headed for his gun. I snatched up the knife and clambered after him on my hands and knees, whimpering with the agonising jolts shooting down my injured arm. I grasped him around the ankle and leapt up onto his back to bring him down.

He rolled us both over, forcing me onto my back and lying on top of me. He gripped my wrist and squeezed viciously, trying to make me drop my knife. It waved dangerously around in the air as we each struggled for control of it, staring at each other in bitter fury. There was no sound in the room except our grunts of exertion.

He slowly overpowered me, driving the knife down to my chest, his face contorted with focussed hatred, his arms unrelentingly strong. An abrupt jab from him thrust the knife perilously close to my chest and I raised my left arm protectively. The knife slid into the soft, pale flesh underneath my forearm. It was a hunting knife, made for killing, with a wicked edge on it. I couldn’t contain my shout of agony as pain flooded my senses. Instinctively, I jerked my arm backwards, freeing it from the knife. Blood spurted out instantly, dripping over the both of us. I tried to push him off me and scrabble to my feet.

Red shoved me back to the floor with his fist in my chest. I couldn’t let that happen, because he’d go into a frenzy with the knife if he succeeded in immobilising me. Eyes burning with tears of pain and motivated by white hot fury, I jerked forward to sink my teeth hard into his wrist.

He shouted out, momentarily releasing his tight grip on the knife. I snatched it from him and stabbed at him recklessly, not caring if I injured him, not caring if I killed him. He dodged left, then right, pushing himself backwards off me. Losing his advantage, he twisted around to crawl towards the gun again. Without any hesitation or remorse, I sprang up to stab my knife deep into the back of his retreating thigh.

It was his turn to scream in pain, kicking out at me as I pulled my knife out of his leg.

“
You bitch!
That fucking hurts!” Red yelped, clutching the back of his leg where blood gushed out, instantly staining his jeans purple. He reached for his gun. I leapt to my feet and sprinted to the bed, vaulting over it to shelter behind, my teeth clenched and face scrunched in pain. He shot off a bullet at me, missing wildly, a bullet hole in the window a memento of his visit. He decided to cut his losses, limping heavily to the door. He cursed when he realised I hadn’t locked it after all, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

I can only imagine the faces of the two cops when he flung open the door and staggered out, wielding his gun. All I know is that they didn’t move as he made his escape, hobbling as fast as he could manage down the hallway, blood pouring from the back of his leg.

“
Chase him!
” I shouted at them, racing over to the door. The first thing I noticed was that they both had their ears plugged with headphones, listening to music. The second was that they wore identical stunned expressions.

I clamped my hand over the knife wound on my arm, wincing with the pain. Blood pumped out at an alarming rate. “He’s getting away! What the hell are you two doing?”

I didn’t wait for a response, but ran after Red myself. He terrified everybody he came across, screams echoing down the hall. Most members of the public were usually only confronted with bleeding armed men on television, not when they were visiting poor old Aunt Betty in hospital after her hip operation.

“He’s a dangerous fugitive! Move away from him! Stay where you are! Don’t approach him,” I warned people in my loud cop voice as I chased after him. Turning around, he noticed me and sped up.

“Red Bycraft! Stop! You’re under arrest!”

He ignored me and turned the corner at the end of the hallway. I ran after him, sprinting so fast that I skidded on the polished vinyl floor as I also took the corner, sliding to the ground inelegantly, all arms and legs. Red spun around and shot at me, the bullet whizzing over my head. And if it hadn’t been for my slippery bed socks, it would have impacted into my abdomen. I scrambled to my feet and resumed the chase.

He reached the main foyer where greater numbers of people milled around, innocently going about their business. The sight of a bleeding, desperate man on the loose with a gun being chased by a bleeding, angry woman in pyjamas with a knife understandably caused a scene. People panicked, screaming and running wildly. A couple of hefty men in the vicinity made moves to intercept Red but I showed them my bloodied palm and yelled at them to leave him be.

Red shot off another bullet at one disobedient, over-muscled vigilante who continued to approach him. Fortunately Red missed, hitting a water cooler instead. Its plastic exploded and fresh spring water flooded the foyer’s industrial carpet. And that Hollywood-worthy special effect had the big, brave vigilante diving to the ground, calling for his mother.

Another bright spark caught only the end of the chase and jumped to the conclusion that it was me causing the panic. Without any warning, he tackled me to the ground, cruelly knocking the air from my body. He sat on me, braying proudly to one and all that he was making a citizen’s arrest. At the sliding front door to the hospital, Red turned to check on me. And despite his own critical situation, he laughed when he saw my predicament, giving me a mocking salute before limping quickly into the night.

“
No!
” I howled in frustration, wriggling underneath the man, trying to push him off. “Get off me! I’m a police officer. You’re helping a fugitive escape, you moron.”

Sarah and Jack jogged up slowly, sheepish expressions on their faces. I didn’t waste my breath berating them. They were going to have to face the Super. And the Sarge. They didn’t need me pouring it on top.

They, at least, managed to convince my eager citizen that I really was a cop and one who was in urgent need of some medical attention. My pyjamas were smeared with blood and it continued to pump out of my arm from both wounds. I stood up too quickly and faintness washed over me.

“Someone call the Sarge,” I said, before the darkness enveloped me again.

Chapter 6

When I managed to prise my eyes open again, I felt as if I’d been hit by an express train. It was daylight, but instead of the peace and calmness I craved, I found myself in the middle of a quiet, but heated, argument.

“Don’t take that fucking tone with me, Sergeant,” warned the Super,
sotto voce
.

“With all due respect, ma’am,” hissed the Sarge through gritted teeth, “I’m angry that I was the last one to be told that Tessie had been attacked again.”

“And what the fuck were you proposing to do, Maguire? Rush here and stitch her up yourself? Lovingly assist at the fucking operation?”

“Ma’am –”

“And forgive me if you’re not the first person I think of when I hear that something’s happened to Tessie. I know that’s a fucking shock to you, because you’re starting to believe that you own her. But for your information, I think of her father first and then her boyfriend. Remember him?”

“Yes, I do, ma’am, because he’s the one who attacked Tessie, according to those constables.”

She snorted with unamused laughter. “What? The two constables who wouldn’t know if their own arses were on fire? Who listen to fucking music when they’re on duty? Who can’t tell the difference between Red Bycraft and his brother? Those two constables who I’ve reduced to tears with the motherfucker of all bollockings that they’ll never forget for the rest of their lives? Who I’ve put on jay-walking detail for the next two months? Are
those
the two constables you’re holding up to me as a shining example of reliable policing?”

“Maybe it
was
Jake,” he insisted stubbornly. “Has anyone checked where he was last night?”

“Fuck me, Maguire! How did we manage to know which fucking shoe went on which foot in the morning without your big city wisdom?
Of course we fucking checked!
” she shouted at him, so loudly that he instinctively flinched and Bum anxiously poked his head around the door, sure that he was in trouble again.

“Stop yelling, ma’am,” I spoke up weakly. “Please.”

She stopped immediately, coming to my side, taking my hand, shooting the Sarge a poisonous glance. “Now look what you’ve done, Maguire. You’ve woken her up, you stupid dickhead.” She turned to me. “Tessie, we need to talk.” She glanced up. “Don’t let the door hit you on arse when you leave, Sergeant.”

“But ma’am –”

“Are you fucking hard of hearing or something?
I just told you to sod off!
” They would have heard her out on the street, she was so angry.

He left, cutting her a look of sheer hatred as he did. It was water off a duck’s back to her though. She didn’t care who hated her.

“And shut the door behind you,” she ordered. He slammed it so hard that it rattled in its frame for a few seconds afterwards.

She pulled up the seat next to me. “How are you feeling, Tessie?”

“Terrible. Don’t fight with the Sarge. It upsets me.”

“That man is fucking insubordinate and is getting too possessive about you.”

“He cares about me, like a good partner should. What’s wrong with that?”

“He cares too much.”

“I don’t think it’s possible that anyone can care too much for me, ma’am.” I changed the subject. “Did you find Red?”

“Not yet.”

“He’ll come back for me.”

“Tessie,” she said, uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “It’s just you and me here now and what you say won’t go any further if you don’t want it to, but I need to know. And I need to get you professional help if you want it. I know more than anybody that you’re a very brave woman who won’t hide from the truth, no matter how ugly. Bycraft was with you for a while. What did he do to you? Did he . . .” She swallowed, paused and pulled herself together. “Did he rape you?”

“No, he didn’t,” I assured her. She sighed audibly with relief. “I led him on though, trying to distract him. I let him kiss me. I kissed him back. With tongues. He touched my boob. He pushed my hand against the front of his jeans. I pressed myself against him.” I hid my face in my hands at the memory, before realising that I was back on the IV again.

“Tessie?”

“I feel sick. I’m going to be sick.”

“Shit. Get out of bed!”

She helped me wheel the IV trolley into the bathroom and waited patiently while I kneeled and threw up everything in my stomach. I sat in the bathroom for a while until I stopped shaking.

“I need a shower and some clean clothes. Get someone to take this IV out.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never seen anyone so pale and clammy, and I did paid security on a three day Goth music festival once. Fucking hell! Everybody there looked like they were dead. Those ghouls would fucking scare your nana into an early grave, then dig her up again to be their best buddy.”

“My nana’s dead already,” I said bluntly. I was feeling sorry for myself.

“Don’t get on the pity express, Tessie. It’s nothing but a downward spiral. You’re tough, you’re resourceful and you’re going to beat those Bycraft bastards.”

“Not this morning, ma’am. I’ve just had enough.” I was temporarily defeated. I needed the loving care and attention of a mother. Anyone’s would do.

“Come here,” she offered and opened her arms. Gratefully, I stepped into them and let myself lean against her while she gave me a hug that lasted a whole five seconds. She pulled away and checked her watch. “I’m late for a meeting with those dog-fuckers from the city. I think I’ve managed to keep enough fucking money to buy a couple of paperclips now and then, but I don’t trust them. They’re slipperier than an oiled eel dressed in vinyl. They’ll find any excuse to snatch the cash back off me, just because I won’t kiss their hairy, shit-stinking arses.” She moved away from me, heading to the door, shouting, “
Bum!
Where the
fuck
are you this time? You have ten seconds to get my car to the front door before I sell you off to a male brothel. In fucking Afghanistan!” The sound of heavy footsteps running down the hall floated through the open door.

She left me and I tried not to mind, reminding myself that five seconds was in fact five seconds longer than she’d ever hug anyone else. I shambled back to my bed and sat down heavily, still dressed in my crusty bloodstained pyjamas, unwilling to face the rest of the day. I wrapped my arms around myself in an obvious and pathetic attempt at self-comfort, feeling sorry for myself.

The Sarge poked his head around the door and ambled into the room. He was wearing jeans, a t-shirt that showcased his nice chest muscles and a leather jacket, with his utility belt slung around his hips. I looked up at him, miserable. He walked over to the bed, gently pulled me up by my hands and enfolded me in his arms.

It was a good hug. No, scrub that – it was a
great
hug. It continued for a long time and only finished when
I
was ready to pull away.

“Thanks, Sarge,” I said gratefully, glancing up at him. “I really,
really
needed a hug.”

“I could tell from your face.”