Hout wanted to look
into the policemanÕs face but the manÕs stomach took up the window. A
swallow caught in the doctorÕs throat. HeÕd noticed it before, but it
didnÕt register. Cops donÕt wear their bulletproof vests on the outside
of their uniforms. Two small, circular dents had been punched into the
vest. My God!
ÒI
honestly thought I was going thirty, Officer.Ó
ÒI clocked you at thirty-one. IÕm going to have to give you a citation,
sir. Oh, excuse me . . . Doctor.Ó
ÒThirty-one!Ó Dr. HoutÕs face steamed. He instantly forgot about the dents in the vest and the size of the authority.
ÒIÕm getting a
ticket for going one mile an hour over the limit? IÕll see you in court,
officer.Ó
Even before his words spilled out, Dr. Hout regretted losing his temper.
But this was nuts! Never had he heard of anyone getting a ticket for
going one mile an hour over the limit.
An angry fist smashed against the roof of the Lexus.
ÒThatÕs it. I donÕt have to take this abuse.Ó
The driver's door flew open and a giant paw reached in and caught the doctor by
the collar. Playing a rag doll, Dr. Hout flopped out of the car.
Arms and legs flailed in midair. Lightning shot through his legs as they
smashed into the front fender, but from the waist he kept moving.
Metallic thunder crashed in his head as the cop slammed it onto the hood of the
car. The doctor felt something wet on the side of his face. He
thought he might be bleeding.
A
moment later the sickly sweet smell of tobacco filtered through his nostrils.
The damn wad of tobacco. He tried to squirm out of it but a heavy hand at
the base of his skull held him in place.
ÒI just try to do my job and all I get is some higher-than-fucking-God
psychiatrist telling me to go fuck myself.Ó
Hout tried to shake the static from his head. ÒI didnÕt say that. IÕm
sorry if you got that impression.Ó It was hard to speak with one side of his
mouth pressed against metal.
ÒDid I say you could talk?Ó The cop grabbed a handful of LeonardÕs hair, lifted
his head a few inches, and slammed it back onto the hood.
LeonardÕs knees buckled, his lips smacked into the gob of brown juice. He
tasted blood and tobacco and car. Nausea churned in his stomach ready to
erupt.
Fresh
pain shot through his shoulder as the policeman jerked his left arm and twisted
it up behind his back. A click and then a new agony of metal bit into his
wrist. Before he could move, the cop yanked LeonardÕs other arm behind
him and the other cuff snapped off the circulation of his right hand.
As if he were nothing more than a childÕs toy, the giant cop flung Dr. Hout
toward the police car. Hout lost his balance and landed hard on his
backside, barely avoiding crushing his hands. Sitting on the ground, he
noticed the copÕs white socks and sneakers spotted with blood. The
uniform slacks hiked well above the ankle, cuffs hugging massive calves.
The
doctor frantically searched the sidewalk for help. The noonday sun
reflected off the house windows so he couldnÕt see inside, but he prayed
someone, somewhere, might be watching, and hopefully filming this on their
camcorder. That might help later, but for now Dr. Hout had to rely on his
own wits.
The
policeman walked up and stood over him, blocking out the sun. He reached
down and lifted Hout off the ground by a handful of his already thinning hair.
Dragging him across the pavement like a sack of laundry, the giant opened the
door to the squad.
Leonard Hout choked back a cry, and vomit
bubbled up his throat. A man lay crumpled on the back seat, his dead eyes
staring at the roof.