When we were halfway there, I closed the gap and ran beside her. She tried to regain her lead, but I stuck right to her. As we approached the boat house, I edged ahead. Nothing flashy, just a two step lead. I hung right there as we passed the closed gate and gradually slowed to a stop.
For her benefit, I bent over and took several deep breaths, just as she was doing.
"You're fast!" she said when she got her breath back. "You don't look like a runner." She meant most girls with huge knockers can't run three feet without falling over and I should have been in that category. I smiled as I considered her diplomatic way of putting it.
I was about to introduce myself when I 'heard' a shriek of fear. Someone was in trouble. Someone close by. My head went up and my eyes went wide as I scanned the area. Gail stared at me as if I was crazy.
"Help!" Someone screamed. A hundred yards away I spotted a woman having a tug-of-war with a man in a yellow t-shirt and baggy khaki shorts. They both had a grip on her handbag and he was winning.
I took off like a shot. This time there was no calculated attempt to avoid hurting Sgt. Adams feelings. Someone was in trouble and I needed to get there as quickly as possible. Even if it was just another darn purse-snatcher, I had learned the hard way to treat no crime casually. I didn't know anything about this guy. He could easily have been the reason Gail and I were here and what we were seeing was a kidnap attempt gone wrong.
Instead of avoiding obstacles like signs and benches, I simply leaped over them. I hurdled a low sign cleanly, but I misjudged my approach to bench and took off on a short flight. I hate being a ballistic object. It means I have no control. I was going to take a certain path through the air and land in a certain spot at a certain time and nothing I could do would change that. If my feet were on the ground, at least I had the option to dodge, to stop, or something. All the stuff you read about superheroes bounding through the air in great leaps to get from place to place is a bunch of horseshit. It makes you a perfect target for anyone capable of handling a skeet gun.
By the time I reached the scene, the perp had won the tug-of-war and was high-tailing it with the purse in his hands. Even though his shorts were about to fall down to his knees and trip him, he was really hauling. Anyone else might have had a tough time catching him, but I was there in a flash.
I was pissed at my crappy performance in getting there and instead of being polite; I simply ran right up his back and rode his sorry ass to the ground. I didn't even check to see if he was hurt before I pulled one of the plastic restraints out of my pack and pulled it tight over his wrists. I even pulled it through one of his belt loops to further restrict his movement. It would also help him keep his pants up.
While I waited for Sgt. Adams to arrive, I checked the perp for weapons and advised him to remain perfectly still with his nose to the ground until further notice or I would kick his balls up into his throat. He was still stunned from being slammed into the ground by a hundred pound cannonball, so he followed my instructions perfectly. There was no place for him to go even if he decided to get up and run, so I stepped out of earshot of him to meet Sgt Adams, who I was sure would have a question or two for me.
She was winded when she arrived, so Gail Adams only could only get her first question out one word at a time.
"Who... are... you?"
I produced my ID and held it out for her with what I hoped was the same flip of the wrist gesture that she had used. For a second I thought I was holding it upside down, but fortunately I got it right.
"Special Deputy Sam Kramer," I told her, trying my best to sound professional and casual, as if I introduced myself that way on a regular basis.
She caught her breath quickly and gave me a hard look as I put my badge away.
"'Special Deputy'? I don't... Oh! I get it. You're the one they call The Dragon. I heard about you. Some of my squad and I were having a drink last night when the SWAT guy Grogan came in. He got to talking about the holdup at the Big Star up on 15. He told this bullshit story about a spook who was working for the Sheriff. At least I assumed it was bullshit. After what I just saw, I guess I was wrong."
She paused and looked me up and down. Mostly down, since she towered over me by a good nine or ten inches. Her eyes lingered briefly on my chest, and she got the same look of envy and fascination that most women did.
"I thought you'd be bigger," she said, then she blushed as she realized that her statement was blatantly Freudian. "I mean..."
"Damn, Gail! I can hardly see the ground as it is," I said, hiking my breasts up with my hands. "How much bigger do you want them to be?"
She laughed at my joke and I joined her. That seemed to break the ice pretty effectively. She smiled and I said, "This is your collar. I'd appreciate it if you would minimize my presence here in your report."
"Sure. But don't you want..." She trailed off as the victim came up. I retreated to a guard position on the perp while Gail took the details from the victim and returned the purse. After she got her bag back, the woman hurried off to tell her friends about her adventure and Gail pulled a cell phone from her pack and called her partner.
From listening to her side of the conversation, I gathered that he couldn't see us from his vantage point and hadn't seen me take down the purse-snatcher. She told him to get the car and get his ass over to our side of the lake, pronto. She seemed upset with him and I guessed that it was because he was the one who had talked her into wearing the crop-top to run in. I noticed that she made no mention of me.
When she hung up I said, "Thanks. Listen, I guess we're here for the same reason, right?"
"The Torturer?"
"Is that what you're calling him? The person responsible for the kidnappings around here?"
"Yeah, him. We're pretty sure there have been more than have been reported officially. Maybe as many as ten in the last eighteen months. I've seen what he does to them. It's pretty sick. You got backup?"
"Yeah. Over on top of the parking garage. But I can handle most things by myself."
"I heard that! Look..."
"Sam."
"OK, Sam. Even if you are twice as tough as Grogan was saying, be careful. We don't know anything about this guy, except that he likes to brutally torture young women. He has some kind of weird dungeon setup that he takes them to. He keeps them there for hours while he... he does things to them. All the victims have needed psychiatric care afterwards and some of those will be in institutions for a long time. Many of those who are well enough to walk around are so messed up in the head that they're going to be worthless in court. Some have refused to cooperate in the investigation and it's a safe bet that they won't testify, either. Why are you smiling?"
"Sorry. I was just thinking how I'm tired of nailing petty crooks. I've been looking for a challenge. I hope this goon is ten feet tall with fangs and claws. I want some red meat." I got worked up talking like that and without thinking I flashed the Dragon across my face just for an instant.
Gail backed away from me so fast that she almost tripped over the perp on the ground. I startled her more than I thought I would.
"Holy shit!" she said, recovering her composure and coming back over to me. "Grogan wasn't kidding, was he?"
"Grogan's a case of terminal testosterone poisoning. He doesn't know squat." I kept my tone low and confidential.
"Hah! That's Grogan all right. How did you do that with your face?"
"Sorry, that's a 'don't ask' subject. A girl's got to keep her makeup secrets, you know."
"OK." I could tell I had only made her more curious about me. All she could think of was questions she knew I probably wouldn't answer. She was starting to look at me like I was a freak. I tried to think of a way to get her back to relating to me as a person.