The thug slid out of a cross-alley; thirty, maybe forty feet ahead of me, blocking my path. My steps slowed, the sound of shoes scuffing concrete just behind me blasting away my warm drunken haze on an icy torrent of adrenaline.
I felt my lips skinning back from my teeth in a silent snarl as the shadowy shapes converged on me. I can't even leave my hotel room for a midnight snack at a convenience store and its open season on the tourist. Luckily, for me, I was no tourist. The rear assault was closest. I crouched, my leg sweeping low as I whirled. One of the attackers behind me had already been lifting the length of pipe he held when he had to leap upwards to clear my leg; almost succeeding, but snagging one foot in a disastrous stumble that entangled his pal for the one blessed moment I needed to close with them.
My right leg shot in under the knife man's guard, the hard edge of my boot catching him in the ribs. I felt several of them go, their jagged ends driving deep as he folded like a rag doll around my foot, flung to the sidewalk by the vicious impact. Attacker number one rolled to his feet just in time to get shovel-kicked in the groin. He jackknifed forward, eyes bulging, hands reaching downwards and out of position as I delivered a punch to his throat, crushing his windpipe.
I spun away from the stricken pair, searching for my third attacker, the boyfriend, dimly amazed he hadn't already fallen upon me like a ton of bricks. Instead, he still stood where I'd first seen him, but now his right hand was filled with the heavy-caliber automatic he'd pulled from beneath his jacket.
Too damned far. I lunged for him anyway as the weapon swept upwards, his cold and expressionless eye looking at me over the sights as he centered them on my charging form and thumbed back the hammer. Suddenly that eye blinked, then widened in disbelief as my body began to flux madly, quickly assuming a far different shape as I closed.
There was a blinding flash and a sledgehammer blow that caromed off my armored skull, then my fangs were in his throat, ripping, my talons tearing. . . .
A few moments later I flung the tattered corpse away from me and turned to dispatch the others. I paused in the bloody aftermath to catch my breath and to lick the mess from my fangs and talons, then I concentrated for a moment and soon stood again on two legs. My clothing returned as well; fading back in from that strange, chilly elsewhere shown to me by someone who had shown me a great many other things as well . . .
I shivered in the icy clothes as I looked down at the carnage about me with human eyes, the combination of adrenalin crash and alcohol twisting my guts into knots. I had to get out of there. My hotel wasn't far away, and hopefully I'd get there before the Baltimore cops showed up to ask questions that I'd be hard-pressed to answer.
I straightened my jacket and turned to leave, to find him standing there, about a hundred feet further down the deserted street, watching me. My breath hissed in through clenched teeth as we stared at each other. He was a big man; mid-thirties, short dark-brown hair, dark eyes, hard and lean. Everything about him, from the cut of his clothes to his posture to the stillness of his eyes screamed professional to my jangled nerves. He calmly studied me for several moments more, then turned, and simply walked away.
For a second, I stood there in stunned disbelief at his lack of reaction at what he had to have seen. Then I was moving. I scooped up the street punk's automatic from where it had fallen, checking its load as I chased after the eyewitness that could destroy me.
As coolly as you please, he turned into yet another alley, momentarily vanishing from sight. I came skidding around the corner seconds later, the pistol coming up in a double-handed Weaver grip as my finger tightened on the trigger, prepared to kill the man the instant he showed in my sights.
The alley was a cul-de-sac; less than twenty feet in depth, abruptly ending in the blank steel wall of a loading dock gate that was closed and locked for the night. . . .
. . . .And there was no one there.
I felt my blood go cold as the questing muzzle of my weapon swung wildly from side to side, searching for the target that had to be there, yet wasn't.
This was just too damn much. I backed out of the alley, then turned and got the hell out of there. After a block or so I finally managed to get myself to slow to a walk, then paused to wipe the automatic clean and stuff it through a sewer grate. Another block, and I appeared to be just another tourist out looking for a good time, but still I doubled and redoubled my trail as I neared the more populous parts of town, searching for that which I knew was now stalking me. Any moment I expected to once again meet the dark, still gaze of that mysterious man or feel the impact of a high-velocity round, but instead was mocked by cold, empty streets.
A thick, wet snow had begun to fall when at last I sighed and sagged against a wall. Damn it, this wasn't over, not by a long shot. But the next move would be his.
Shoulders slumping in defeat I headed for the hotel, and what I knew would be the first of many sleepless nights.
======================================================
After leaving the Caribbean, my merry mob of madmen and myself had ferried our aircraft up to Fort Lauderdale for a little rest and refit. Austin tore into that pesky #3 engine once again, Baldwell and his copilot immediately headed for the beach for some serious girl-watching, and I immediately went to get some serious food. A few days later, with a few cows and a hasty trip to Sears for a winter jacket later, we were once again trundling down the runway, this time headed for Baltimore.
Baltimore is a rather nice town during most seasons, but during the winter it seems to take on this vague sense of sadness that I find myself at a loss to explain. We landed at the Martin State municipal strip just north of that somber city, and on the insistence of the pilots we headed downtown, where we got ourselves lodgings at the Lord Baltimore Hotel.
It was an extremely nice place, if more than a little old, and the staff was amazing. Unfortunately it was also extremely expensive, and lodging costs began to gobble up my budget at an alarming rate. After two days of fidgeting on my part it finally was time to ship my two pilots back south, and I cheerfully drove them to the main airport and bid them a fond farewell.
I had driven scarcely a hundred feet before my eyes caught sight of someone waving. I blinked in astonishment, then gave someone in a minivan a near-heart attack as I swerved across traffic to screech to a halt in the drop-off lane. I hopped out with a silent prayer to the great tow-truck god in the sky, then walked rapidly toward the familiar form.
"Pasqual?"
That lithe shape hurried towards me, brown hair flying, her dark eyes wide with pleased astonishment. "Michael! What are you doing here?"
I smiled as I looked down into her face. "I was about to ask you the same thing. Me? I'm here on business." I cocked my head to one side. "And you? Last I saw you was down in the British West Indies, working at the Club Med."
Her own smile faded, and she dropped her eyes. "I have to go home. My father is ill, and he has asked for me."
For a moment I felt an all-too familiar chill, but I pushed it away. "I'm very sorry to hear that, Pasqual. Is it anything serious?"
She shook her head. "I do not know yet. He is old, and I am not sure if he has very much time left. So, every time he coughs, I worry."
I felt my smile returning. "Don't sell older folks short Pasqual; most are tougher than they look. Is your plane leaving soon?"
She looked up at me again, and her eyes danced. "I see that you are feeling better yourself. No--" She caught my arm as I looked away, my cheeks warm. "I am sorry; I did not say that right. But I am also sorry that my plane leaves in just a few minutes. Will you be here long?"
I thought for a moment, then sighed. "I don't know. Several weeks at least; after that it's anyone's guess. Here--" I fished a card out of my pocket and handed it to her. "We're working out of a hangar just north of here. Call me if you come this way again."
"I will." She glanced up at the clock, gave me a quick kiss and a smile, then vanished into the airport crowd. I stared after her for a long moment, then smiled to myself. Things were definitely looking up.
Returning to the hotel, I promptly began to pack. I'd found a far cheaper place close by, and this would be my last night at the Lord Baltimore. To celebrate my rescue from impending penury I headed out for a little wining and dining. . . .
. . . .And that's where everything came crashing down.