Megan
The bang reverberated through the house as I rushed forward. The man had fired the gun again.
My mind whirled in panic.
Was Brigit hit?
PLEASE, GOD, NO!
The dog had been faster than me, of course. The instant I’d kicked in the back door she’d been off and running, rushing past the old woman who was heading toward us. By the time I’d made it through the kitchen and into the living room, Brigit had tackled the man I presumed to be Andro to the floor. There was no blood on her fur. Thank God!
The man wriggled and writhed under her, his gun still clutched in his hand.
Not for long.
I whipped my baton from my belt and flicked my wrist to extend it. Snap! With an air-splitting swish, I brought the baton down on the man’s forearm. Whap!
“Drop the gun!” I yelled.
He didn’t drop it.
Whap! Whap!
I felt the man’s arm fracture under my stick, but still he didn’t let go. People on drugs seemed almost immune to pain. This guy had likely premedicated with crystal meth.
I supposed I could have shot the guy now and been totally justified. But I’d seen him terrorize the woman on the couch, seen the boy I now knew as Wade Mayhew try to stop him. A quick and easy death would be too good for this asshole.
I stomped and kicked at his hand now, my steel-toed loafers effectively prying his fingers from the gun. When the gun was free, I kicked the gun itself, sending it sailing across the wood floor out of his reach.
Other than a bullet, the only way to disable someone like him was with pepper spray. I yanked the canister from my belt, ordered Brigit off the man, and hollered, “Everyone back!”
The woman, who’d been watching from the doorway, scrambled back into the kitchen. Dub could only manage to get to his hands and knees. He crawled toward the kitchen, too. “Here, doggie!” he called to Brigit, his voice weak and raspy. “Here, doggie!”
She looked up at me for direction. I motioned for her to go with him.
Averting my face, I held my breath, closed my eyes tight, and pushed the button.
Pshhhhh.
The cries that came from the man at my feet gave me no small amount of pleasure. Why not give him a double dose?
Pshhhhh.
“Aaaaaaaah!” he wailed, the knocking sounds telling me he was writhing blindly on the floor.
As my coup de grâce, I treated him to a final spray in the tune of shave-and-a-haircut-two-bits. Pshhh psh-psh psh-pshhh, pshhh pshhh.
With my eyes still closed, I yanked my handcuffs from my belt, waved a hand in front of my face to clear the air, and opened my eyes. Enough of the spray lingered in the air to burn my eyes, but I continued to hold my breath and was at least able to get the guy’s hands cuffed before backing away, gasping for air. He continued to squirm and roll back and forth on the ground. When he did, his wallet slid out of his back pocket, two inches of broken rolo chain dangling from it.
Aha! Samuelson murder case. Exhibit A.
Eyes watering, I stepped to the kitchen doorway, pulled my gun from my belt now, and kept it aimed at Andro. It was doubtful he could cause any more trouble now that he’d been cuffed and sprayed, but better safe than sorry.
Terrified wails came from the bedroom down the hall. Poor kids. They had no idea what was going on out here. That was probably a good thing, though.
“Can I go check on the children?” asked the woman, whom I knew only as Meemaw.
“Sure.” After the woman left, I glanced down at Dub, who lay curled up on his side on the linoleum, hugging himself as if he knew nobody else would and crying silently as he stared off into space.
I knelt down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder, unsure what to say. Fortunately, Brigit knew exactly what to say to the boy, and she spoke with her tongue.