Tales of the Unquiet Gods Read Online Free PDF Page B

unnamed assailant in the chest, and sending him flying halfway across the room?" Skepticism lurked in the back of Sgt. Timmons voice. The trick was in the words, though.
    "Frank's gotta have tapes," Mike said, jerking a thumb at a shiny, black bulb tucked over the bar. "I guess those should have what you're looking for." Answering the question in his usual direct manner would probably have gotten Mike in trouble. Have you stopped beating your wife yet?
    Something about Timmons creeped him out. Beyond the whole cop thing. After a moment, it came to Mike. It was as though his body was trying to say things his mouth wasn't. Looking a little closer - casually, casually, it wouldn't do to piss off the good sergeant - he noticed dark stains at the detective's pits and at his neck.
    Which was a little weird. The cop wasn't that big a man. He wasn't even fat. Just a little chunky. Certainly no bigger than Mike was, himself. And the suit, while wool, shouldn't have been enough to make him sweat like that. Mike found the room just a bit chilly without the usual crowd of gyrating club-goers.
    "So you don't remember kicking a kid half your size across the room?" The overhead light still reflected off Timmons's glasses, hiding his eyes behind them.
    Mike felt his eyes narrow, and forced his face into stillness.
    "Like I told you, Sergeant, this guy - not a regular - came out of the crowd at me. He looked hopped up on something, and for whatever reason, I blacked out." Smooth and easy did it. Mike had nothing to be angry about. Bar fights weren't common, but weren't anything to freak about, either. On the other hand, the coppery smell of spilled blood and the sour odor of spilled booze set Mike's guts to roiling. The questioning didn't help any. "The first thing I remember after that was waking up with Ms. Pahlavi working on me."
    Timmons's lips twisted - ever so slightly - as though he tasted something he didn't like. The skin just over his eyebrows tensed. Same for the skin over his cheekbones. Mike noticed the fingers of his right hand twitching, and wondered if the good officer wasn't maybe on some kind of substance, as well.
    He wanted something. All cops did - hell, everybody did - but Timmons wanted something specific. Something he wasn't getting. Taking in the cop's almost labored breathing, Mike realized that the smaller man gave off the same tells as a guy looking for a fight. His pulse pounded in response.
    Deliberately, he leaned back on his elbows. He hated leaving himself open to a guy that seemed like he might snap, but he could probably sweep the cop's legs if it came to it. More than that, though, he looked far less threatening this way. Getting attacked by a cop in the city could easily turn into having attacked the cop in the first place.
    "Sergeant, are you feeling okay?"
    The cop started, his whole body spasming. For a moment, Mike thought Timmons would fall over, but he caught himself.
    "Wha-? Yes, yes I'm-" His words cut off abruptly as a wet, tearing cough ripped through his chest. "I'm-" Another cough sounded as though Timmons's ribs had broken and were trying to shred their way out of his torso. The sergeant splayed his feet against the spasms shuddering through his body, and his free hand - the shaking right hand - dipped into a pocket. It emerged with a white handkerchief.
    Timmons pressed the cloth to his mouth, stifling the sound - if not the violence - of his convulsions. Mike's scalp tightened on his skull as the detective bent over. The cop's shirt front writhed as he jerked from the deep, tearing coughs. Nobody else in the room could see: Mike had the best seat in the house. So to speak.
    Timmons's tie dangled and twitched in time with his shuddering. As it bounced aside, Mike caught flashes of whatever it was on the cop's chest reflecting the shine of the club's lights.
    Something black, shiny and twitching. Inky froth stained the white handkerchief and the sergeant's lips. Mike's stomach clenched so tight