Ruger

Part Two: The Hound

Cover: Extreme close-up of a large Rotweiller's face. Teeth are much larger and sharper than the should be, eyes are glowing bright red. Blood and saliva are dripping from its mouth.

he patrol car's wheels smoked as it screeched to a halt in the parking lot. There was already one patrol car parked in the first space beside the fast food restaurant's door. No sign of the cops who'd put it there. No sign of anyone inside, either. But the lights were on and the sign on the door indicated that the place was still open for business.

There was a large, dark red smear on one of the windows.

Another window had several bullet-holes in it.

The driver clicked the radio and spoke into the microphone.

"This is Henderson and Wilkins, responding to reports of shots fired at 1806 Rainover Way. Requesting back-up and paramedics"

The dispatcher acknowledged with and unintelligible string of code-words and numbers.

"Let's go."

Both cops drew their weapons as they stepped out of the vehicle. They crept past the other patrol car, peering into it as they passed on either side. Nothing unusual. They entered the restaurant.

Officer Wilkins gagged and covered his mouth with the back of his hand.

"...smells like a slaughterhouse in here..." he gasped.

"You ever BEEN to a slaughterhouse?" Henderson replied.

"Yes. Smells just like this."

"POLICE! Officer Baker! Officer Fitzgerald! Are you in here!"

The only sound was the low murmuring from the television hanging in the corner. "World's Wildest Police Chases" was on, but the volume was turned almost all the way down... as if anyone could enjoy explosions and car chases with the sound muted.

"We may have officers down," said Henderson as he scanned the room.

"Yeah, I think we probably do-" Wilkins pointed to the floor over by the window. The floor, the window, and the cheap plastic furniture were all coated with blood. There was something laying on the table.

An arm.

The hand still clasped the police-issue revolver, and part of the uniform's sleeve lay draped across the edge of the chair not far away. There was a simple gold wedding ring on one dead finger.

"Fitzgerald," said Henderson

"I'm getting out of here," said Wilkins.

"Right behind you. We'll wait for backup. Outside."

They slowly backed away toward the door. A sound stopped them.

There was something moving behind the counter.

"FREEZE!" both men shouted.

"...p-please don't hurt me..." came a timid female voice.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!"

Both officers moved toward the counter. Henderson stopped in the center of the room and covered Wilkins as he leaned walked behind the milk-shake machine. The girl couldn't have been more than seventeen. Probably sixteen. At first, Wilkins thought that she was covered with blood, but the overturned bottle on the counter above her had deluged her head, face and chest with the catsup. Other than being scared to death, she was fine.

Wilkins extended his hand. She looked at it for a few seconds, then shook her head.

"Come on, miss, we have to get out of here," said Wilkins.

"It... ate... them..."

"It what?"

GRRRRRRR....

"Willlkinnns..." Henderson called. Wilkin looked out in the dining area. Henderson was facing the door, aiming his gun at the huge animal that was standing there. It had the markings and shape of a Rotweiller... but it was much, much too big. Henderson backed away from it.

"Stay down," Wilkins told the young girl.

GRRRRRRRR!!!

"SHOOT IT!" Henderson shouted. He fired one shot, dead-center at the dog's head. The bulled passed through the animal as if it weren't even there. Henderson never got the chance to make a second shot.

Even as Wilkins fired his own weapon, the giant hound leapt at his partner. Huge jaws clamped down on Henderson's head-

KRAK!

The hound landed several feet behind where Henderson had been standing... with Henderson's head held firmly in its mouth. The cop's headless body fell to the floor; fresh blood poured out of the jagged stump and spread out across the cheap tile.

The beast stood there, looking at Wilkins. It's jaws closed slowly, and Henderson's lifeless head cracked like a walnut as the hound's eyes began to glow bright red.

GRRRRR!!!!
K-SPLUTCH!

"EEEEE!!!" The young girl screamed. She ran for the store's rear exit. Wilkins fired at the beast, hoping to at least draw the thing's attention away from her. He needn't have worried... the thing didn't even notice the girl. Wilkin's had its complete, undivided attention.

The cop's bullets took chips out of the walls, but didn't even strike the demonic canine. It spat out what was left of Henderson's skull and charged. Wilkins emptied his gun into the thing, but it kept coming. It leapt for him. Wilkins threw himself to the floor and rolled under the airborne beast. The hound passed through the wall behind him and vanished... it didn't BURST through the wall... it passed through it as if the wall were a mere optical illusion.

Wilkins wasted no time. He sprinted for the front door. The hound appeared behind him. Wilkins could hear the thing's claws on the tile as it ran him down... and he could see the lights in the parking lot. Reinforcements had arrived.

"RUNNN!!" He shouted. "RUN! GO! GO! GO! GO!"

Wilkins ran past someone as sped out of the store and dashed for the patrol car. He didn't bother to look at who it was, he just kept running.

The beast was five steps behind him. When IT reached the door, Jason Brooks met it with a hail of speeding lead. He stepped in front of the hound and emptied both .454 revolvers into it... firing so fast the separate gunshots merged into one long, singular BAAANG! He jumped aside at the last second. The uninjured hound flew past him as the patrol car door slammed and the cop sped out of the parking lot.

Jason returned the first two guns to their holsters and drew the next two. Three shots passed through the running hounds's flank and ricocheted off of the pavement.

The dog stopped. It turned back to Jason and made a very un-canine noise. It hissed at him. It wasn't like a cat or a lizard... it was something much more malicious. Something Evil. The thing's eyes pulsed bright red... then it vanished, leaving Jason alone in the parking lot.

Almost alone.

"Check inside," said Donovan.

Jason stepped into the store. He saw the blood and the dead cop's headless body.

"Nothing I can do here. Of course, we already knew that before I got out of the car, didn't we Donovan?"

"I needed to get a closer look at it."

"The first look wasn't close enough?"

"No. But I know what it is, now."

"Gonna clue me in?"

"Its a Rotweiller."

"Thank you, Sherlock. Any other profound observations?"

"Specifically, it's the Rotweiller that's on television right now."

"Huh?"

Jason looked up at the television hanging in the corner. It was a live report of a group of very pissed-off-looking individuals. The reporter was interviewing a Hispanic woman. He couldn't hear the sound, so he turned the volume up-

"-killed my son and daughter in cold blood! They were not drug-sellers like the police say! They were good people... but because we are from Cuba then EVERYBODY assumes that we sell the drugs! This is not true! Does THIS look like a family of drug-seller!"

The woman held a framed photograph up to the camera. It was a professional photo of three people... a family. The wife held a rather strange-looking little boy in her arms. Standing beside the man was a large Rotweiller. The man's hand rested lightly on the dog's head. Everyone was smiling. Even the dog seemed to be smiling.

"THIS is who they killed!" the old woman continued. "Innocent people!"

The camera pulled back to show the unruly crowd gathered around the old woman.

"Hey, I KNOW that man!" said Jason. "The man in the picture... he used to WORK with me! What the hell is going on.. .how did I miss this?"

"When you sleep in a parking garage all day, things tend to slip past you. Did you see the dog?"

"That wasn't the same dog-"

"It was a semi-etheral entity... a very dangerous type of demon. Someone summoned to this plane and forced to assume that shape."

"Why?"

"Usually its done for he purpose of revenge. The demon normally assumes the shape of the person seeking justice, but in this case-"

"-A great big dog. With fangs. And glowing eyes. And a hard-on for cops."

"Exactly. That's why it didn't kill you... my guess is that its being commanded to kill police officers. As much as it WANTED to rip you apart... it couldn't."

"And I can't hurt IT either," said Jason. He looked down at his gun. "This thing didn't even scratch it."

"We can fix that," said Donovan.

he printer hummed and whirred as it slowly squeezed out another page. Marilyn snatched the paper from the machine and placed it with the others. Her kitchen table looked like the office of some professional researcher... papers were piled up around her PC like some strange new kind of modern art. She'd already gone through one entire pack of paper, and she'd just loaded the remains of the second pack into the ink-jet before printing the last page.

Marilyn glanced out of the window and saw that it was dark outside. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, as if what she was seeing through the window couldn't possibly have been real. She'd been at it for hours without even knowing it. She'd not only lost track of time, but of place as well... she wasn't at the office, she was at home. With her daughter.

"Alexis?" she called. Marilyn heard her daughter stirring in the living room. "Alexis, its after bed-time."

"But I'm watching Bugs Bunny!" Alexis' sleepy voice replied. "Just a few more minutes. Just 'til this one goes off!"

"Uh-huh," said Marilyn... her brain already falling back into the tight focus she'd been keeping for most of the evening. She squinted at the small monitor and read the headlines she'd pulled up from the newspaper's online archives. She'd typed in a search on 'Henry Sharpe' several hours ago... and the rest was a mind-numbing blur of article after article. Captain Henry Sharpe of the Law Enforcement Division was quite a celebrity, although Dobbs wouldn't necessarily call him famous. 'INFAMOUS' was perhaps a better word.

Marilyn printed out the last story on the list, then started flipping through the massive amount of information she'd spent the day gathering. It seemed as though Sharpe was in the paper more often than the mayor and the governor combined. And in almost every story, somebody died.

October, 1989:
"OFFICER KILLED IN FAILED RESCUE ATTEMPT"
"Lieutenant David Stewart lost his life today in a police attempt to rescue a woman and three children from their apartment, where they were being held hostage by a local man wanted for numerous drug violations. Seriously injured in the attack was Lieutenant Henry Sharpe, who, despite two bullet-wounds, managed to shoot and fatally wounding the kidnapper..."

February, 1993:
"GOVERNOR FORMS SPECIAL CRIME UNIT"
"...leading the Law Enforcement Division will be Captain Henry Earnest Sharpe, a career officer who received the medal of honor for his actions four years ago..."

May, 1995:
"DEADLY SHOOT-OUT YIELDS MAJOR DRUG BUST FOR NEW AGENCY"
"Amid growing rumors that the state's new Law Enforcement Division was an abysmal failure, the LED conducted a surprise raid on a major drug distribution ring. The officers were met with hostile fire from automatic weapons within the warehouse where the drugs were reputed to be stored. Captain Henry Sharpe personally lead the LED's specially trained officers as they returned fire and literally shot their way inside, where they confiscated over two million dollars in cash and drugs. No officers were injured, however all of the suspects were killed in the exchange of gunfire..."

April, 1995:
"CHASE TURNS DEADLY"
"An undercover operation by the LED turned into a bloodbath when suspects fled from arrest and lead police on a high-speed chase through the city. Two armed suspects traded gunfire with police as a third suspect drove the 1991 BMW through heavy traffic, forcing commuters off of roadways and causing multiple deadly accidents. The chase ended when LED officers ran the suspects off of the road. The BMW came to a halt after hittin a pole. LED officers claim that the suspects continued to fire on police, however bystanders tell a different story, saying that officers fired into the car even though the suspects were injured and unconscious..."

August, 1996
"OUT OF CONTROL? LED'S BODY COUNT RISES"
"...shot and killed, however officers later discovered that the youths were unarmed..."

September 1996
"PROTESTERS CALL FOR SHARPE'S DISMISSAL"
"...angry at last months shooting of two youths now known to be innocent, protesters marched on city hall and demanded Sharpe's dismissal and the dissolution of the state's Law Enforcement Division..."

October 1996
"LAWSUIT LOOMS"
"... threatened to file a lawsuit alleging that the LED violates the civil rights of those it pursues. There are also charges that Henry Sharpe unfairly targets blacks and Hispanics, who make up a disproportionate percentage of the LED'S arrests.."

November, 1996
"CONTROVERSIAL SPEECH BY LED LEADER, HENRY SHARPE"
"...they're afraid of me. The criminals, the pushers, the thugs... they hear my name, they hear the LED is onto them and they start pissing in their sneakers. That's the way we want it. Criminals should fear the law; that's the way it needs to be..."

December, 1996
"CIVIC LEADER FOUND SHOT DEAD, APPARENT DRUG DEAL GONE BAD"
"...most well known for leading protests against Henry Sharpe and the LED earlier this year, and who was in the process of filing a civil lawsuit..."

March, 1997
"BANNER YEAR FOR DRUG ARRESTS"
"According to crime statistics, 1996 was a record-setting year for drug arrests. Confiscations and convictions rose a stunning 197% over 1990. The governor attributes the rise to the controversial Law Enforcement Division, under the command of Captain Henry Sharpe..."

November 1998
"MORE VICTIMS COME FORWARD"
"...charges of police brutality and tampering with evidence continue to mount against the Law Enforcement Division..."

May 1999
"OFFICER ACQUITTED OF CORRUPTION CHARGE"
"...two key witnesses failed to show up in court... found dead last night of an apparent drug overdose... another important witness is still missing...charges dropped..."

July 1999
"BUSINESS AS USUAL FOR LED"
"...seven high-profile drug busts in the past six days... total of five suspects dead. Critics are saying that Sharpe is attempting to overshadow last years charges of corruption and evidence tampering with positive publicity from the busts"

March, 2000
"1999 ANOTHER RECORD-YEAR FOR DRUG-ARRESTS, CONFISCATIONS"
"'Statistics don't lie,' says Henry Sharpe, the controversial leader of the state's Law Enforcement Division, 'I'm doing my job, and the people of this state are safer than they've ever been...'"

"Safer than they've ever been," said Dobbs. "Unless you happen to know somebody who knows somebody who did drugs any time in the past thirty years. Or unless you're black or Hispanic. Then its open season."

Marilyn was stunned. Dozens of thoughts went through her mind, but before any one could take root, a dozen more swept it aside. She had a sneaking suspicion that Sharpe was dangerous, but this?

Marilyn logged off of her computer and reached for the phone. It rang before she could touch it.

"Dobbs," she said into the receiver

"Dobbs!"

"Captain Gavin... I was just about to call you-"

"Are you all right over there? You weren't answering your phone."

"I was on the computer, researching our new local celebrity, Henry Sharpe-"

"You picked a fine time to tie up a phone line, Dobbs.

"What... you my husband, now?"

"Good God, woman... haven't you been listening to your scanner?"

"Huh?" Marilyn's police scanner was off, as was her cell-phone. She WAS on suspension, after all. "What's going on?"

"Six dead cops, that's what's going on!"

"What?"

"Six... since sundown. That we KNOW of. Two more missing."

"Where?"

"All over the city! We lost contact with three patrol cars. Found two of 'em... looked like a damn explosion at a meat market. We got bodies that've been chewed to pieces out there. And that ain't all... turn on your TV... local news..."

Marilyn went into the living room, where Alexis was asleep on the couch. Dobbs changed the channel. The news was showing a live broadcast... a large, angry crowd gathered outside of a building. There were between 150 and 200 people... mostly black and Hispanic. The camera panned the crowd once, then focused on a lone female reporter who looked frightened out of her mind. She was standing not six yards from the edge of the crowd-

"This is the scene outside city hall, where over a hundred angry protesters have gathered to vent their anger at the brutal slaying of Jose and Marisa Velazquez. Both were slain last night during a midnight raid by the state Law Enforcement Division. So far, the crowd has not turned violent, however Armena Velazquez, the mother of Jose Velazquez, has taken center stage here and continues to shout increasingly inflammatory statements at the crowd-"

The camera zoomed in on the center of the crowd, where an older Hispanic woman was shouting and flashing a tattered picture of a young couple, complete with child and dog. Most of what the woman said was in Spanish. The female reporter kept talking while the camera stayed on the angry woman.

"So far there is no sign of Tomas Velazquez, the mentally challenged son of Jose and Marisa, who was placed in Armena's care temporarily-"

"Do we have people down there?" said Dobbs.

"A few," the captain replied. "More on the way. We've got a mess out there, Dobbs. And this crowd is just gonna get uglier and uglier. They wanna talk to the mayor, but Sharpe has talked him into staying away-"

"How did THAT happen? The mayor's taking orders from Sharpe, now?

"Doesn't matter who or how... what matters is that we've got more than we can handle."

"I'm on my way," said Dobbs. She hung up the phone and woke her daughter. "C'mon Alexis, you're sleeping over at the neighbors. Mommy's gotta go to work..."
 

orace Durant awoke to the sound of someone knocking on his front door. No, not knocking... pounding.

The fifty year old man eased himself out of the bed and hobbled toward the front of the house. He didn't walk with a cane, and, in truth, he didn't need one. But he had just woken up, and sometimes his body took a while to catch up with his mind. So, for the first dozen steps or so, he shuffled along the floor like a man in his late eighties.

"I'm coming," he said. "Calm down, calm down..."

The insistent pounding continued.

Durant stopped in the living room and thought for a moment. What time was it? Why was someone knocking on his door at night? If it were an emergency then someone would have called. Should he call the police?

BAM! BAM! BAM!

"I said I'm coming!" Durant cleared his throat and continued to the door.

CRASH!

The door flew open, kicked open by the dark figure standing on the porch.

"Sorry 'bout the door," said Jason. "But I don't have time to wait."

Jason swept into the room and kicked the door closed behind him. He bore down on Durant... the old man backed away until he found himself cornered, standing with his back to the kitchen table.

"Are you Horace Durant?" said Jason.

"Y-Y-yes," said Durant. He wasn't afraid... but he wasn't stupid either. He was already reaching for the phone on the wall.

"Nope," Jason snatched the cord out of the wall. "Are you FATHER Horace Durant... from the Catholic church on 2nd Avenue?"

"Y-yes-"

"A priest?"

"Yes-"

"Good." Jason grabbed two .454 revolvers from the harness hidden underneath his coat and slammed them down on the kitchen table-

"Bless those."

Then he removed the other two .454 revolvers and dropped them on the table as well-

"And these..."

Two snub-nosed .357s joined the four guns on the table.

"AND those."

"I-Is...is that all?"

"Oh, yeah..." Jason grabbed the .45 semiautomatic he had concealed in the small of his back. He placed it on the table with the other weapons. "That one, too."

"ook at them down there," said Captain Sharpe. He and Hapmund were in a conference room on the top floor of Rock Springs City Hall. They looked down at the rapidly growing crowd of people on the street below. "Vermin. Human trash, every last one of them. Take a good look, Hapmund...these are the same people who write letters to the governor, the senators... hell even the freaking PRESIDENT... WHINING and CRYING about the crime and drugs in their neighborhoods. But when someone comes along to actually SOLVE their problems, THIS is what we get."

"They have reason to be upset," said Lieutenant Hapmund. "The bust was a fiasco-"

"Upset, yes. But THIS is a violation of city ordinance. Do you think they have a permit to gather down there and block traffic?"

"...there is no traffic..."

"No, they don't have a permit. Upset doesn't give them the right to break the law."

"They want to see the mayor."

"The mayor doesn't want to see them. He didn't want to go out there anyway... but after our little talk, he understands why he shouldn't give in to mob demands. If they want to gather... let them gather. If they want to block traffic and shout and scream and sing songs... let them. But when its time to face the consequences of their illegal actions... we'll see how many of them are REALLY serious about that 'freedom or death' crap that they keep shouting."

"Sir?" Hapmund gave Sharpe a worried look. "Sir, what do you mean?

"Nothing," said Sharpe. "I don't mean anything at all."

They watched the crowd in silence for a few moments.

"How much drugs do you think we'd find down there, Hapmund? Look at them... how much marijuana... how much crack and powder cocaine do you think those rodents are wallowing in down there."

"No telling, sir. But without a probable cause we'll never find out."

"Probable cause? They're violating city ordinances. We're standing here WATCHING them violate the law. We could arrest the lot of them just for THAT."

"Not our jurisdiction," said Hapmund.

"If they have drugs, it is. If there's so much as one gram of coke down there, then the whole thing becomes OUR show."

"Still... with the current atmosphere... going down there wouldn't be a wise course of action. Sir."

"Oh, you're right about that. You're ABSOLUTELY right about that, Hapmund. Not a wise course of action at all. They might resist arrest. They might assault an officer or two. Then we'd be forced to do our sworn duty... and then some of those dear lovely human RODENTS might get injured. We don't want that, do we, Hap?"

"No, sir. Not if it can be avoided, sir."

"Not if it can be avoided. We'll let Captain Gavin and the local boys handle this. For their sake, I hope they don't make a mess. If they do, the governor will order us to take it over... and NOBODY down there wants that to happen."

"ove back! Move BACK!"

Police officers shouted and pleaded with the crowd, trying to get them to move out of the street and away from City Hall. But the crowd only grew increasingly unruly as the cops insisted that they move back. So far, there had been no violence, but it was obvious that it was only a matter of time. More cops arrived, but their arrival only brought more angry shouts from the crowd. After all, it was the police that were the reason for the crowd's indignation.

Officers in regular uniforms gave way to men in riot gear... dark helmets and plexiglas shields. A few rocks and bottles sailed out of the crowd. No one was hit. The police didn't respond. Yet. They still appeared to be sizing up the situation. How were they going to disperse the crowd? How were they going to deal with any violent resistance? Were they going to try and make any arrests? And, most importantly... WHEN were the reinforcements going to arrive?

Reporters and cameramen circled the area like vultures. Most remained at a safe distance, but some daring souls darted through the fringes of the crowd, shoving microphones in the faces of whatever angry protesters were within reach. The 'interviews' usually consisted of shouted slogans... some of which actually rhymed... and sound-bites. Other reporters dove gleefully into the chaos, broadcasting whatever was shouted in their general direction as they tried to make it further into the crowd. They didn't waste time with interviews... the crowd itself was only a bit player. The real star of the show was the middle aged Hispanic woman who had, intentionally or not, started the whole thing. She was somewhere in the thick of the crowd, standing on top of a dark blue van that happened to be nearby when the crowd formed. No one knew who owned the van; and no one had the slightest idea whether the owner would approve of the purpose to which it was being put. It was an impromptu stage, from which Armena Velazquez could continue her shouts for justice in full view of the television cameras. She still had her photograph of the Velazquez family... although the frame had somehow gotten smashed in all the confusion. Whenever she lifted the now-tattered image up before her, the crowd responded with howls and angry shouts... not at Armena, but at the police... at the armed thugs that had all but erased the poor woman's family.

"If I had known this... I would have never left CUBA!" Armena shouted to the television cameras. "They come into our homes! Frighten us! Slaughter us like ANIMALS! How would they feel if someone did it to THEM, eh?! How would THEY feel!"

Urged on by the woman's words, a small group of angry teenagers charged the stone-faced cops. The cops backed away, and the teens laughed as they melted back into the crowd. Disappointed cameramen turned their cameras back toward Armena Velazquez.

So far, no one had spotted the black Corvette.

Jason parked a block and a half away... outside of the ring of reporters and well away from the police. There were plenty of bystanders nearby... but the curious onlookers were too busy watching the crowd to pay any attention to the wanted terrorist/murderer/cop-killer that had just driven into their midst. The Corvette's door opened, Jason got out. He'd been listening to the live coverage on the radio, and now he could see it all happen with his own eyes.

"This is amazing," he said. "Nothing like this EVER happens in this town."

"First time for everything," said Donovan Wilde. "We'll have to get closer."

"Uh-huh." Jason didn't move. He just watched as the crowd started throwing more things at the cops. Now more officers were arriving. They started spacing themselves out around one side of the crowd. Something was going to happen. Soon.

Jason leaned back against the car and folded his arms across his chest.
"There's a pretty good chance that that thing is here, right?"

"If that demon was summoned to kill police officers... this is where it will come. If it isn't here already."

"That's what I was figuring. Cujo's coming here to make Scooby-snacks out of everybody in a uniform. Not protesters or onlookers... just cops. Interesting..."

Jason continued to lean against the Corvette and watch the crowd.

"Hey, Donovan... you ever see any of that Civil Rights footage from the sixties? Desegregation and Voter's Rights protests?"

"Now is not the time for nostalgia, Jason."

"You ever see the part where the cops turned the dogs loose on the protesters? There was this old black guy trying to run while this big German Shepard is chomping on his leg? ... you ever see that?"

"What does that have to do with this?"

"Does the phrase 'chickens coming home to roost' mean anything to you?"

"Jason, you can't be serious."

Jason paused...

"Only a little," he said. Jason reached behind the Corvette's driver's seat and retrieved the AK-47 he had stashed there. "Besides... THESE aren't the guys that offed Velazquez. It was those LED goons. Let's break this party up before the uninvited guest arrives..."

Jason shoved a loaded magazine into the weapon. He got in the car and closed the door, then rolled the window halfway down and pointed the rifle out the window.

He revved the engine once... twice...

A few reporters and cops turned towards him. The crowd seemed not to notice.

Jason put the accelerator to the floor. The Corvette shot toward the center of the crowd, bearing down on cops and onlookers alike. Jason fired shots into the into the air above the crowd as he raced toward them. The reaction was exactly as expected... the crowd scattered. The already chaotic mob exploded into a frenzy of running and falling and pushing and screaming and cursing. Reporters found themselves fleeing for their lives. The crowd made no effort to run around anything that could just as easily be knocked down and run OVER.

The police abandoned any attempt to control the crowd. The gunman in the black car became the center of their universe... unfortunately the crowd was still part of the equation. Police couldn't simply start shooting with screaming bystanders in the line of fire. Men in uniform scrambled for cover... and for vantage points from which they could return fire without killing someone accidentally.

The rapidly vanishing crowd split down the middle as the Corvette roared down the street where they'd gathered. Jason pulled hard on the steering wheel; the Corvette spun around in a circle. Jason finished emptying the rifle's magazine into the air... by the time the last bullet left the barrel, the crowd was gone.

Then the cops fired back. Bullets criss-crossed in the air around the car and Jason quickly rolled up the window. Some shots struck the Corvette, some didn't. None penetrated the car's bullet-resistant armor. For Jason, it was like being caught in a nasty hail-storm.

"HEY! Those things are denting my car! They're ruining the paint!"

"'Bullet Resistant' doesn't mean the bullets just bounce of... it means they don't make it all the way through. Usually."

"You shoulda told me that before I drove out here!"

The Corvette's powerful engine revved again, and the car sped away from City Hall. Three police vehicles were already arriving on the scene from multiple directions... they all converged and followed Jason.

"Don't these guys ever learn?" said Jason. "I mean... they TRIED this already!"

Jason made a sharp turn onto a cross-street. His pursuers cars made the turn as well...

"-HEY!"

Jason was so focused on the cops in the rear-view mirror that he almost didn't see the thing in the road in front of him until it was too late. The 'thing' was a large, slavering Rotweiller... a Rotweiller the size of a very large horse. It was running straight for him.

"HEEEYY!"

Jason had no time to react. One instant, the creature was looming larger than life his windshield... and the next instant it was behind him. The hound had run through the Corvette, leaving nothing to mark its passing but a sharp chill and a sudden desire to be somewhere else. After all, the hound hadn't been after Jason... it was after the cops behind him.

The first of three police cars struck the animal head-on, but this time the dog didn't pass harmlessly through it. The vehicle went from 100mph to ZERO almost instantaneously. The engine compartment folded up like an accordion. The sudden change in momentum not only knocked the two cops unconscious, but it snapped the seat belt housings... the cops flew forward, and only the airbags prevented them from flying out through the windshield.

Jason spun the Corvette around and brought it to a halt... just managing not to side-swipe a fire-hydrant. He had an excellent view of what happened next.

The second police-car slammed into the first... the rear of the first car folded neatly in half, the front of the second car crumpled up like a soda-can. The third car veered to one side, avoiding the other two. The two cops in the third car hopped out with weapons drawn... so intent on capturing Jason that they didn't see the cause of the wreck until after IT had spotted THEM.

GRRRRROOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Both officers fired at the thing as it came at them. Their bullets didn't stop it. Their bullets didn't hurt it. Their bullets didn't even TOUCH it.

But Jason's did.

The first shot stopped the creature in its tracks. The bullet ripped and tore and BURNED through its flank, sending it into paroxysms of pain. Thick, foul-smelling smoke poured out of the wound... a smoke that reeked of sulphur and rotting flesh. It was the first pain the demon had felt since it had been summoned... and it didn't like it. The hound turned toward Jason and growled.

Jason emptied both revolvers into its face. The beast staggered backward and collapsed on top of the first police car. It thrashed and convulsed for a few seconds, then got to its feet. Smoke and gore oozed from the holes in its head. The slimy blood sizzled when it touched the pavement.

"RRRROOOOOOOOOAAAA!!!"

"Yeah, yeah," said Jason as he calmly reloaded his guns. "Come and get me."

The beast charged, snarling as it galloped towards him.

Jason folded his arms across his chest and waited.

"It's just gonna pass through me, right?" he said.

"Possibly," said Donovan. "Unless the person who summoned it changes the parameters of the summons to include killing YOU as well."

"They can do that?"

"Yes."

"Oh-"

Jason spun around and dropped into a crouching positions... his arms flew out in front of him, each hand grasping a loaded .454. He fired repeatedly at the creature that was now only a few feet away. The stream of bullets ate away at the thing's face... suddenly the creature reared up on its hind legs. For a instant it seemed to become something else... something larger... something unholy and horrifying. All Jason saw was a glimpse, and then it was gone. There was nothing on the street except him, the cops, and a few wrecked patrol cars.

"...guess I showed him." said Jason.

"What WAS THAT!" one of the cops shouted.

"That was ME saving your asses, that's what it was," Jason replied as he calmly reloaded his weapons again.

The cop's eyes suddenly got very large.

"Jason-"

Jason spun around and came face to face with the demonic canine that had appeared behind him. Its cavernous mouth opened wide to reveal row upon row of dagger-like teeth.

Jason thrust his right arm into the demon's mouth... all the way in to the elbow... and then pulled the trigger.

Huge chunks of something that wasn't quite flesh exploded out of the back of the beast's skull. The hound's body rippled and changed... it became completely black... then it turned into a thick cloud of stench that circled Jason and the Corvette. It zig-zagged back and forth in the air and finally it sank into the ground and vanished.

"...like I SAID...I guess I showed HIM." said Jason.

"You'd better get out of here!"

Jason turned around to see who had spoken. It was one of the cops.

"Back-up is on the way," said the other officer. "You'd better go."

Jason nodded. He got back in the Corvette, pausing just long enough to shout: "You're Welcome."

He slammed the door, revved the engine, and was gone.

"Something tells me that you're about to say the demon isn't really dead."

"You're right," Donovan replied. "Contrary to what you see on television, demons aren't that easy to kill."

"Demons aren't that easy to kill on TV," said Jason.

"All we did was frighten it away. In order to truly stop it, we must find the source... the person who summoned it. Unless we stop THEM, then the demon will remain on this plane until its task is complete."

"So who would summon a demon to kill cops?"

"You already know the answer to that one, Jason."

Jason sighed.

"Next stop... the Velazquez residence..."

[To Be Continued]

copyright 2005 by Dark Icon Entertainment