Viper

30

New York City Howie Baumguard woke with a hangover the size of Grand Central Station. It was so big he reckoned it could be seen from space. But despite the pain, he hit the streets. All day he pressed flesh and pounded pavements. He re-interviewed the Polish receptionist who had taken a shine to Jack. He bought coffee for beat cops who worked the neighbourhood. He shook up informants who infested the local strip joints and pick-up bars.

By mid-afternoon he wasn't only clear-headed, he was enjoying himself. Back to your roots, Big H, this is what you do best. And he wasn't just bragging, he really was good at it. Somehow people opened up more to fat guys with a sense of humour. It was something he'd learned long ago and he'd regularly shared these words of wisdom with every FBI medic that had tried to get him to diet.

As the afternoon clouds darkened, he was satisfied that he had enough scraps of information to start to put together a good picture of Luciano Creed.

Then things took a turn for the worse.

Three blocks from home he cut through a back alley to save time. And that's where it all went wrong. He stumbled straight into a good old-fashioned New York mugging.

Two black teenagers in hooded sweats had cornered a tall woman with short, spiky blonde hair. One was barking orders and holding what looked like a gun. Howie knew the hoodies had at least theft on their minds. If they felt lucky, then they might just roll the dice and go for rape as well.

The woman was holding a thin cardboard carton, literally hanging on to it for dear life.

Howie took a deep breath. No longer an FBI agent. No longer the bearer of a badge or a gun. All he had was fifty pounds more weight than both of the punks put together. That, he decided, would have to be his weapon of choice.

'Give it up, an' your fuckin' money!' screamed the bigger perp. 'Fucking bitch. Give it me, lady, or I'll put a fucking cap in your shitty white head!'

Howie slid along the shadows. Stuck to the cover of some overflowing dumpsters. He could tell the muggers were as jittery as hell, no doubt crackheads desperate for their next score. 'Jus' fuckin' whip the bitch and get her money!' shouted the smaller one.

Howie was still pinning down a game plan when his cellphone rang.

The hoodies' heads cranked towards him.

He had no choice but to break cover. Rush them now or get shot at.

Howie found he had all the speed of a rhino with a hernia. But, fortunately, about the same weight and strength.

'Fuuuuck! ' was all the guy with the gun could manage as Howie crashed him into a brick wall, taking down his buddy at the same time. He heard the gun scatter across the ground and took the chance to pound a meaty fist into the face of the youth trapped beneath him.

Somehow the kid wriggled free and was damned well upright while Howie was still struggling to get up off all fours.

Howie knew a blow was coming but couldn't stop it.

A boot smashed into his face. A screen of eggshell-white light slammed down behind his eyes. More blows battered his body.

'Get the fuck outta here!' shouted one of the hoodies. Their feet slapped off into the distance.

The big guy lurched to his feet. Vision blurry, heart trying to bust through his chest. He rocked unsteadily. Caught half a glimpse of the woman – running safely the other way down the alley.

Then it hit him.

Sharp and hot. A numb pain that caused him to cramp before it exploded into white-hot agony.

Howie staggered. Put a hand on a wall to stop himself passing out. Reached back to find the source of the pain.

He'd been stabbed.

The smaller punk, the little bastard without the gun, had stabbed him in the ass. And the blade was still there. This was both good and bad. Bad because someone was going to have to pick the metal out of his butt, and that sounded a long way from fun. Good because he guessed the wound was so deep that if the knife had come out, then he might already be bleeding to death.

I mean, Howie asked himself, how the fuck can you put a tourniquet on your own ass? In fact, how can anyone put a tourniquet on an ass?

He steadied himself against the alley wall. Realized he was barely able to move, let alone walk. He had to think his way out of the jam.

'Are you all right?' asked a woman's voice.

Howie peered to his side. It was the dame with the big package. She'd obviously seen her attackers hightail it and come back to help.

'Sure,' he grunted through clenched teeth, 'apart from this blade in my butt, I've never been better.'

The woman looked around, and then disappeared behind him.

'No! Don't touch it! For fuck's sake, don't lay a finger on that friggin' knife.' And to make sure, he awkwardly turned himself away from her.

'You don't want me to pull it out?'

'No, no! I most definitely do not want you to pull it out.'

'Okay, okay!' she sounded panicky.

Howie could see the shock of the attack starting to roll in on her. 'Take it easy, lady. They're gone. Everything's fine. But I'm gonna need your help now. Okay?'

'Christ!' she spluttered. 'They could have killed us. I mean, they had a gun and I don't know if it was real but it sure looked real and I never even saw the knife, but God, that's real, I mean, you… they've stuck a knife in you… and you're bleeding, and…'

'Yeah, lady, I'm bleeding – like a stuck pig,' said Howie, cutting her off, 'and you think we might be able to do something about that? Like maybe call an ambulance and get a paramedic here?'

'Yes, oh yes. God, I'm sorry. That must hurt, doesn't it?' She glanced to her left and right. 'Oh my, oh no! They've taken my purse! My phone, my cell was in that bag. With my keys, my house keys and things, personal stuff and pictures, and…'

'Whoah!' shouted Howie. 'Use my phone and ring a goddamn ambulance, and please be quick!' He painfully produced his cell from his jacket.

'They could have killed me. They could have raped me, or anything.'

'Lady, the phone!' Howie held it out to her, then steadied himself against the wall again.

The woman looked as though she was in a trance. She extended her hand in slow motion and took the phone. She flipped it open and stared at the keypad, like she'd never used one before.

And then, just as Howie thought she was about to punch in 911 – she fainted.