HELLz BELLz Read Free

second man stood with his back against an island of merchandise, a bewildered expression on his face. Todd recognized him as the owner of the independent bookstore on the corner of Hawthorn and Vine. He didn’t appear to be wounded. Just scared shitless and witless by the guy with the knife. And the guy with the knife didn’t look very interested in dropping his blade.
    The church bell continued to ring. Todd wished those damn juvenile delinquents would give it a rest. The damned bonging was really getting on his nerves.
    “Last chance, ass-wipe,” growled Fuller. “I’ll drop you where you stand.”
    “Done been shot, shitbird,” the man said. He grinned. His mouth and chin were bloody, but Todd didn’t see a bullet hole in his face. There was a place on his shirt that looked like it might be a gunshot wound.
    Sergeant Fuller shot him point-blank in the belly.
    The man took a backward step, then looked down at his gut, hugged himself and dropped to one knee. But he still had the knife in his hand.
    “Told ya, you son-of-a-bitch,” said Fuller. “Now, drop it or I’ll shoot you again.”
    The guy looked up at Fuller, spat a glob of bloody spit on the floor and said, “Fuck you, Freddy.” Then he laughed.
    “Ah, fuck it,” said Fuller. He holstered his pistol, popped his baton off his belt, drew back and clocked the poor bastard on the side of the head.
    The gut-shot man fell over. His eyes stayed open, but they looked glassy and unfocused.
    “Jeez…” Todd said. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
    “Put your cuffs on him before he gets up again.”
    As Todd knelt down to cuff the dazed and wounded man, Fuller shouted: “Habib? Where are you, Pak Man?”
    The man propped against the island of merchandise said, “He’s over there, behind the counter. I think he’s dead.”
    “No shit?” Sergeant Fuller said with genuine wonder in his gruff voice. He went to the cashier’s counter, leaned over and looked at the floor. “Jesus Christ. I hope he’s dead. No man’d want to live looking like that.”
    Todd came over to see the carnage for himself. The jelly donut and black coffee he’d downed an hour ago threatened to make a comeback. He quickly turned away from the bloody ruin of the man on the floor. He swallowed hard, then spoke to the apparent witness—the bookstore guy. “You saw what happened?”
    “Most of it, yeah.” He was sheepishly pale, licking his lips a lot as though his last meal was also trying to make a reappearance.
    Fuller went behind the counter to confirm Habib’s death.
    “You own that book store…” Todd snapped his fingers, as if that would jar his memory.
    “Book Haven,” he said. “I’m Joe Carr.”
    “Yeah, that’s right,” said Todd.
    “Dead as road kill,” Fuller confirmed. “Gone home to Allah. Get an ambulance for that piece of shit, rookie.” He pointed at the man in handcuffs, who hadn’t moved since he’d whacked him upside the head. “Then call in the ghoul crew. The homicide dicks are gonna love this shit.”
    Todd used the two-way clipped on the epaulet on his left shoulder.
    Fuller waddled over to the witness and said, “All right, Joe Citizen, spoze you tell me what happened. Give me the short version and save the details for the dicks.”
    “Well, I came in for a pack of cigarettes, then this guy comes in and…Habib starts yelling at him, calling him a thief and telling him to get out of his store. They had some more words, fought over the phone, and the cashier pulled a gun on the guy. He shot him, I think, and then the guy pulled a knife and went over the counter after him. He…well, you saw what he did with the knife. And then he started…”—Joe swallowed bile—“biting the man’s throat, eating him like an animal, like a lion on the Discovery Channel. God.”
    “And you just stood and watched?” Fuller said with arched brows.
    “Uh, well, I looked for something to hit him with, but then he came at me with the knife.