The Face Behind The Mask

23

When she opened the door, Orion was greeted by the rumble of the giant boilers. She called out, "Jonathan Bowman?"

No answer.

"Jonathan Bowman." She raised her voice. "Police."

Below them on the sub-basement floor, Bowman peeked out from behind a boiler.

"Lemme see those hands," she hollered over the mechanical thrumming.

When he saw the detective coming down the concrete stairs he bolted.

"Son-of-a-bitch," Orion growled. She grabbed the steel railing and raced down the steps. Lloyd trailed.

Bowman killed the lights.

"You are aware," Lloyd shouted into the dark. "That this is the only way out." He waited but no answer came.

Patrice drew her firearm.

"Okay, then," Lloyd hollered. "Let's all just sit tight until the K-9s get here." He plopped down on the cold concrete step and dialed his phone. "Damn it. I got no signal." As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see his partner at the bottom of the steps, practically radiating anger.

"Treece." He stood. "I'm going upstairs to make a call. You coming?"

She didn't answer.

"Be right back," he said. A shaft of light from the hallway cut into the darkness when he opened the door.

"Prop that door open, would you?" she said, turning her head very slowly.

He obliged and then climbed the next flight to the main hallway.

The deep pits of blackness were impenetrable. Orion took two tight steps backward and flattened herself against the wall at the base of the stairwell, thinking maybe it wasn't too late to join her partner upstairs.

When she heard the sound of footsteps, her eyes rolled right. She stood rigid, listening, searching the shadows. Sensing movement coming up from behind her, she instinctively lurched forward. Something cold and metallic grazed her cheekbone and then came down hard on the steel handrail with a CLANG. She pivoted and raised her pistol. In the dim light, she saw Bowman's hulking form emerging from the shadows. He swung a metal pipe wrench. She sidestepped, deflecting the impact. The gun jumped from her hand and clattered loudly as it landed on the concrete floor.

He bolted past her up the steps. She threw herself at his legs, arms wrapped tightly around his ankle, and she yanked. His foot shot out from under him and he he cried out when his ribcage hit the edge of the cement stair. He rolled onto his side, freeing himself from her grasp, his breath ragged.

He regained possession of the wrench and swung. She ducked. He lunged at her. She threw her body under his arcing swing, and in one swift motion, grabbed a fistful of his shirt collar and jerked him over her shoulder off the stairs.

He hit the wall so hard his head bounced and he lost his grip on the wrench. He staggered forward, struggling to find his footing, and caught a solid roundhouse right to the jaw that sent him sprawling on the floor.

Patrice found her weapon and aimed. "Don't move." She wiped a smear from her mouth. The familiar taste of her own blood kept her adrenaline pumping.

"What'd I do?" he gasped.

"Assaulted a police officer for starters."

He slid his arm across his abdomen, protecting his aching ribs, and groaned.

The overhead lights flickered on and Lloyd came through the door and down the steps. Surveying the scene, he found Jonathan Bowman on his back, Patrice standing over him, her weapon trained on his heaving chest.