Blood Trail

again.

    He could press charges. But she didn't think he would. He wasn't hurt and she was willing to bet that by the time he got his breath back he'd already be warping the facts to fit his world view - a world view that would not include the possibility of his being taken down by a woman.
    She also realized that this wouldn't have been the case if she still carried a badge, police brutality being a rallying cry of his kind.

    You know, she shoved her glasses up her nose and ran for the bus she could now see cresting the Eglington Avenue overpass, / think I could grow to like being a civilian.

    The euphoria faded along with the adrenaline and the crisis of conscience set in barely two blocks from the bus stop. It wasn't so much the violence itself that upset her as her reaction to it; try as she would, she simply couldn't convince herself that Harris hadn't got a small fraction of exactly what he had coming. By the time she was fighting her way to the back of the Dundas streetcar in an attempt to actually make it off at her stop, she was heartily sick of the whole argument.

    Violence is never the answer but sometimes, like with cockroaches, it's the only possible response. By physically moving two semi-comatose teenagers out of her way, she made it out the door at the last possible second. Harris is a cockroach. End of discussion. It was too damned hot to deal with personal ethics. She promised herself she'd take another crack at it when the weather cooled down.

    She could feel the heat of the asphalt through the soles of her sneakers and, walking as quickly as the seething crowds allowed, she turned up Huron Street toward home. Dundas and Huron crossed in the center of Chinatown, surrounded by restaurants and tiny markets selling exotic vegetables and live fish. In hot weather, the metal bins of food garbage heated up and the stench that permeated the area was anything but appetizing. Breathing shallowly through her mouth, Vicki could completely understand why the wer had hurried out of the city.

    As she passed, she checked the puddle. Tucked up against the curb in a spot where the asphalt had peeled off and a number of the original paving bricks were missing, the puddle collected local runoff as well as assorted organic flotsam. As the temperature rose, foul smelling bubbles occasionally broke through the scummy surface, adding their own bit of joy to the bouquet. Vicki had no idea how deep the puddle was. In five years, she'd never seen it dry.
    She had a theory that someday, something was going to crawl out of this little leftover bowl of primordial soup and terrorize the neighborhood, so she kept an eye on it. She wanted to be there when it happened.

    By the time she reached her apartment, she was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and all she wanted was a cold shower and a colder drink. She suspected it'd be some time before she got either when she could smell the coffee brewing inside as she put her key in the lock.

    "It's a hundred and twelve degrees in the shade," she muttered, swinging open the door, "how the hell can you drink hot coffee?"

    It was a good thing she didn't expect an answer, because she didn't get one. Snapping the lock back on, she threw her bag down in the hall and went into the tiny living room.

    "Nice of you to drop by, Celluci." She frowned. "You look like shit."

    "Thank you, Mother Theresa." He raised his mug and drank deeply, barely lifting his head off the back of the recliner. When he finished swallowing, he met her eyes. "We got the son of a bitch."

    "Margot?"

    Celluci nodded. "Got him cold. We picked the little bastard up at noon."

    At noon. While I was proving I was more macho than Billy Harris. For an instant Vicki was so blindly jealous she couldn't speak. That was what she should be doing with her life, making a difference, not making a fool of herself in the parking lot of a coffee factory. Lower lip caught between her teeth, she managed to wrestle the monster back into its pit although she couldn't quite manage the smile.

    "Good work." When she'd allowed Mike Celluci back into her life, she'd allowed police work back in. She'd just have to learn to deal with it.

    He nodded, his expression showing exhaustion and not much more. Vicki felt some of the tension go out of her shoulders. Either he understood or he was too tired to make a scene.
    Either way, she could cope. She reached over and took the empty mug from his hand.

    "When was the last time you