Manhattan Is My Beat

from the short circuit. She smelled the scorched-meat scent of the burn on her finger and thumb.
    Instantly, ignoring the pain, she was on her feet and running. Emily and Haarte, blinded by the flash, were groping toward the doorway. Rune, who’d had her eyes closed when the spark arced, was already thirty feet ahead of them, running cautiously, crouched, toward the front door, her useless right arm cradled in her left hand.
    She missed the two steps down, from the hallway to the entry foyer, and fell heavily forward. Her right arm shot out in front of her instinctively, and she felt the searing pain as the burned hand broke her fall. She couldn’t stop the grunt of pain.
    “There—she’s over there,” Emily called. “I’ll get her.”
    Rune climbed to her feet, hearing the woman’s high heels clattering after her. She couldn’t see Haarte anywhere. Maybe he was down in the basement, changing the fuse.
    Rune leapt toward the front door, chilled by panic from the thought of Emily, undoubtedly armed, moving close behind her.
    She reached for the top latch on the door. Then stopped, stepped slowly, stepped back against the wall. No! Christ no!
    There was a man outside. She couldn’t see clearly through the lacy curtains but she knew it had to be Pretty Boy. Haarte’s and Emily’s partner. The halo of curly hair caught pale light from the street. He seemed to be looking in the window, wondering why the lights had gone off inside.
    Rune turned and started toward the back of the house.
    Slowly, listening for Emily’s heels and Haarte’s footsteps.
    But there was no sound at all. Had they fled? Rune turned the corner and froze. There, only four or five feet away, was Emily, who inched forward, feeling her way along the wall, holding a gun. She’d kicked off her shoes, was silently barefoot.
    Rune pressed against the wall. The woman’s head turned, squinting into the gloom. Probably hearing Rune’s shallow breathing. She had a vague image of the woman’s silhouette lifting the gun. Pointing it toward Rune.
    She’ll hear my heart beating! She
has
to hear that.
    And that it may please thee to preserve all who are in danger by reason of their labor
.
    The silenced gun fired with a loud clicking
pop
. There was a fierce slap as the bullet hit the plaster a foot away from Rune’s head.
    We beseech thee to hear us, good Lord
.
    Another shot, closer.
    Rune struggled with all her will to remain silent.
    Emily turned toward the front door. Rune’s groping fingers grabbed the closest thing she could find—a heavy vase on a pedestal. She raised it and flung it hard toward the woman. It was a solid hit. Emily cried out in a high wail and fell to her knees. The gun disappeared into the shadows. The vase thudded, unbroken, onto the parquet.
    “I can’t find the fuses!” Haarte’s voice shouted from very near. “Where the hell is she?”
    “Help me!” Emily called.
    Haarte walked forward. “I can’t see a fucking thing.”
    Rune dodged out of his way.
    “There!” Emily called. “Beside you!”
    “What—” Haarte began, and Rune sprinted down the hallway, heading toward where the back door should be.
    Yes! There it was. She could see it. And it didn’t look like anybody was outside.
    She heard Haarte’s voice in the front of the house, calling to Emily.
    And Rune knew then that it was going to be all right; she could escape. They were nowhere near her and Rune had to spring only twenty feet or so to get to the back door. She slammed the hallway door shut, wedged a chair under the knob, and kept running.
    Haarte got to the door in a few seconds and tried to open it but it was tightly blocked.
    Rune could see dim light coming through the lace curtains on the back door.
    Nothing could stop her now. She’d get outside, into the alley, run like hell. Call 911 from the first phone she found.
    Haarte slammed into the door and pushed it open slightly, but the chair still held.
    Fifteen feet. Ten.
    Another slam.
    “Go around, through the kitchen,” Haarte called to Emily.
    But their voices were a world away. Rune was at the door. She was safe.
    She undid the chain. Turned the latch and then the knob. She swung the door wide and stepped out onto the back porch.
    And stopped cold.
    Oh, no …
    No more than two feet away from her was Pretty Boy. He was startled but not so startled he didn’t lift his pistol like a quick-draw gunslinger and point it directly at her face.
    No, no, no …
    She leaned back