The Empress File

loose, satisfied that she hadn’t been seen.
    When I went down on my belly, Hill flew into a fury, kicking me in the legs, the hips, and along the side. Most of the kicks to the side hit my arm. Somewhere along the nightmare crawl to the door, the arm broke below the elbow. I didn’t realize it until he kicked it a second time in the same place, and the pain ripped out as a groan out of my chest.
    “That’s right,” Hill brayed. “Let’s hear it, motherfucker, what you done to us, you oughtta hurt.…”
    St. Thomas was as excited as Hill, out of his mind, waving the pistol, and as Hill was kickingme, he fired a shot into the ground next to my head. Dirt blew up into my face, embedding itself in my cheek, but by then I didn’t care.…
    S IX FEET from the open door Hill, impatient, grabbed me by the hair on the back of my head and dragged me into the building. My broken arm bumped over the concrete doorsill, and I may have fainted.
    Water splashed off my face. Hill was pouring it out of a paper cup. It was cold, out of a bottle cooler, and trickled off my forehead, down across my nose and chin onto my neck. I opened the one eye that still seemed to work, and found myself lying on my back on the concrete floor, my legs spread, my head propped up against the wall.
    “Can you see, motherfucker? I want you to see,” Hill brayed. I could see and tried to say something. St. Thomas was there, still grinning, still waving the gun, though he didn’t need it. “Look at this. You see this? This is the vacuum chamber, motherfucker.”
    Directly across from me was the Plexiglas door of the killing cage. Hill pounded it with his hand.
    “The vacuum chamber. We put big fuckin’ dogs in there, boy. We put Doberman pinschers in there. We put German shepherds and rottweilers in there. Big, dangerous dogs, we can’t take no chances. Once you put a dog in there and close these latches, no way he’s gonna get out. If he gotout, he’d tear your fuckin’ liver out, boy, so we built these latches strong. You know what we’re gonna do, boy?”
    He waited for an answer, but I was in no shape to make one. He seemed vaguely disappointed.
    “We’re gonna put you in there,” he screamed, smacking the plastic door again. “Then we’re gonna get a couple of lawn chairs and some beer, and we’re gonna push the button on you, and then we’re gonna sit here and watch you try to scratch your way out. Just like TV. Like a big-screen TV. I’m gonna do a little more work on you, cocksucker, because I want you to hurt before you go, but I ain’t gonna kick you in the head, and you know why?”
    He turned to St. Thomas. “You know why I ain’t gonna kick him in the head, Arnie?”
    “No. Why?” Arnie was grinning, the straight man in a comedy act.
    “’Cause I want him to know what’s happening to him. You hear that, motherfucker? I want you to know.” He grabbed one of my feet and jerked me away from the wall. The back of my head bounced off the floor, and Hill booted me in the side. It was the good side, the side where I hadn’t been hurt yet, but more ribs went. I tried to move, tried to roll, tried to cover with my hands, but he was in a rage, screaming, spitting, kicking, howling.…
    I had the good eye open, watching myself beingkicked to death. St. Thomas was there behind him, encouraging him, laughing, with the little silver pistol, a cheerleader.
    Then LuEllen was there with him. She came out of nowhere, like a rabbit out of a hat. She had Hill’s old weapon, the .45, the one we’d fished out of the river, and she put it next to St. Thomas’s ear. At the very last second he sensed her presence and started to go stiff, but she pulled the trigger and blew his brains all over the wall of the animal control building.
    Hill spun, staggered, caught himself on the wall, got around, his mouth hanging open in shock, and looked straight down the barrel of the .45.
    “Don’t,” he croaked. I don’t think I could hear him, but I could see him say the word:
Don’t.
    I saw LuEllen’s mouth moving but couldn’t hear what she was saying. The world was going pink on me, and I realized that while I could see the shot go through Arnie’s skull, I hadn’t actually heard it, or the noise hadn’t registered. I thought I might be dying.
    A few seconds later I was moving. Trying to focus. Trying. We were outside, the cool air on my face, and then I was in the back of the station wagon, lying flat on my back. I could see