Chapter 2

      The victim was impaled through an eye socket on one of the black fence posts.

            If it didn't look so damn painful, I might have collapsed into bales of inappropriate laughter.  The angle at which the body hung looked like something out of an old Roadrunner cartoon.  He was literally "S" shaped with his skinny ass in the air. Blood had dried in almost invisible rivulets down the rod iron; textured rivers.  His hands dangled limply, the backs resting against the fence, and his mouth hung wide enough for a bird to nest in it.    

           With one gloved finger, I tested the sharpness of the post beside the corpse, shaped like an arrow and just as deadly.  “Tell me he was dead when it happened.”

            The Coroner shrugged, blowing out a breath that jarred the lock of brown hair hanging in his face.  “We've got defensive wounds on his hands and arms," he told me, gripping the vic's arm and waggling it at me.  I rolled my eyes.  "Just at a glance?  I don't see any murder wounds.  He ain't got a slit throat or visible knife slashes or gunshot wounds.  Until we get the toxicology reports back on the autopsy, I think it’s safe to assume he was very much alive.”  He gestured to the post under the dead man’s face and the sticky red pool on the asphalt under him.  “The amount of blood seems to agree.”

            I shuddered, my eye twitching.

            "Call me when the reports come in," I said with a sigh.

            I turned to the rookie standing behind me, fluttering his hands like a sparrow, and shoved the victim's wallet at him.  If I asked him to wipe my ass for me, I'm about 98% positive he'd do it.  "Get me something, Ted.  Anything.  If his mother burned the toast yesterday morning, I want to know about it."

            "Yes, ma'am."  I watched him scurry away in his dress-up clothes, the toddler going to paint pictures for mom.  I swear to god, I haven't a clue where they find these guys. 

            "Any thoughts?" my partner said, sidling up next to me with her Iphone in hand.  Neesha Barnes was as big, black, and beautiful as a woman could get, with hair the mahogany color found most often on emo teenagers and odd gray eyes that looked out of place in her plump, dark face.  She'd been my partner for five years and a cop for double that. 

            I tipped my thumb at the corpse.  "Glad I'm not that guy."

            Neesha clucked at me, tucking her phone in her pocket.  "Not what I meant, Sarge."

            I gave my face a vigorous rub-down with both hands, not for the first time glad I don't wear make-up.  "Fuck, Neesh, I have no idea.  How the hell could anyone manhandle a 250 pound guy into position to impale his fucking eyeball on a fence post?  It's insanity."

            "Stranger things have happened."  She popped her bubblegum, adjusting her gun belt around her substantial waist.  Bless her heart, I could hear her bulletproof vest screaming.  The next time she asked to stop at Krispy Kreme for the "Hot" sign I was saying "NO."

            "I'll stick with stranger things, thank you." 

            "Sergeant Gordon?"  The voice called from behind us, and Neesha and I both turned; she a little more expectantly than I.  I had reached that point where I was in desperate need of a vacation.  Thompson, another newbie with a disastrous ego I was determined to break, came hustling up to us.  He was ex-military with the large chest, no neck, and faded haircut to prove it. 

            "Yeah?"

            "Sarge," Thompson started warily, his phone pressed to his ear.  He had his handcuffs on the wrong hip.  I tilted my head just a bit to the left, wondering whether to ream him then or write him up later.  Decisions, decisions.  "Robin Hood strikes again."

            "God damn it," I muttered, yanking my menthols from the inside of my coat pocket.  "Did they get him?"

            "No."  Of course not.  They never do.

            "Jesus, the guy's a fucking creeper," I moaned to Neesha, who just shrugged amiably.  I stuck a cigarette between my lips and struck a match, shielding against the wind.  "Who was it?"

            Thompson listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone--probably dispatch--and then moved the phone away from his ear.  "Some big-time dope dealer.  Guy's got a rap sheet a mile long."

            Taking a long drag on my cancer stick, I let the soothing mint seep into my bloodstream before I blew out a stream of smoke at him.  "How much?"

            Nodding at the phone, he shot his dark eyes back up to me.  "Dealer's not talking."

            "Of course he isn't," I said, disgusted.  "Keep him in lockup until I can make it down there."

            "Um, Sarge?  He's in the hospital."

            "Oh for crap's sake."

            Neesha patted my arm.  "Dude's a guerilla."

            "He's going to be a paralyzed-from-the-neck-down-guerilla when I get my hands on him," I grumbled, dropping my half-finished cig to the ground and stomping it out with the toe of my high heel.

Chapter 1

            My lungs were straining to grasp air, my legs were starting to feel like rubber, and my body was beginning to quake. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest like a Jehovah’s witness at a front door wanting to know if you’ve found Jesus yet. My pulse was quickening by the nanosecond; everything was coming together for the final exhilarating moment. It may sound like I was in the midst of some grade-A sex but unfortunately I was being chased by a cop.

            Actually, I was in the middle of assaulting and taking money from a common low-life street corner dope dealer when a black and white just happened to come rolling up on us. Must’ve been a rookie, they seem to have a knack for that shit while the older officers know exactly where to go to avoid instances like this. He shoved his car over the curb and on to the sidewalk, lights flashing and siren blaring. I turned to face the vehicle with my cash filled hands in the air, just as he was exiting the driver’s side. Standing behind the car door, the Irish-looking peace keeper drew his weapon, pointed it at me, and proceeded to give me commands like “Turn around” and “Lay face first on the ground!”

            Oh yea, this kid was totally a rookie.

            I complied with his first request but decided that it would tarnish the age-old tradition of cops and robbers if I didn’t run, so I took off at a dead sprint. My first step I took semi-carefully, making sure my size 12 tactical boot landed right in the middle of thug life’s chest. I heard some ribs crack and a gurgled groan escape from him and couldn’t help but crack a smile.

            After my moment of satisfaction I focused on the task at hand; not getting my ass arrested. I ran full speed down the dimly lit sidewalk for about 200 yards with Fife trailing behind me by about fifty yards and losing ground, trying to run and call out on the radio at the same time. I stopped just before an almost completely dark alley on my left. I could lose him in there. I turned my head to him, he was yelling something along the lines of “stop right there you asshole,” so I gave him a mischievous grin and took off again.

            About half way down the alley was an eight foot chain-linked fence. I considered jumping it but figured it’d be more fun to mess with the newb and hide in plain sight. As I was running towards the fence I began focusing my energy on making myself disappear. I stood right beneath the only light in the entire alley and waited.

            “Baker 312 to radio, I lost sight of my suspect. Must’ve jumped the fence in the alley just east of 28^th street.”

            “10-4 baker 312. Do you have a description?”

            “Yea, he’s a white male in his late twenties. About 6’3”, with long brown hair tied in a pony tail. He’s wearing a black jacket with black fatigue pants and combat boots. He had a scar down the right side of his face.”

            “10-4, we’ll put out an attempt to locate.”

            I stood not two feet away from the confused young officer. He was staring up at the fence wondering how the hell I could’ve made such a climb over it and be able to exit the other end of the alley in the split second before he made the turn off of the sidewalk. Shaking his head, he began walking back towards the original scene of the crime.

            I waited a good five minutes so I knew it would be all clear and released the energy I had been holding. A subtle pop sounded and my image was once again clear beneath the yellow alley light. Don’t be too hard on the kid, it’s hard to catch the invisible man.