Free Let the Devil Out by Bill Loehfelm Page A

witnesses.
    Maureen had a disappointing realization.
    If this girl pulls a gun, she thought, and if it looks like she might pull the trigger, I have to intervene on the stalker’s behalf. A telltale metallic jingle made the issue moot.
    No gun in that purse, only house keys.
    The girl walked quicker. The stalker hastened as well, closing the gap between him and the girl. Maureen moved closer, too, convinced that neither player knew of her presence.
    Whatever was going to happen was happening very soon. Like in-less-than-a-minute soon. Maureen had waited hours to hit this spot. Now she was down to the final seconds. The girl reached for a wrought-iron gate. Maureen heard the stalker catch his breath.
    Here it comes, Maureen thought. Don’t miss it.
    The gate creaked as the girl swung it open onto a walk leading to a small cottage. No lights were on inside. Not even a fucking porch light burned.
    What was wrong with this girl? Maureen thought. Did she know nothing about the city, about the world she lived in? There are people in this world, Maureen remembered, to whom awful things haven’t happened yet. And I’m here in the dark, she thought, to keep that true for this dumb girl for one more day.
    She pulled the ASP from her back pocket. She gave the man half a moment to acquit himself, to let the girl know he was there, to call out her name. Anything to tell Maureen he wasn’t following this girl home with ill intent. Anything. To not be what Maureen knew in her bones he was. Do that, Maureen thought, show me you’re not what I think you are and I will walk on by. I will let this go. The man said nothing. He did nothing but reach for the gate. He’d been smart enough to let it bang closed before he opened it, knowing some part of the girl’s brain waited to register that sound.
    The man slipped up the walk behind the girl, impressively silent, had her within arm’s reach. Maureen darted through the gate behind the man. She didn’t wait for him to reach for the girl.
    She fell on him from behind, kicking out the back of one knee, locking his throat in the crook of her elbow. He lurched forward, gasping, knocking into the back of the girl, who went facedown without a sound onto the brick steps leading up the porch.
    Maureen hammered the ASP down on the knee she’d kicked. The joint gave out. As they fell, she and the man she’d pursued, her foot slipped off the edge of the walkway, and she rolled her ankle. Electric pain shot through her ankle and up her calf. The pain made her gasp. Not again, she thought. This fucking ankle will never heal. Forget it, she told herself. Use it. Let it hurt. Use the adrenaline, the anger.
    They tumbled into a row of ginger plants, falling to the ground among the stalks. The man landed facedown, Maureen on top of him. He clawed at Maureen’s forearm with both hands, trying to pry her arm away from his throat. He yanked at the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Her grip wouldn’t give. When she felt him weaken under her, she released his throat, letting him breathe. She didn’t want to strangle him. Grabbing him by the back of the head, she pushed his face into the dirt. He couldn’t be allowed to get a look at her. He flopped under her like a fish. He was a fighter, but not much of one. He was a weak man.
    Inside the house, a dog barked, a crazed yippy thing that would wear on the nerves quickly. Maybe panicked enough to get people looking out the window. She’d have to work quickly.
    She straddled the small of the man’s back. She cocked her arm and thumped him a hard shot to the rib cage with the ASP. The blow made a sound like she’d slapped a pumpkin. He cried out into the dirt, his breath exploding from him.
    â€œStop fucking moving,” she said, “and lie there.”
    â€œI can’t—I can’t breathe.”
    â€œLie still,” Maureen said, “and take it like a man.”
    â€œMy fucking ribs.