Free On Broken Wings by Francis Porretto

white, even teeth. His handshake said he was pleased to make your acquaintance in a fashion more convincing than words.
    It was the smile that caught Tiny's eye. Tiny was no slouch at analyzing facial expressions. You had to look closely, but if you did, the keys to a man's character could always be found there.
    Smalley's smile was wide, bright and almost perfect. No doubt he'd spent some time practicing it before a mirror. But there was a slight asymmetry to the left, just a tiny downturn at that corner of his mouth. If you paid comparable attention to his nose, you could see that the left nostril was ever so slightly tighter than the right one. However hard he'd tried, the good Commander had not quite driven either the sneer or the smirk from his face.
    Jake Bonham, the leader of the Screaming Eagle Road Vikings, had arranged the meeting. He'd insisted that Tiny take it seriously, and had pressed the head Butcher into wearing a suit and tie for the first time since Tiny had taken to the road. Tiny had been both irritated and uncomfortable. To dress in such a fashion was an act of submission, an acknowledgement of a power beyond what Tiny wielded. Tiny did not like to admit to the existence of powers beyond his own. Now, face to face with the District G commander, he was pleased to be able to spot even the smallest chink in the man's armor. It reduced his unease.
    "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Commander. Our mutual friend assured me that we would have matters of great interest to both of us to discuss."
    Smalley nodded. "And thank you for coming, ah, Tiny?"
    The Butcher lord inclined his head. "At your service."
    "No last name?"
    Tiny shook his head. "I haven't used one in fifteen years. I get writer's cramp quite easily, and this makes for a nice short signature."
    The policeman came around his desk and perched on its edge, before the chair in which Tiny sat. "A lot of people would be unwilling to deal with a man who won't give his name, you know. I'm not sure I'm not one of them."
    Tiny smiled. "Life's full of these little compromises, Commander. Surely we don't have to let it stand in the way of our business together?"
    Smalley's hand flashed out with no warning.. The police commander's fingers closed in a pincer grip along the biker's windpipe. Before Tiny could defend his trachea, Smalley trapped both of Tiny's wrists with his knee, clamping them inescapably against Tiny's legs.
    Tiny tried to rise, hoping to throw Smalley off him with the thrust of his legs, but the policeman's position over him was too great an advantage to overcome. A vicious squeeze of his voice box, at a pressure just short of crushing it, confirmed the biker's helplessness.
    "A man who won't give his name can seldom be trusted." Smalley's voice was soft, carrying no inflection at all. His words issued forth at a stately pace, as the chokehold drove Tiny toward unconsciousness. "He's likely to have a history he wants to conceal. He's even more likely to be contemplating a scam. Scam artists like to slip away quickly, and to leave no way they can be followed. All of this is obvious to anyone with three functional brain cells. And a man can't rise to the position of district commander on charm and good looks alone, Tiny. At least, not here in the City of Buffalo."
    The pressure vanished, and Tiny found himself unconstrained. When his vision had lost the red haze of oxygen deprivation, he glared up at the policeman, once again perched upon the edge of his desk, with hatred and grudging respect.
    "Can I rely on you to keep it to yourself, at least?"
    Smalley nodded. "Of course. Unless you cross me, in which case it will become very widely known, I assure you."
    Tiny gave his birth name. Smalley cocked an eyebrow.
    "I have to admit I've never heard it before. But if you want it kept between us, that's all right with me. Now, what did Mr. Bonham suggest we might be able to do for one another?"
    Tiny looked the big policeman in the eye. "He