Free Lethal Rage by Brent Pilkey Page A

Carlsberg may have been a big man physically, but his voice squeaked like a coward’s. “The old nigger sicced it on me.”
    Sy’s open hand smacked off the back of Carlsberg’s head. “Use that word again, asshole, and I’ll put you in the fucking hospital.”
    Carlsberg stared at Sy, wide-eyed, probably imagining numerous injuries that could require a trip to the emergency. “You wouldn’t,” he whispered.
    Sy smiled.
    â€œNo, he wouldn’t,” Jack said and Carlsberg looked relieved until Jack added, “we both would. Welcome to 51, fuckhead.”
    â€œSo you just broke down his door?” Karen asked incredulously.
    She had waited up for him — an advantage of having a wife who had summers off. They were sitting on the deck again, but his old police shirt was in the wash and there were no cold beer bottles for her to play with. She still looked fantastic to him, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt — amazingly, the night air had a slight chill to it — with her hair pulled back in a ponytail.
    They were enjoying the coolness — no need to sleep with the ac on that night, thankfully — and a cup of tea before calling it a night. Karen was on a lounge chair with her legs stretched out; Jack sat on the stairs leading to the lawn. His free hand was casually rubbing her bare feet. He thought she would be happy, maybe even proud, about them arresting Carlsberg, but she wasn’t.
    â€œIt’s not like we broke the door, Kare, just the chain.”
Trust her not to see the positive side of the job.
    â€œI realize that.” He heard a hint of irritation in her voice. “But don’t you need a warrant or something before breaking into someone’s home? Even if it is just the chain?”
    â€œTechnically, yes. But if we left to get a warrant, there’s no telling what he would have done while we were gone. And there’s no way a sergeant would have authorized us to guard the door until a warrant was obtained.”
    â€œIt still seems wrong to me.” Karen drew her knees up to her chest, sliding her feet away from his touch.
    Great. Now she’s really pissed.
He ran a hand through his hair, thinking. How to make her understand? “You should have seen this guy, Kare. Eighty-three years old, built like a toothpick, not bothering anyone, and this . . .” He searched for the right words to express his utter contempt for Carlsberg and decided blunt was best. “This fucking gutless coward comes out and sucker-punches him for no reason. Just because he knows Phil can’t fight back.”
    â€œI understand, but —”
    Jack held up a hand. He needed her to
really
understand. “After he knocks Phil down, and we’re lucky he didn’t break a hip or something, Carlsberg draws his foot back to lay the boots to him, and Bear defends his owner. Kare, you should have seen this dog. Fourteen years old, twenty pounds tops, so arthritic he can barely walk, and he goes after this guy to protect his owner.” Jack felt himself tearing up. Bear had made quite the impression on him. “If not for that dog, Carlsberg could have stomped Phil to death.”
    â€œWhy did he stop?” Her voice was softer. Maybe she was beginning to understand.
    â€œPhil’s good luck. After Carlsberg kicked Bear across the deck, a couple more tenants came out, and I guess he didn’t want an audience. He beats up a defenceless old man and his dog and then hides behind his door when we arrive. I’m learning there’s a huge difference between what’s illegal and what’s wrong. So, please, don’t tell me what we did was wrong.”
    She sat quietly, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. He knew she was thinking it over, trying to overcome the logical, straightforward, black-and-white world she had been raised in. He admired her, sitting quietly, sipping his tea while she reached a