Free Crystal Meth Cowboys by John Knoerle Page A

looked like he could poke his tongue right through it.
    "And what are niggers scared of, you might ask," said Bell, rotating the Kel beam like a locomotive's headlamp. No furtive figures were crouched in the prickly lantana bushes along the fence. "Dogs. Dogs, shit. Mice, parakeets, goldfish! They fuckin' hate animals."
    When they reached the corner of the yard Wes stood up and stretched his back. He decided to challenge Bell on these odious sterotypes. "And what are white people afraidof?" he demanded. "And don't say 'nothing', that's not an answer."
    "No, no. White people are the most scared of all."
    A low landscape light at the edge of the house threw pointed shadows over Bell's ears, making him look like a very tall cat. Wes understood that he was going to have to repeat the question if he wanted the answer.
    "And what are white people so scared of?"
    Bell's slowly-emerging Chesire grin made Wes fear he'd delivered another straight line.
    "The truth," said Bell and stepped into the back yard.
    A man lay curled up on the ground not twenty feet away. Wes lurched forward but Bell poled out an arm and stopped him. Bell raised his Kel light beam above his shoulder with his left hand and unsnapped the leather strap on his service weapon with his right. The curled-up figure remained curled up. Wes saw the reason for Bell's caution. The subject was essentially in a crouch, the single most dangerous stance according to Tactical Jack, enabling the subject to explode up and out with a concealed weapon.
    Bell said "Police officers! Show me your hands, show me your hands, let me see your hands.
Manos arriba
!"
    The man did not comply. Wes edged right, behind the man. Bell, his shoulders hunched to pounce, circled around in front, saying, "Show me your hands, let me see your hands…"
    The man was definitely alive. He was squeezing sharp mewling sounds through his windpipe and his body vibrated as if plugged to a wall socket. Wes hoped to God Bell wasn't going to shoot him. There was no indication that the party crasher had had a gun, though he could have a knife under there. If and when Bell's kel beam glinted off the blade he might start pumping rounds at the sight of the fabled 'shiny object in the suspect's hand'.
    Wes stopped ten feet behind the subject. He considered leaping forward, rolling the man over, disarming him ifnecessary, and shielding the man from Bell's bullets. But he stayed put.
    The curled-up man convulsed twice, kicking out his legs and snapping them back. Bell must have seen something he liked because he unbunched his shoulders and stood up, approaching the curled-up man with his font-of-all-wisdom grin. Wes moved up from behind. Bell dropped to one knee and yanked the man's hands from between his legs. No knife. Bell dragged his Kel beam across the man's blood-soaked yellow short-sleeved shirt and up past his chattering teeth to a fringe of brown hair that fell across a large forehead. "Well well well well
well
now," said Bell from very close. "Esteban No Middle Name Rodriguez. A-lone at last."
    Wes stood behind the man and peered down at him on tiptoe. He recognized the Hispanic Male Adult from Playa Road, the one with the twisting feet. Bell stood up. "Tell dispatch we need an ambulance. She's got the address."
    Wes grabbed up his talking brick and did as he was told. Esteban Rodriguez clutched his hemorrhaging abdomen and chattered his teeth. Bell stood astride Rodriguez, his kel beam raking the clammy face like a 50,000 watt spot beam from a whirlypig. The dispatcher said the paramedics were on the way.
    Wes watched Bell watching Rodriguez and said, "Shouldn't we do something? Like first aid or something?"
    Rodriguez' mouth opened and closed like a just-caught fish. "We are doing something," said Bell. "We're watching this little scumsucker die."
    -----
    "It was a waste of a perfectly good Kotex," said Bell, pulling off a calf-high black boot in the PD locker room. They were lace-up boots that unzipped on