Free Futile Efforts by Tom Piccirilli

gun.
    Vin said, "No."
    He grabbed the officer's wrist, yanking him off balance, setting him up for a left hook.   Vin let one loose and felt the kid's lips smear beneath his fist.   It felt so beautiful and right that he gave a brief laugh.   He cut it off, knowing this was the serious shit now, he'd just crossed over a line.
    The cop hadn't gone down but had flown backwards a few feet, doubled over holding his face with one hand, clearing the gun free from leather with the other.   Vin stepped close and brought a vicious uppercut into the kid's chin.   It lifted the officer two feet into the air and deposited him on his ass, out cold.   The pistol spun across the floor.
    There, he thought, that was all right.
    He grabbed the woman by the forearm and said, "Take me to that German Shepherd."
    "You're insane."
    "Whatever, lady."
    "You're going to go to jail."
    "There's worse things," he told her, though he really wasn't certain.   Was being in the can going to be worse than living on the outside with no purpose?   Probably not.
    She brought him into the kennel and led him to a cage.   The German Shepherd sat there, ears back, looking terrified.   "Let him out."
    "It'll attack."
    "He's harmless.   Do it."
    She unlocked the cage and pulled away.   Hesitantly, the dog stepped out and stood before Vin and licked his hand again.   The woman said, "It's a killer.   It still has blood on its fur."
    "No different than any of us, lady."
    "Why are you doing this?"
    "Because it's time to draw a line."
    The dog walked beside him and they moved back out into the main room.   The cop was still unconscious.   Again Vin felt that weird sense of pride, although he knew it would land him in prison.   At least he'd thrown one good punch.
    As they passed by the officer, the woman shrugged free and slowly drifted from Vin.   So slowly that he didn't realize what was going on as she sort of squatted down.   The hell was this?   She held her belly with both hands and went to her knees.
    Oh man, she's going into labor.   Look at this, look what I did. Vin held his hands open to her, patting the air in a calming gesture, and asked, "Are you okay?"
    It took another second for him to understand that she was going for the gun.   He couldn't believe it.   She was kneeling down reaching for the cop's pistol, had her hand on it now, looking back over her shoulder at Vin with furious eyes.   The dog's tail flicked against his knee.
    Had he really done anything tonight that was worth killing him for?   Even if he was nuts, even if he deserved some jail time for knocking a cop on his ass, did he deserve to get shot for it?
    He went, "Wait a second–"
    She closed one eye like Annie Oakley and pulled the trigger.   The noise started the animals screeching and barking again, except for the German Shepherd that sat silently beside Vin.   She'd aimed too wide and taken a piece out of the door jamb behind him
    Just like that.   Without even saying anything.   Telling him to freeze or she'd shoot.   No, she'd just tried to put him down, another dog in the pound.
    He ran at her as she sighted on him once more.
    What a night, Jesus Christ.   Vin slammed his arm down on hers and the gun went off again.   She screamed and a searing pain drove through his gut.
    Oh man, she actually did it.   I'm shot.
    But even that wasn't good enough for her.   Damn, he thought, pregnant women are rough.   She held the pistol up again, centering on his face.   Not even his heart, she wanted to take out his eyes.   Vin rapped her once in the chin and she sank on top of the cop.
    He'd hurt a pregnant woman.   Here he'd been inflated with some dumbass notion of gallantry, and instead of being a hero for a cute girl serving him scotch, he'd punched out a pregnant woman.
    What would Johnny Tormino and Jojo Lebowski say?   What would Vin's father be thinking of him now, from the other side of the grave?
    "Oh god, I'm sorry.   I'm so sorry."
    The German