Nobody spoke.
I sat on the ground dazed and listening to the thump, thump, thump of retreating footsteps. The guard hovering over me muttered, “Drek.” Then kicked at his partner who was sitting on the ground next to me. Then he said, “He’s running!”
It was a reference to the footsteps, which my groggy self came around to realizing belonged to the unusual looking Peter Choi who’d just made it out of the back area and was likely sprinting towards the exit. The guard still standing said, “Drek!” again, but louder this time. Then he turned and ran after Choi. I started to get up, but the other guard was coming around and he was far from happy. He got to his feet before I did, and then he did the same magic trick with his gun. Wired Reflexes. His body was trained in a fashion that specific movement patterns could be performed a hundred times faster than the average person, as though drawing a gun were a button on a shortcut menu. Now that gun was pointed at me. At least my hands were still up.
“I think there’s been a misunderstanding here.” I said.
He tensed, his eyes narrowing in a brief flash of anger.
“No seriously,” I said, “I am an officer of the law. I thought you were harming that man.”
“Show me your badge.”
I raised my eyebrows. I was wearing a surgical gown from the weigh in–the same pre-surgery outfit Choi had on when he ran. I said, “Obviously, I don’t have it on me. I’m not here for, well, on the books work” It sounded reasonable to me at least. Cops went under the knife all the time, and they did it with tier own money to give them a competitive advantage on the streets. All the same, the work was frowned upon by NYPD INC. Because they didn’t have polcies in place to regulate officer modifications.
It was enough to at least make him reconsider shooting me. He took two steps backwards before lowering his gun, and then he turned and ran after his partner.
Some Thoughts:
- Went back and tried to fix whatever damage happened to the formatting in Chapter 21.