by I.B. Holder
*****
Wagner rounded the stairs gun drawn. The music droning out of the jukebox from the bar below thumped through the aged timber floor. She was looking for room number 5, the second room on the left. It was a deluxe room meaning the window wasn’t broken and the lock worked. A phone rang at the end of the hall, then another closer to her.
Wagner knelt in front of the door and holstered her gun. Her hair fell into her face as she removed the pin holding it back and inserted it into the keyhole. Click. Far down the hall a door opened and a broad-chested man came lumbering out of his room. Bleary-eyed, he charged down the hall.
The unexpected speed with which the man closed on her caught her off guard. She barely had time to stand before her shoulder came under an urgent grip. Wagner’s impulse was to neutralize the man with a quick thrust of her elbow into his septum, but something stopped her. She looked into his eyes and sensed that it was not after all an attack.
Her theory was immediately supported when his stale breath spilled out a warning. “Cops in the house.” He ran on.
The bartender, by warning the upstairs occupants had just lowered his official status from piece of shit, to dead piece of shit. She braced herself, knowing that her temper would not serve her here, in this hallway. There was nothing to take out her frustration upon.
Ring. The phone rang in room 5. Wagner knew it was a signal. Another lout was coming down the hall at breakneck speed and after a quick calculation Wagner stepped out to meet him.
The moment his hand reached out to push her out of the way, it was blocked by her left hand, and then she slid it into the crux of her right elbow. This made Wagner the pivot point for a newly constructed biker merry-ground. Using all her weight, she heaved downward causing the biker’s center of gravity to drop, concentrating the force of his impact on the lower portion of the door. The lock stood no chance as the human battering ram went face first into the bottom panel, shoulders hitting squarely with a resounding crack. The door flew open.
Wagner stepped over him in the doorway as she drew her weapon, finger locked to the trigger in a cold embrace. The lights flickered as they came on, illuminating in yellow and brown tones through two dusty burnt lampshades a messy room with rumpled twin beds. She saw the remains of a half eaten dinner, and an open window. He’d been in this room only moments before.
Wagner walked over to the phone and picked it up. She didn’t wait for the voice on the other end. She said, “Jake, you’d better pray I catch him before he kills again, cause I know how to make sure you never sleep with both eyes closed, ever.” She slammed down the receiver.