all unsure what to do.
“Oh my dear God,” I heard one woman say.
“Say it isn’t so,” said another.
“We should get out of here.”
“It’s not safe.”
I looked at the mother. She hadn’t heard any of it. She was just focusing on the alley and what lay at the end of it. The noise from the car horns built to a crescendo and in the distance I heard another loud wailing: the howl of police sirens. There was no way the cops would make it through the stationary traffic. I glanced again at the hysterical mother: I had to do something. I couldn’t see anything down the alley apart from a couple trash cans. I went in.
I drew the Colt and pulled the trigger to clear the empty chamber. I was ready to shoot whatever might be lurking at the other end of that alley. I felt the muscles in my jaw tightening. My teeth were grinding hard against one another. I tried to steady my breathing.
The alley emptied into a small yard, separated from other yards by a crisscross of low walls. I came to a stop and listened. The loud and rhythmic panting of an animal sounded from somewhere close by. My own heartbeat thundered in my ears.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw it. Black, its coat glistening in the sunlight, just two yards away. I could see it flare its nostrils. It had picked up my scent. A moment later it turned its wide head toward me, its gaze locking onto mine.
I froze. The same way you freeze when you see a shark in the ocean. For a second I imagined the cat leaping over both yards in a single bound.
It lifted its head a little higher. I couldn’t see blood around its mouth: I had to hope the mother’s child was some place else, safe. With a lot of effort I managed to get my arms working again. I straightened the Colt and aimed it straight between the beast’s eyes.
I hesitated.
Suddenly it felt wrong to punish the animal for doing the only thing it knew how. Maybe it could be captured and taken back to Goebel’s.
I heard a noise. A crash. From behind me. Instinctively, I turned toward it. A cop spewed out of the alley, his gun raised.
A split second later the panther went on the attack. It leapt over a low wall heading straight for me and the cop. In one single, smooth movement it landed in the adjacent yard and started running at top speed. It slowed for a moment, adjusting its stride, then leapt again, launching itself over the final wall separating it from us.
A shot rang out.
The beast didn’t even slow. The cop had missed. A moment later the panther was flying through the air toward us. I aimed for its head and pulled the trigger. All I could do was watch in awe as the animal seemed to freeze mid-flight. Then it dropped like a stone.
And landed at my feet. Part of its head was missing.
I lowered my weapon and let out the breath I’d been holding.
“Good shot.” The cop—a young, blond, innocent-looking type—kept his gun aimed at the big cat. “You think it’s dead?”
I couldn’t find the words to answer.
We stood there in stunned silence just staring at the bloodied black heap before us. It was still breathing, but each breath was smaller than the last.
My arm hung limp by my side, the weight of the Colt dragging it down. It took me a few seconds to realize my hand was trembling. I hadn’t fired my gun in a long while.
“Reckon I owe you my life,” the cop said.
He probably did.
Two more cops tumbled from the alley into the yard. One checked the neighboring plots, calling out for the kid. There was no sign of a child anywhere. Within a minute ten more officers crowded into the cramped space. Shortly after that the men and women who had been standing on the sidewalk started streaming down the alley, anxious to gawp at the corpse lying at our feet.
Conscious I was holding a loaded weapon in the middle of a jostling crowd, I put the Colt back in its holster. I became aware of horns blasting from the other end of the alley. I suddenly remembered I’d abandoned the
“Oh my dear God,” I heard one woman say.
“Say it isn’t so,” said another.
“We should get out of here.”
“It’s not safe.”
I looked at the mother. She hadn’t heard any of it. She was just focusing on the alley and what lay at the end of it. The noise from the car horns built to a crescendo and in the distance I heard another loud wailing: the howl of police sirens. There was no way the cops would make it through the stationary traffic. I glanced again at the hysterical mother: I had to do something. I couldn’t see anything down the alley apart from a couple trash cans. I went in.
I drew the Colt and pulled the trigger to clear the empty chamber. I was ready to shoot whatever might be lurking at the other end of that alley. I felt the muscles in my jaw tightening. My teeth were grinding hard against one another. I tried to steady my breathing.
The alley emptied into a small yard, separated from other yards by a crisscross of low walls. I came to a stop and listened. The loud and rhythmic panting of an animal sounded from somewhere close by. My own heartbeat thundered in my ears.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw it. Black, its coat glistening in the sunlight, just two yards away. I could see it flare its nostrils. It had picked up my scent. A moment later it turned its wide head toward me, its gaze locking onto mine.
I froze. The same way you freeze when you see a shark in the ocean. For a second I imagined the cat leaping over both yards in a single bound.
It lifted its head a little higher. I couldn’t see blood around its mouth: I had to hope the mother’s child was some place else, safe. With a lot of effort I managed to get my arms working again. I straightened the Colt and aimed it straight between the beast’s eyes.
I hesitated.
Suddenly it felt wrong to punish the animal for doing the only thing it knew how. Maybe it could be captured and taken back to Goebel’s.
I heard a noise. A crash. From behind me. Instinctively, I turned toward it. A cop spewed out of the alley, his gun raised.
A split second later the panther went on the attack. It leapt over a low wall heading straight for me and the cop. In one single, smooth movement it landed in the adjacent yard and started running at top speed. It slowed for a moment, adjusting its stride, then leapt again, launching itself over the final wall separating it from us.
A shot rang out.
The beast didn’t even slow. The cop had missed. A moment later the panther was flying through the air toward us. I aimed for its head and pulled the trigger. All I could do was watch in awe as the animal seemed to freeze mid-flight. Then it dropped like a stone.
And landed at my feet. Part of its head was missing.
I lowered my weapon and let out the breath I’d been holding.
“Good shot.” The cop—a young, blond, innocent-looking type—kept his gun aimed at the big cat. “You think it’s dead?”
I couldn’t find the words to answer.
We stood there in stunned silence just staring at the bloodied black heap before us. It was still breathing, but each breath was smaller than the last.
My arm hung limp by my side, the weight of the Colt dragging it down. It took me a few seconds to realize my hand was trembling. I hadn’t fired my gun in a long while.
“Reckon I owe you my life,” the cop said.
He probably did.
Two more cops tumbled from the alley into the yard. One checked the neighboring plots, calling out for the kid. There was no sign of a child anywhere. Within a minute ten more officers crowded into the cramped space. Shortly after that the men and women who had been standing on the sidewalk started streaming down the alley, anxious to gawp at the corpse lying at our feet.
Conscious I was holding a loaded weapon in the middle of a jostling crowd, I put the Colt back in its holster. I became aware of horns blasting from the other end of the alley. I suddenly remembered I’d abandoned the
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