Lieberman's Day by Stuart M. Kaminsky

said J.J., getting up. “I didn’t know they really grew fruitcakes like this anymore.”
    Frankie fixed his eyes on the window, beyond the window to the front of the Clark Street police station. Two uniformed policemen, both black, came out and hurried around to the rear of the building.
    â€œI’m gonna have to insist that you look at me when I talk to you, little Jesus,” said J.J., taking a step toward Frankie.
    The fat girl behind the counter picked up on what was happening and stopped talking to the kid in the white shirt.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” she asked.
    â€œNothing,” said J.J. “Friend and I are just having a little fun here. We’re just two couples cooling down after a night on the town.”
    The girl looked at J.J.’s false grin and then at Frankie, who did not meet her gaze. She started talking to the kid in the white shirt again but kept glancing back at J.J., who advanced on Frankie and leaned over on his table, palms flat, breath stale from rot and brimstone.
    â€œHey, kid, Jesus is fine but will he be there to go down on you when you need him?” J.J. whispered in Frankie’s ear.
    Before J.J. could really start his laugh, he felt himself flying backward as if the wall had exploded. Someone screamed and J.J. couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see anything but black, and then he felt the knee in his stomach, and again, and something in his ear.
    â€œGet off, get off, you crazy bastard,” the girl called Lauren screamed.
    â€œStop that,” yelled the fat girl behind the counter.
    Then the weight was off him and J.J. could see. Standing over him was a crazed, open-mouthed bloody thing. The thing was kicking him. The thing turned and punched Jess in the throat. She staggered back, holding her neck, trying to breathe. Lauren screamed, “Oh, my God,” and went running for the door as the crazy thing J.J. had let loose grabbed a chair and threw it at her.
    J.J. tried to sit up, but something was broken and he couldn’t move.
    Screaming, more voices.
    The kid who was no longer a kid had picked up another chair and turned toward J.J., who tried to slide backward, gasping, “Hey, I was kidding, for God’s sake. What the fuck are you doin’?”
    And then the horror hit J.J. The horror that came with the realization that the kid had something raw and bloody between his teeth, the realization that it was JJ.’s ear.
    â€œOh,” moaned J.J. “Help. Somebody, help.”
    The creature standing over J.J. spat out his ear and brought the chair down on him, crying, “Are you washed in the blood of the lamb?”
    That was all J.J. Prescott remembered, that and the sight of Jess trying to cry and catch her breath. All he would remember until he woke up in the intensive-care ward of Weiss Hospital four days later.
    Frankie was going to hit the demon again, but the Lord whispered in his ear that the bloody exorcism was complete. Frankie turned to the gasping woman, the one who had chewed gum and smoked at the same time. She staggered backward when he looked at her, fell back over a table, and hit her head against the window while trying to scream.
    Frankie dropped the chair and ran for the door, the same door Lauren had run through seconds ago. He ran out into the street knowing that he was a bloody vision.
    He raced through the cold, frightened an old woman on her way to the bus stop, and made his way to the refuge of his pickup truck.
    He pulled the collar of his jacket up to cover part of his bloody face, forced himself to be calm, and turned on the ignition. In the rearview mirror he saw Lauren coming out of the police station with two uniformed policemen who weren’t even wearing coats. They didn’t look in Frankie’s direction. The Lord was still on his side. Praise the Lord.
    He pulled into the slow-moving traffic heading south into the city.
    He had passed the latest test, had defeated the