The Blood Detail (Vigil) by Arvin Loudermilk Page A

in the rain and retrieving a poncho and a modified shotgun from the opened trunk. I snatched a second poncho for myself and closed the lid with some force. Angie was already outside with her own cap on, and the car was all closed up. Somebody screamed in the distance. I tossed Angie the rain protection and her trusty shotgun as I took off in a sprint in the direction of the wail, slipping on my own poncho on as I ran. Angie was quick to follow. I could hear her footsteps splashing behind me.
    The complex we were charging into was pseudo-Spanish in design, vintage LA, with red ceramic roof tiles and arched doorways. The perimeter of the place was contained by a seven-foot cinder block wall. The three primary residential buildings were arranged in an open-ended square, a pool and a courtyard at its center, and a large administration building at the top of the grounds, right about where we had left our vehicle. Between the outer wall and the back patios of the various townhouses was a covered parking area which backed the entire location in a loop. The scream had originated in the rear of this blacktopped lot—precisely where Angie and I were headed.
    We hit the first turn and a beam of light shone out. Angie had lit up the flashlight she kept duct-taped to the barrel of her shotgun like a sighting apparatus. That wasn’t our only light source either. A chain of amber security lights towered above the cinder block wall. But the flashlight was more directed than the soft-hued lamps, and therefore more helpful.
    Regardless of the surrounding illumination, a half-blind person could have spotted the ten-speed bike overturned on the asphalt. It was just sitting out there on its own, its front wheel still spinning. I slowed my gait and shuffled around the fallen bicycle in an arc, and finally unholstered my sidearm. Angie came up on my left so we could move in from two separate angles. She was breathing heavily, which was nothing new. She was not much of a runner, and I was always getting on her about her breath control. It’s important to manage your body. There was no way a quick sprint was going to wear me out.
    Angie started swiping the flashlight/shotgun conglomeration back and forth between the parked vehicles. I heard a muffled grunt and I slipped between the van and the compact car in front of me, my Glock at attention. Angie cut through herself, one car length down. As we stepped out from under the grated overhang, the swaying flashlight beam found what we’d been looking for—a hulking male in the grass, sprawled on top of an unknown female.
    “LAPD officers,” I said. “Roll the hell off that woman now!”
    Angela came up on my right. “We are not going to tell you again,” she said, much louder than I had spoken. “We’re armed. Do not make us come over there and remove you ourselves.”
    Something was seriously wrong, and I knew it at once. The only movement I was getting off the guy was his scraggly head bobbing up and down. His clothes were old and ratty, particularly the leather duster which was splaying out every which way. The grunting I’d heard before had this enthusiasm to it, and it was definitely emanating from where the guy’s head was continuing to jostle. We couldn’t wait around for him to do as he was told.
    I motioned for Angie to cover me and I moved closer. I could see the woman better from a more slanted viewpoint. She had on blue bike shorts and a white stretch top. I could not make out her face, and would probably not be able to until we had gotten him clear of her.
    I gave Angie another two-finger signal, counted off, and rammed the bottom of my boot against the guy’s hip. He was a strong bastard, because my blow was hefty, and he did not shift an inch. I kicked him several more times, and he started to take an interest. He looked up at me, mouth open, and I swear he was the ugliest thing I had ever seen. Calling him unkempt wouldn’t even have been scratching the surface. Both his