national competition, but his need to hold a job had prevented that. However, to stay fit he went out into the country once a week, usually on Sunday, and ran a mile or two.
He trotted effortlessly down the middle of the darkened street, holding the gun on his hip to keep it from bouncing. He had just turned and slowed when a woman, clutching the hand of a small boy, stepped out from behind a tree.
“Hurry! She’s crying and begging.” Then they heard clearly the sound of a crash coming from the house.
Corbin hardly paused to hear what the woman said. He bounded up the porch steps and flung open the door. He could hear a woman sobbing and pleading in the next room. Long strides took him to the doorway.
“Don’t …Otto. Please—”
“What’s going on here?”
A man was holding a woman by the hair. She was on her knees and he was slapping her with his free hand. He looked up at Corbin with bloodshot eyes.
“Who …the hell are you? Get outta my house!” The words were slurred.
“I’m the police. Let her go.”
“This’s my woman. This’s my house.” The clean-shaven man wore a white shirt splattered with blood. He jerked on his wife’s hair. She cried out and he drew back his fist.
“Hit her again, and I’ll beat you to a pulp.” Corbin sprang across the room and grabbed the man’s arm. “Let go of her hair, you spineless worm, or by God, I’ll break your damn arm.”
Yelping at the pressure, Otto released his grip on his wife. She fell back sobbing. With each sob, blood spurted from her nose. The apron that covered her dress was soaked. The thin brunette, who may have been pretty once, scrambled to her feet and stood back against the wall.
The chief jerked the abuser’s arm behind his back. The man began to struggle.
“Ya got no right to be messin’ in my ’ffairs—”
Corbin had had plenty of experience in dealing with tough drunks while he was in the army, and he subdued and handcuffed the pudgy man easily. In the process Corbin’s foot kicked something solid. He looked down to see a large chunk of coal on the floor.
“Did he hit you with that coal?” he asked the cowering woman.
“He threw it. It hit me on the back.”
Corbin jerked the cuffed hands up between the man’s shoulder blades. He yelped in pain.
“Yeow! Ya …son-of-a—”
“Call me that and I’ll throw both your damn shoulder bones out of joint. A man that’d beat a defenseless woman isn’t fit for crow bait.”
“He’s …drunk,” the woman said between sobs.
“You need to see the doctor, lady. I’ll put this pile of dung away and send the doc down.”
“You’re takin’ him?”
“Yeah, I’m taking him. He can sober up in jail.”
“Now, listen here”—Otto was becoming agitated again—“ya got no right to take me nowhere. I work for Mr. Wood—”
“I don’t care if you work for the Lord Jesus Christ. You’re going to jail. Not because you’re drunk, but because of what you’ve done to this woman.”
“Couldn’t you …just tie him up here …till he sobers up?” The woman’s muffled voice came through the cloth she was holding to her nose. “He could lose his job.”
“No. He’s going to jail.” Corbin shoved the man against the wall. “Stay there,” he commanded. He took the woman by the arm and led her to a chair. One of her eyes was swollen shut and would likely be very black in a short time. Corbin began to grow angry when he looked over at Otto Bloom. The man’s expression was one of an outraged child who had been picked on by a bully.
Corbin took a minute to look around. The house was surprisingly neat except for the smashed dishes and food on the floor. The table had been set for supper when the fight began.
“Your boy is with
He trotted effortlessly down the middle of the darkened street, holding the gun on his hip to keep it from bouncing. He had just turned and slowed when a woman, clutching the hand of a small boy, stepped out from behind a tree.
“Hurry! She’s crying and begging.” Then they heard clearly the sound of a crash coming from the house.
Corbin hardly paused to hear what the woman said. He bounded up the porch steps and flung open the door. He could hear a woman sobbing and pleading in the next room. Long strides took him to the doorway.
“Don’t …Otto. Please—”
“What’s going on here?”
A man was holding a woman by the hair. She was on her knees and he was slapping her with his free hand. He looked up at Corbin with bloodshot eyes.
“Who …the hell are you? Get outta my house!” The words were slurred.
“I’m the police. Let her go.”
“This’s my woman. This’s my house.” The clean-shaven man wore a white shirt splattered with blood. He jerked on his wife’s hair. She cried out and he drew back his fist.
“Hit her again, and I’ll beat you to a pulp.” Corbin sprang across the room and grabbed the man’s arm. “Let go of her hair, you spineless worm, or by God, I’ll break your damn arm.”
Yelping at the pressure, Otto released his grip on his wife. She fell back sobbing. With each sob, blood spurted from her nose. The apron that covered her dress was soaked. The thin brunette, who may have been pretty once, scrambled to her feet and stood back against the wall.
The chief jerked the abuser’s arm behind his back. The man began to struggle.
“Ya got no right to be messin’ in my ’ffairs—”
Corbin had had plenty of experience in dealing with tough drunks while he was in the army, and he subdued and handcuffed the pudgy man easily. In the process Corbin’s foot kicked something solid. He looked down to see a large chunk of coal on the floor.
“Did he hit you with that coal?” he asked the cowering woman.
“He threw it. It hit me on the back.”
Corbin jerked the cuffed hands up between the man’s shoulder blades. He yelped in pain.
“Yeow! Ya …son-of-a—”
“Call me that and I’ll throw both your damn shoulder bones out of joint. A man that’d beat a defenseless woman isn’t fit for crow bait.”
“He’s …drunk,” the woman said between sobs.
“You need to see the doctor, lady. I’ll put this pile of dung away and send the doc down.”
“You’re takin’ him?”
“Yeah, I’m taking him. He can sober up in jail.”
“Now, listen here”—Otto was becoming agitated again—“ya got no right to take me nowhere. I work for Mr. Wood—”
“I don’t care if you work for the Lord Jesus Christ. You’re going to jail. Not because you’re drunk, but because of what you’ve done to this woman.”
“Couldn’t you …just tie him up here …till he sobers up?” The woman’s muffled voice came through the cloth she was holding to her nose. “He could lose his job.”
“No. He’s going to jail.” Corbin shoved the man against the wall. “Stay there,” he commanded. He took the woman by the arm and led her to a chair. One of her eyes was swollen shut and would likely be very black in a short time. Corbin began to grow angry when he looked over at Otto Bloom. The man’s expression was one of an outraged child who had been picked on by a bully.
Corbin took a minute to look around. The house was surprisingly neat except for the smashed dishes and food on the floor. The table had been set for supper when the fight began.
“Your boy is with
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