God Touched - 01 by John Conroe Read Free Book Online

here, close and moving.  I jumped to the stained concrete surface of the garden, knocking over a potted cedar tree as I landed.  The outer walls were lined with fruit trees and bushy conifers.  An ornate yellow metal trellis was centered over a pair of sitting benches, the top curved like the golden arches of McDonalds.  Ahead of me I could see the brick wall of the bump out that held the deck as its roof.  The back door opened and two burly men in dark suits came out, their steady stares glued to me like frat boys watching a beer truck.  “Sir, stop right there, this is private property,” said the first, a wall of crew cut beef with pale blue eyes rolling toward me in a great impersonation of an Abrams main battle tank.  The second, even bigger, black with black eyes, hove into sight behind him like a naval vessel.  Where did they grow these guys?  I ignored his comments, as a rustle – smack sound announced the bland man-thing landing ten feet from me and moving toward the bump out wall.  I raced to intercept it, the security guys completely ignoring it.  The Abrams tank guy held up a salad plate sized hand , but I swerved around him like he was in slow motion and grabbed the ankle of the Hellbourne as it climbed the wall.  It climbed with my full weight hanging from it for a moment, then fell back to the garden, its grip slipping.  The two security hulks had stopped to process the unexpected sight of the demon.  Once my hand touched it, its cloak was shot and it had become visible to them.  I couldn’t be bothered.  I was busy getting a modified arm bar on it to hold it just long enough to rip it loose.  Jujitsu and wrestling are heavy components of my own style of unarmed combat, as much of my time is spent getting my prey into position to rip them from their shells.   Its left hand was under my right armpit, my right hand pressing the center of its back, my left on its chest. Time is short in these encounters as Hellbourne are not put off by things like broken elbow joints or choke holds.  A lifetime of practice made it easy to force my will and aura through the demon’s body from my right hand and pulling the foul thing free of the meat shell with my left.  Noxious sulfer stink burned my eyes, nose and mouth like a hunting camp full of overweight beer drinkers after a night of cheap beer and pickled eggs.  The demon made an audible wet ripping sound as it pulled free from the body, and I was left holding a roiling blob of greasy blackness in my left hand.  Quick as thought, I flung the noisome thing straight up while calling > Kirby< in my mind.  The dark shadow-hawk form of the Collector popped into being above us, gripping the black form of the Hellbourne in both smoky talons.  Two flaps of car hood sized wings and it popped back out of our plane of existence, hauling the demon to who knew where.  I lay there panting like I had run a marathon, tangled in the limbs of the suddenly dead body.
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 3
     
    By the time I could get untangled and sit up, a forest of beefy legs, all dressed in cargo pants and dark blue polo shirts surrounded me.  The original set of security guys had drawn sidearms and my view of them was obscured by the Holland tunnel muzzles of twin Sig Sauer .45’s.   “Benson, Hedges -- holster those weapons, now!”  barked a voice that would have made my Academy instructors cower. 
    A compact block of muscle shouldered through the crowd, short blond hair, tan weathered face and a Semper Fi tattoo on his right forearm.  He watched me warily, taking in the scene.  “Officer Gordon, I presume.  I was warned you might appear.”  He looked at the meat shell. “Is that secure?”  I nodded. He detailed the two giants to haul it away, the body starting to smell like a porta potty.   He surveyed the area, noting the ripped and shredded ivy where the Hellbourne had tried to climb to the deck above, the knocked over cedar tree and my