Rough Justice by Andrew Klavan Read Free Book Online

rage of the moment. Meaning it, but not believing it.
    â€œYour badge is mine, Tommy,” I said. “Your fucking badge is mine.”
    And Watts—Watts, dreamy-eyed and cool—he pulled his foot back to kick my head in. If Gottlieb hadn’t walked in just then, I’d be selling papers instead of writing them.
    I got out of the subway at Eighty-sixth. I climbed up the stairway into the sound of horns, the rush of traffic. Up here, the street was still jumping. Young couples bopped by arm in arm. Movie marquees glittered. TVs glowed in store windows. I walked through it slowly, my hands in my pockets, my newspaper under my arm. I whistled a happy tune.
    My five-story concrete building stands across from a movie house. There’s a low-slung shopping mall on one side of it. New high-rises all around. I pushed into the foyer. Picked up my mail. Got into the tiny elevator. Leaned back against the wall as the doors closed.
    I was more tired than I thought. I shut my eyes. I smiled to myself. Tom Watts, I thought. I had him.
    When the door opened, I propelled myself into the hall. Down the hall to my door. I unlocked it, pushed against it with my shoulder.
    I came into the familiar semidark. The lights from the street. The red glow of the movie marquee. The cracks on the wall.
    I closed the door behind me. I reached for the light switch.
    And someone looped a cord around my neck and pulled it taut.

5

    I opened my mouth, gagging. The cord tightened. I saw white and purple starbursts explode in front of me. My lungs pounded. No air. My face got hot. The strangler leaned back, nearly pulling me off my feet. I felt my tongue forced out between my lips, my eyes straining out of their sockets.
    I reached behind me. I heard myself make a soft, choking noise. My pulsebeat filled my head. I couldn’t hear anything else. I touched the strangler’s leg. The white starbursts were going out, one by one. Everything was going out. The apartment was spinning away from me, getting smaller, darker. My hand fluttered over the strangler’s crotch. In the darkness, I saw the pinetops of the Maine forest. I saw them reaching into the thin blue of the winter sky. I had grown up in those woods. My breath made puffs of smoke as I gazed up at the trees. My breath …
    I clenched my hand into a fist.
    The strangler screamed. The cord loosened. I vaulted forward. The cord flew off me. I crashed against the wall. I clutched my throat. I retched. My knees buckled and I began sliding to the floor.
    In the rosy light from the movie house, I saw the shadow of the man who’d tried to kill me. He was doubled over, his arm across his midsection. His other hand had grabbed hold of a chair for support.
    My knee touched the floor. I fought to draw a breath. My lungs dragged the air halfway in. I started coughing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man begin to straighten.
    â€œBastard,” I heard him whisper.
    I clung to the wall, coughing hard. Smaller stars than before now sparkled in the dim room. Still on one knee, I hung my head, retching.
    â€œBastard,” said the other man again.
    I lifted my face to him. I saw him stumble away from the chair. He bent and picked something up from the floor. I saw him, silhouetted, stand. He drew the cord out between his two hands.
    I tried to say something to him. “Please,” I tried to say. I couldn’t get it out. My windpipe felt as if it were closed off. My stomach felt like it was about to come up through it.
    The man came toward me with the cord. He stood over me. I looked up at him, still trying to say “Please.”
    He looped the cord around my neck again. I came up off the floor and slugged him.
    I didn’t have much in me. My fist felt like cement, my arm felt like straw. But braced on one knee like that, I had my foot on the floor to give me some drive. I drove up with it, pistoning my fist as fast as I could. I meant to hit him in the face.