Seconds later, the group emerged from the low-rise onto Percy Street. Marcel’s heart rate settled more and more the further they got from his apartment, as he realized that this was just another case of the city exploiting his questionable talents. The street glistened in the pale yellow of streetlight, and wind pulled at his coat as he stepped from the doorway. It had stopped raining sometime after he arrived home from the bar.
Lieutenant Fatty started to slowly amble down the steep steps toward the sidewalk, and Marcel could now see that the City’s Finest had brought not one, not two, but three fuckin’ squad cars…so much for being discreet this time.
Marcel reached out to grab the rail, slightly worried that the stairs might be slick, when Mustache suddenly swept him back with his left arm and chopped Lt. Fatty on the nape of his neck with his right! Fattman rolled down the stairs like a 300-lb. snowball, collecting all of the other cops in a heap against a lightpole. Marcel started to turn toward Mustache, getting only a glance at his gleaming nameplate, “O’Toole”, before the officer put Marcel in a headlock and dragged him back through the doorway. He swung Marcel away from the door, which he slammed and bolted shut. Marcel reeled backward and suddenly found that there was no more floor as he tumbled backward down the short stairwell toward the basement. The cold, hard concrete floor greeted him with a dull thud.
Marcel shook off the cobwebs to find Officer O’Toole standing above him. He slowly drew his hand back to his coat pocket, but the cop held out his right hand, showing Marcel the gun that used to be there.
“I wouldn’t think you’d want to shoot me…Doc.” he growled.
Marcel gazed stupidly at the man for a moment…”Walt?” he managed to blurt.
The cop pulled off his hat, peeled off the brush-like mustache and was transformed into, “Walt Sparks, at yeh service!”
Marcel grinned and reached out to be helped up. He rubbed his lower back from the fall as he looked Walter over, dumbfounded. The moment ended when commotion could be heard outside the door at the top of the stairs. Apparently the mountain of cop had crumbled and reformed at the top of the steps.
“We’d better go, unless of course you want to head to the station again…” Walt turned toward the hallway to the service entrance when Marcel grabbed his shoulder.
“I can’t leave yet, there’s something I have to get from upstairs.”
(To be continued…)