Highborn. Part 16

They crossed the living room and Eran pushed open the door to Mireva's room, then reached in and flipped the switch for the ceiling light as Brynna stepped in behind him. He stood to the side as Brynna took in everything about the tiny area. Shoved against the far wall was a single bed made with fading purple sheets; at the bottom was a thin, neatly folded quilt, handmade, while a couple of heavily worn stuffed animals were arranged with the pillow at the headboard. Brynna didn't know much about teens, but this seemed like it would be a typical teenage girl's room. Adorning the walls were heart- and flower-shaped construction paper cutouts with girlish handwriting interspersed with baseball novelties and photographs cut from magazines. She recognized the images of movie stars from those in the periodicals she'd seen while standing in the grocery checkout line.

Despite the closeness of the s.p.a.ce-not much room for anything but the bed, a small chest of drawers, and a beat-up student's desk-it was a bright, cheerful environment. There was a lot of pink and purple and blue, and an undercurrent of life and expectation, especially in the carefully rendered scientific sketches of greenery that hung above the desk, in an area clearly dedicated to schoolwork. All the drawings were meticulously labeled and filled in with colored pencil, and when Brynna looked closer, she realized she was looking at the life cycle of a stalk of corn.

She stepped farther into the room, trailing her fingers across the end of the bed and inhaling deeply. She had caught Gavino's scent out in the hallway in front of the apartment, but it hadn't carried inside-Mireva had been well taught by her mother not to let strangers into the apartment. This room was saturated with Mireva's wonderful sea-spray smell, clean and fresh, and Brynna thought it was a shame only she could enjoy it. What would it be like to be a human teenager? To be a teenager, period? Brynna had not been born, she had been created-a fully grown angel, at one point not existing, at the next, an ent.i.ty gifted with eternal life. There had been no childhood, no growing up, and it had never been something she'd wondered about until now. How wonderful it must be to face each new morning and know that it was filled with new knowledge and possibilities ...

d.a.m.n it. Where was was Mireva? Mireva?

"So?" Eran asked from behind her.

"Nothing," she had to admit. "And Gavino wasn't even in here, if that's what you're wondering."

He glanced back over his shoulder, keeping his voice low. "Where would he have taken her?"

"I don't have any idea. What I know about the things that would tempt a female teenager is next to nothing. My specialty was always adults."

Eran gave her a sideways glance then went back to studying the room. There was a narrow door against the entry wall, and when he opened it, they saw a short row of neatly hung tops and blue jeans with a couple of disused dresses against the wall in the back. The closet was barely three feet wide. Mireva's pajamas-a much-washed pair of light cotton pants and an oversized T-shirt-were draped over a hook on the inside of the door. Brynna pulled the edge of the shirt out and fingered it, then let it drop.

"Wait a minute," Eran said. He reached past her and pulled on the shirt until he could see the design on the front, then pointed at the wall opposite the desk with his other hand. "Cubs. She's a Cubs fan."

Brynna tilted her head, not following. "What?"

"The baseball team," Eran explained. "Look around. There's a pennant on the wall, she sleeps in a Cubs T-shirt, she's even got her pens and pencils in a plastic Cubs cup. She's a huge fan." He glanced at his watch and his expression turned sour. "Take a young girl who does nothing but grind away at schoolwork and offer to take her to see her most favorite thing in the world-something she'd never be able to afford on her own-for free. How long do you think she could resist?"

Brynna thought about this as she looked around the room again, this time actually noticing all the things that Eran had pointed out. Yeah, there was definitely a theme going on here, and it had the red, white, and blue Cubs logo all over it. "Good point, but where would-"

"There's a game today." Eran glanced at his watch. "I heard on the radio that it's starting late, but it's going full swing by now."

"All right, then," Brynna said. "Let's go ... where?"

"Wrigley Field." Eran led the way out of Mireva's room. Abrienda looked at them both with a hopeful expression, but Eran only shook his head; Brynna understood that he didn't want to give the woman any false hope. It wasn't until they were clear of the apartment that they both picked up their pace and hurried to his car. When the car was moving, Brynna finally voiced the words rolling around in her mind. "You do do know I can find her, and it doesn't matter how many people are there, right?" know I can find her, and it doesn't matter how many people are there, right?"

Eran stared straight ahead, his concentration focused on the Friday afternoon traffic as he tried to weave around the cars. He'd flipped on the police lights but most of the drivers were staunchly ignoring them. Every now and then he hit the siren when his patience got too thin. Brynna wasn't surprised at his words when he finally answered her.

"If you say so. I guess, then, that the bigger question is- "Can you find her in time?"

Nineteen.

Klesowitch fingered the ticket stub the Holy Man had given him yesterday evening and felt his cheeks flush. Thank G.o.d he was alone now-well, as alone as one man could be in the midst of literally thousands of people-and didn't have to talk to anyone. He wished he could turn back the clock and redo the previous evening, change the memory of himself acting like a grateful little puppy when the Holy Man had finally walked into McNamara's at nine-thirty.

Michael had been sitting there for almost four hours, and the more time that pa.s.sed, the more certain he'd become that the Holy Man had abandoned him, had found him unworthy and simply ... gone away and left him to fend for himself. And Michael, of course, had no idea how to do that. His life had always been well ordered and predictable, conservative and calm. With all that obliterated, if the Holy Man didn't show up, Michael thought he might as well go outside, walk up the ramp to the Kennedy Expressway, and lie down in front of the next eighteen-wheeler coming in his direction.

He looked down at the ticket in his hand again, then gave himself a mental whack. Right now was what counted, and last night was over, gone, adios, amigo. adios, amigo. He might as well move on, and if he couldn't exactly pretend it had never happened, he could at least justify it, just get on with his task and blame his behavior on the terror and isolation he'd felt. He had things yet to do in his life, He might as well move on, and if he couldn't exactly pretend it had never happened, he could at least justify it, just get on with his task and blame his behavior on the terror and isolation he'd felt. He had things yet to do in his life, big big things. The Holy Man had promised him that G.o.d wasn't through with him yet. He might not understand why this teenager had to die, but someday he would. That's what faith was all about-believing in something you couldn't see, knowing that it was right. Michael was living proof that a man didn't have to be a martyr to have faith. things. The Holy Man had promised him that G.o.d wasn't through with him yet. He might not understand why this teenager had to die, but someday he would. That's what faith was all about-believing in something you couldn't see, knowing that it was right. Michael was living proof that a man didn't have to be a martyr to have faith.

He'd been to Wrigley Field countless times as a kid but that was years ago, and this was his first visit in too long to remember. He had a dim recollection of turnstiles and lots of impatient people at the entrances, but now the entrance was all modern gla.s.s and shine, renovated with a big Bud Light sign over it. The lines moved quickly, helped along by electronic scanning, and it took less than fifteen minutes for him to get inside the park and head to where the Holy Man had told him to wait.

But when he got there and positioned himself, he didn't think his spot halfway behind a support column and the door to a janitor's closet was much of a vantage point. It sure didn't give him much protection-was there even anywhere he could run? The park was heavy in security employees, and a gunshot in the midst of all these people might as well be a fire alarm. Michael swallowed, trying to fight off another circuit of doubts. There were so many many people, so much noise, so much confusion and movement. This girl was one person out of tens of thousands in Wrigley Field this afternoon, one face among the mult.i.tudes. How was he supposed to find her? people, so much noise, so much confusion and movement. This girl was one person out of tens of thousands in Wrigley Field this afternoon, one face among the mult.i.tudes. How was he supposed to find her?

Still, the Holy Man had said that a contact would bring the girl to the game and make sure she was where Michael could get off a shot. That was all fine and good, but if there was another person involved, why couldn't that that guy do the dirty deed? Why did it have to be Michael? guy do the dirty deed? Why did it have to be Michael?

The baseball game was just beginning, and right now all he wanted in the world was to ditch the d.a.m.ned Type 64 digging into the waistband of his jeans beneath his supersized Cubs jersey, then grab a hot dog and an extra large c.o.ke. Then he wanted to find himself a seat in the bleachers and watch the Cubs play-and hopefully beat-St. Louis.

But ... no. He couldn't do that. This was just a baseball game, an afternoon that would be no more than a fading memory in a few hours. He hadn't given up his job and his apartment, his life, life, to surrender to fear and temptation now, not after all this time and effort. And not after the Holy Man's words last night, after he had answered every single one of Michael's hard questions- to surrender to fear and temptation now, not after all this time and effort. And not after the Holy Man's words last night, after he had answered every single one of Michael's hard questions- "The things that this girl does, Michael, her place in the web of life, will someday affect hundreds of thousands of people. It's up to you to prevent that."

His duty, his responsibility-that was what was important. Everything else was trivial, material ... fleeting. And besides, the Holy Man had sworn to make it all right in the end, to get Michael a fresh start in another city, somewhere far away, warm and safe, and where no one would ever ask him to do G.o.d's work again.

Michael Klesowitch set his jaw and waited.

FORTY MINUTES LATER, ERAN pulled into a no-parking zone on Clark Street. When they got out, he stood for a moment, glaring at the entrance as if he could will Mireva and Gavino to suddenly walk out of it. pulled into a no-parking zone on Clark Street. When they got out, he stood for a moment, glaring at the entrance as if he could will Mireva and Gavino to suddenly walk out of it.

Brynna touched his arm. "You need to think positive," she said. "Believing that there's no hope ruins everything. It saps the spirit and undermines all your efforts."

"Right," he said. "Just call me Norman Vincent Peale."

For a change Brynna knew who he was talking about, but she didn't bother to comment. Instead, she followed Eran as he went in, only half listening to his short conversation with one of the security guys posted at the front. Even though the game had already started, there were people everywhere on the main floor. The lines to the hot dog and beer vendors were long and restless, and Brynna could feel impatience surge and wane every time a cheer reverberated through the park. The hot, humid air swirling around them was saturated with the scents of frying beef, boiled pork, popcorn, beer, and the sweat and breath of a stadium filled to capacity with overheated fans.

Eran shot her a sardonic look. "Still insist you can find her?"

Brynna tilted her head to one side and regarded the long, crowded aisle that curved in front of them. The food vendors were on her left and lines wound out from each one like colorful snakes. "Yeah," she said. "I do."

His eyebrows raised. "Lead the way, then."

As she began working her way forward, Brynna didn't bother to point out that there was a reason no one could simply hide from their fate in h.e.l.l-souls were designed to be tracked, by both light and dark ent.i.ties. How many of those here would eventually end up there? A lot, probably. Every step she took brought hungry gazes from men and women who turned to watch her, especially if she couldn't avoid brushing against someone as she pa.s.sed. A few even tried to follow, backing off only when Eran snarled something under his breath. This was the last place she ought to be-the park was permeated with pheromones, overrun by the rough and tumble kind of men who, because they were p.r.o.ne to fanaticism, had always been the easiest of her prey. But while those days may have been over for her mentally, Brynna's physical manifestation still sent out signals advertising exactly the opposite. So much noise and humanity, so many- But only one Mireva.

Like fingerprints or retinas, no two souls were exactly alike. Each soul had its own scent, its own track in the universe. Unique, eternal, and impossible to duplicate or counterfeit, the tracks of even those condemned to h.e.l.l were never destroyed. They burned, they were torn apart and obliterated, but they would always eventually re-form, if only to suffer the same or different agonies all over again. Mireva's soul was the same as any other human's, and yet it wasn't-the nephilim side of her made her essence stronger, brighter, and much, much sweeter. sweeter. The scent of her, that always fresh sea-spray fragrance, could never be fully muted by the press of a human population. It wasn't easy to find it in such a ma.s.s of humanity, but it wasn't impossible either; as she had done occasionally during her uncountable years in Lucifer's Kingdom, Brynna breathed deeply and centered herself on her goal, peeling aside the remnants of everyone else like the skin of an overly strong onion as her own senses filtered through everything around her- The scent of her, that always fresh sea-spray fragrance, could never be fully muted by the press of a human population. It wasn't easy to find it in such a ma.s.s of humanity, but it wasn't impossible either; as she had done occasionally during her uncountable years in Lucifer's Kingdom, Brynna breathed deeply and centered herself on her goal, peeling aside the remnants of everyone else like the skin of an overly strong onion as her own senses filtered through everything around her- There.

Catching a trace of Mireva's soul was almost like following a line of invisible spider silk, one that broke now and then but always started back up. Brynna thought that if it had been visible, that infinitesimal string would be blue, the bright color of a clear winter sky on one of G.o.d's beautiful mornings. The scent floated gracefully through the crush of people like a b.u.t.terfly, moving as she had moved to sidestep a group or go around a line. At one point a trip to the women's restroom nearly obliterated the scent, but it returned, steady and strong, a few feet beyond the door.

"Anything?" Eran asked. "It's got to be impossible with all these people." Brynna started to answer, then paused and scowled. "What?" Redmond pressed. "What is it?"

"Gavino," she said under her breath. "And the killer-they're both here."

"s.h.i.t." Eran look around almost wildly. "Where? I don't see-"

"Not here here here," Brynna interrupted. "But here in the here," Brynna interrupted. "But here in the park park somewhere." somewhere."

Eran dug out his cell phone. "I'll get backup and shut the place down."

"She'll be dead by then," Brynna said flatly. She grabbed his arm and pulled him along before he could flip open the phone, heading to where the people-clogged corridor turned north. "Come on. We don't have time to waste on phone calls. I don't think they're far."

Eran followed and struggled to hang on to his phone, then gave up and shoved it in a pocket. "Please tell me they're not together."

Brynna lifted her head, testing the air. "No, not yet. But soon ... if we don't stop them."

"I bet they've got this coordinated," Eran said. "That Lahash guy and Gavino. One of them is giving the orders-"

"That would definitely be Lahash."

"-and the other, Gavino then, is following. Klesowitch is just doing what he's told."

It was a shame, Brynna thought as they dodged through the knots of people, that the young man hadn't followed his instincts instead, that sixth sense that humans so often talked to each other about but still insisted on ignoring. It had been there, she was sure of it, dragging at Klesowitch's conscience with an inkling that something wasn't right, that no matter what kind of party tricks Lahash-or whatever he was having humans call him lately-could do, sending him to kill a fellow human being was just too far off the scale of wrong. Yes, sins were always forgiven. But the priceless question was how long, in terms of time and pain, was the road back to G.o.d's Grace? Sometimes it could be traveled simply by sincere regret, but most of the time absolution came at a price that was measured in eons and agony. Time was twisted in h.e.l.l, and an hour could equal a thousand years. If you were lucky.

Brynna ought to know.

"d.a.m.n it," Eran complained. "I wish there was a way we could at least figure out what section she's in. We-"

"There," Brynna said suddenly. When Eran would have plunged ahead, she threw out one arm and stopped him short. "They're coming down the steps. Careful-don't let them see you. Gavino's right next to her. Lahash's been trying to kill Mireva for awhile now, and there's no telling what he'll do if he realizes we've found them."

"I thought you said he couldn't hurt her himself. And Gavino-he's the same, right?" Still, Eran backed up to where Brynna had edged around the corner of a cart selling baseball caps in the middle of the wide pa.s.sageway.

"He can't, but there's still Klesowitch to think about. He's somewhere around here, too."

Eran scanned the crowd, but there were too many people moving at once. "You know that for a fact?"

"Definitely."

"Well, we have to do something, something," Eran said impatiently. His right hand was inching up and under the edge of his T-shirt, angling toward his gun. "I'm not a sit-back-and-watch kind of guy."

"Wait," Brynna said. "What's going on?" She leaned around the corner of the vendor's cart, trying to see. A small commotion suddenly broke out on the staircase, with-wouldn't you know it?-Gavino and Mireva at its center. "I think Gavino's trying to make Mireva do something."

Eran squeezed past her, trying to see around the people cl.u.s.tered in the way. In another moment Mireva's clear voice rose above the growing murmurs of the crowd.

"No, I'm not going down there. Let go of me!"

Before Brynna could remind Eran to stay put, he was around her and headed toward the stairs, moving on training and instinct. But even that wasn't much help-the noise swelled as something happened on the field and an announcer's excited voice boomed over the speakers by the ceiling. If Gavino said anything in return, it was as lost in the noise as Eran's shouts were as he tried to push his way to the stairs. Brynna cursed under her breath and followed, but there were too many d.a.m.ned people in the way to stop him before he got to the bottom of the stairs. "Eran-wait!"

Too late; the detective in him had gone into full operational mode and he was already drawing his gun. In the time it had taken Eran to move forward through the fans, Gavino had managed to get Mireva almost to the bottom of the stairs. Now she was outright fighting him; he had one hand wrapped around her arm and was trying to steer her around the railing toward a shadowed alcove behind it. A couple of feet away, some guy who had probably tried to help Mireva lay crumpled and groaning against one of the steel posts. There were a couple of other men inching warily toward Gavino, but they backed up when Eran yelled, "Police-stop right there!"

Gavino's face whipped in their direction and his expression contorted into one of loathing. Brynna knew Eran's gun was useless. He would never fire into this many people, but she couldn't let him get near Gavino-the demon-in-hiding was forbidden to personally hurt Mireva, but he had no such constraints for non-nephilim. If Eran got within his reach and tried to stop him, Gavino would kill him without hesitating.

Brynna finally shoved the last knot of gawkers out of the way, then surged past Eran.

"Brynna, get back!"

"I'll take care of him," she snapped. "Get Mireva-"

A crack crack split the air, and for a moment Brynna froze. Then someone behind her shrieked, split the air, and for a moment Brynna froze. Then someone behind her shrieked, "Look out, he's got a gun!" "Look out, he's got a gun!" but the words were lost to anyone else as a roar went up from the stands and the announcer's voice blared over the speakers again. Brynna grabbed Eran and yanked him closer so he could hear her. "Klesowitch is here!" she screamed in his ear. "He's under the stairs!" but the words were lost to anyone else as a roar went up from the stands and the announcer's voice blared over the speakers again. Brynna grabbed Eran and yanked him closer so he could hear her. "Klesowitch is here!" she screamed in his ear. "He's under the stairs!"

He pulled away from her and went to the right, leaving Brynna to deal with Gavino. At the bottom of the stairs, Mireva balled up her fist and whacked Gavino on one side of his head. It didn't hurt him but it was enough to pull his gaze off Brynna, who grabbed the chance to leap the last few feet and jam Gavino bodily against the steel handrail. He still didn't release Mireva, instead hauling her with him and pinning her behind his back. She fought and clawed at him, but it did no good at all.

"Hey, Astarte," Gavino panted. He slammed Mireva back against the railing again, hard enough to knock the wind out of her but not enough to actually cause the girl any pain. "How's it hanging?"

"Let go of her, you moldy piece of demon s.h.i.t," Brynna snarled. "Or I'll rip your arm right out of its socket."

Gavino's grin was wide, impossibly wide for a human, and Brynna saw his teeth shift and sharpen inside the darkness of his mouth. His gaze flicked from left to right, and Brynna knew he was looking for Klesowitch while he tried to keep Mireva still enough for a killing shot. He let out a high-pitched, obnoxious giggle. "Sticks and stones, baby-sticks and stones!"

"Oh, I'm much more effective than that," Brynna said. Before he could react, she sank the fingers of one hand deep into the muscle of his shoulder, pushing in and in and in until the skin split beneath her fingernails and she dug into meat. He cried out and the grip he had on Mireva released.

The teenager didn't need an invitation to yank herself out of his range. "You jerk!" she yelled at him. Tears streaked her flushed face. "I trusted you!"

"Your bad," Gavino ground out, then backhanded Brynna hard enough to knock her off her feet. She was up and in front of Mireva instantly, but Gavino had finally given up on the nephilim girl. Instead, he crouched and faced off with Brynna as the people around them scrambled to get out of the way. With an evil smile, he ran his fingers over the blood leaking out of the wound on his shoulder, then brought his hand to his mouth and licked the fingertips. "Mmmmm, yummy." His eyes glowed. The noise grew as the fans outside went crazy over something exciting that was happening on the field; anything the people around Brynna and Gavino tried to say was drowned out, but Brynna heard Gavino's next words very, very clearly.

"Bring it, h.e.l.l b.i.t.c.h. It's long past time for you to die."

REDMOND WANTED TO STAY with Brynna and take care of that little Goth b.a.s.t.a.r.d, but he couldn't. Despite the noise level-the screams of the fans and the shouts of those who were focusing on the mess created by Gavino-he recognized the sound of a second gunshot when it came, even though it could have been mistaken for the snap of a bat against a fastball. A millisecond later a man bellowed in surprise and pain as a bullet blistered a path across the side of his head. The injured guy reeled sideways and Eran scrambled around the right side of the staircase, pulling his pistol free. "Klesowitch, freeze! You're under arrest!" with Brynna and take care of that little Goth b.a.s.t.a.r.d, but he couldn't. Despite the noise level-the screams of the fans and the shouts of those who were focusing on the mess created by Gavino-he recognized the sound of a second gunshot when it came, even though it could have been mistaken for the snap of a bat against a fastball. A millisecond later a man bellowed in surprise and pain as a bullet blistered a path across the side of his head. The injured guy reeled sideways and Eran scrambled around the right side of the staircase, pulling his pistol free. "Klesowitch, freeze! You're under arrest!"

At the sound of his name, Michael Klesowitch spun wildly, his oversized pistol waving in front of him. Half a dozen people dove for cover, pulling their friends with them as their shouts blended with the rest of the ballpark noise. Klesowitch lurched forward a couple of steps, then took off in earnest, twisting through the ma.s.ses with the gun held in front of him like a sword.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h!" Redmond ran after him, struggling to keep the guy in sight. It would be too easy to lose him-there were staircases going up the stands, restrooms, exits, dozens of ways for him to swerve away. With his teeth grinding every time the young man slipped out of his sight for a moment, Redmond could only hope that Klesowitch would try to duck out one of the exits. That would be the best end to this bad situation, to get the killer out of the park where he could try to bring him down without hurting anyone else.

No such luck.

Instead of veering right and out of the park, Klesowitch did a three-sixty and headed up one of the ramps leading to the seating sections. Twenty feet and one turn behind him, Redmond lunged between the posts at the edge, reaching through the s.p.a.ce in the railing and trying to grab Klesowitch's ankles as he pa.s.sed. No good-his path had shifted him to the far side of the ramp and out of Redmond's range, and all Redmond got for the effort was concrete-bruised ribs. Redmond chased after him, screaming "Get out of the way! Get out of the way!" "Get out of the way! Get out of the way!" every ten or fifteen feet in an effort to clear the ramp in front of him and close the distance. every ten or fifteen feet in an effort to clear the ramp in front of him and close the distance.

If Klesowitch was trying to get lost in the crowd, he'd chosen badly. Most of the game-goers' attention was riveted on the playing field, where the Cubs were up and had managed to put two players on base with only one out. Despite Redmond's yelling, n.o.body was looking at the two men running up the ramp, and even the drawn guns didn't seem to impress anyone until after the fact- "Hey, I think that guy had a gun."

"What? I didn't see anything. Watch the game-you're gonna miss something."

Klesowitch bounded off the ramp and swung around, scrambling across the bottom row of the bleachers, wading over the legs and feet of the people seated there like they were nothing but rocks to be stomped on. Eran had no choice but to follow, still yelling for the killer to stop but knowing he wouldn't and that he was stuck chasing Klesowitch until he either got away or turned and decided to fire at Redmond himself. Klesowitch surrendering was, of course, a possibility, but Redmond thought that was as far-fetched as an alien ship landing on the pitcher's mound in the next five minutes.

The protest from the people in the seats was immediate and heated.

"Dude, what the f.u.c.k-"

"Hey, watch where you're stepping!"

"What is your problem?"

And in a place like this, it wasn't long before someone with an unforgiving nature weighed in when Klesowitch tried to shove him aside.

"I'll break your face, you little s.h.i.t!"

Redmond saw the man, a burly guy in a Rich Harden T-shirt, try to grab Klesowitch, who flailed wildly at him with his empty hand and tried to keep going. The fan's face went red with anger and he managed to catch hold of a handful of the killer's shirt. Redmond saw Klesowitch turn and imagined disaster in an instant-a bullet blowing out Mr. Tantrum's head-and then all h.e.l.l really would would break loose. break loose.

"Police!" Redmond didn't think he'd ever screamed as loudly in his life. Redmond didn't think he'd ever screamed as loudly in his life. "Let him go right NOW!" "Let him go right NOW!"

The man obeyed without thinking, reflex saving his a.s.s as Klesowitch lurched away. Redmond followed only a few seconds later, ignoring other people who were starting to pick up on the incident and giving the big guy a hard push back onto his seat as he pa.s.sed. "Sit the f.u.c.k down and stay stay there," Redmond snarled, just in case visions of there," Redmond snarled, just in case visions of I wanna be a hero I wanna be a hero started zinging through the Harden fan's mind. started zinging through the Harden fan's mind.

Klesowitch had made it all the way to the steps at the far side of the section then barreled downward, ramming his way through the people and sending drinks and food flying in every direction. Curses flew after him as people saw the commotion coming and tried futilely to get out of his way. Redmond was at a disadvantage, losing ground because every spot that Klesowitch opened up closed behind him as people stood or leaned out of their seats to stare after him. Klesowitch almost fell down the steps to the lower bleacher seats, then found there was no way to go but back to the right. Redmond antic.i.p.ated the move and leaped over the railing, but he was a fraction of a second too late; he hit hard enough to make his teeth snap, and by the time he got back to his feet, Klesowitch was headed down again, running as fast as he could.

This time the narrow steps were fairly clear, with most folks staying in their seats and intent on watching the game. Redmond closed the distance fast and almost had him when Klesowitch actually leaped leaped over the railing. He grabbed at the top of the retaining fence that angled out of the wall below the railing, then clawed his way toward the edge with his gun still in one hand. over the railing. He grabbed at the top of the retaining fence that angled out of the wall below the railing, then clawed his way toward the edge with his gun still in one hand.

Disbelief made Redmond thunk hard into the railing at gut height instead of jumping over it. "Klesowitch, you are under arrest arrest-stop, d.a.m.n it!" But he might as well have been shouting at a wall, and there was no time to do anything but thrust his pistol back into its holster and go for it himself.