The naked man sprang after the rookie cop like a satyr
on wet hairy legs. Wes Lyedecker threw his arms back to brace himself in the
corner. The naked man pounced, grabbing the butt of the Smith and Wesson,
straining the leather strap that secured it in the holster. Wes pushed down,
his hands skidding on wet flesh.
The naked man looked up at Wes, his face haloed in the yellow lamplight. His
eyebrows were plastered flat, a vein in his forehead pounded four times a
second and his nose gushed watery mucus all over Wes' brand new wool uniform
shirt. He had a pleading look in his eyes.
Officer Bell raised his baton over his head and, using all the leverage of a
long arm on a tall body, RANG the crown of the naked man's skull like a ball
peen hammer on a ten penny nail. The naked man spasmed, splashing sweat in
all directions. Bell stepped back, pleased with his effort, waiting for its
effect.
The naked man smiled at Bell, bellowed like a bull moose and yanked Wes
Lyedecker's Smith and Wesson free, snapping the leather strap in two.
