Read Online Keeper by Greg Rucka - Free Book Online

leaned my head next to his right ear and whispered, “Okay, asshole, here’s the deal. I’m going to let you go. But don’t try this shit again on anyone, or you’ll end up with a bleach enema, got it?”
    He didn’t say anything.
    “Got it?” I asked again, twisting his hair.
    “Got it,” he said.
    “Good. Now we’re going to stand up, and if you try anything, I’ll break your neck.”
    We stood and he didn’t try anything.
    “Felice, will you and Katie come over here?” I called.
    Rubin raised an eyebrow at me. I grinned.
    Felice came around, holding Katie’s hand, stopping next to Rubin. Natalie was right with them, grinning.
    “Apologize,” I told Alpha.
    “What?”
    “Stupid and deaf,” I said. “Apologize.”
    He wavered, then took a deep breath and said, to Felice, “Lady, I’m sorry.”
    “I accept your apology,” she said.
    I turned his head to Katie. “Again,” I said.
    “I’m sorry,” he muttered.
    “No, once more with feeling,” I said.
    “I’m really sorry, I’m really sorry, please accept my apology.”
    Katie just looked up at him, and it was impossible to see what she was thinking, what she felt. Then she smiled, and said, “Okay, you’re mean. I don’t like you, you’re mean. Go away.”
    I let him go, and we watched him run down the street.
    Dale returned with the car, and we all went for ice cream before going back to the apartment.

The bottle flew on a frozen rope, a hell of a throw, shattering against the brick clinic wall two inches from where Dr. Romero’s head had been, sending green Heineken slivers dancing to the sidewalk. The glass broke clear and loud, and all the noise, all the people on both sides of the line fell quiet.
    Dale had caught the arm movement before the release and shouted, “Bottle——left,” and I had taken Dr. Romero down, butting the back of her right knee with mine, collapsing her like an aluminum can. She went down to her knees, her hands coming around to shield her head, with me wrapped about her body for extra protection. Coming back up, I caught sight of the thrower, a squat white man, yelling in victory, his hand raised in triumph.
    Natalie spun to cover us, all red hair and motion, and together we half dragged, half carried Dr. Romero to the clinic door where Sheldon thrust out his hand and helped pull her inside. He propelled her efficiently past the security gate, and Natalie followed before he blocked the entrance with his body. I was off the steps and already running across the street past Dale, shouting for him to follow me.
    The lines seemed still stunned, little movement and little noise, snagged in the tar of the action. Some of the prolifers were backing away, disgusted with their radical cousins. A cluster of people holding NARAL signs were starting to move, but the uniformed police held them back, trying desperately to keep the two groups separate. Throwing the bottle had changed the tenor of the crowd, starting a countdown to contact, and everyone was wearing their anger and indignation like clothes soaked in gasoline. All it would take was a match.
    Then I saw the thrower being congratulated by a big blond man in a Columbia University sweatshirt, property of the athletics department, saw the thrower basking in the attention, and I threw the match myself, leaping over the line and into the crowd.
    I took the thrower in the side and rode him into the pavement. I heard his skull hit the street, felt the shock of impact rush through him. University was stunned, involuntarily half-stepping back with a gasp. Coming up, I twisted the thrower’s arm around his back, heard him cry out, then used that as a handle to pull him upright. University reached in to bear-hug me, and I pivoted the thrower between us and began backing up, shouting at him to keep his distance. University took two steps toward me but the thrower shouted, “Do it!” and that stopped the other man. Dale had a hand on my back, clearing the path behind