They ran west on Jackson, then dashed across the railroad tracks and zigged to the north again, past the old warehouses around Union Station. The two suspects weren’t very fast, otherwise I never could have kept up. I lost them past the cone of light of a streetlight half a block ahead. A heavy, metal door slammed. Lindsey grabbed my arm and we slowed to a walk. She nodded toward an old multistory brick building. I gave a little start as Peralta caught up and the three of us stood for a moment in silence under the streetlight. Lindsey silently mouthed “there” to Peralta and he nodded toward the building. “I wish we could still shoot fleeing suspects,” he whispered in a wheeze.
Lindsey pulled a little flashlight out of her backpack. We walked cautiously into an entrance set back from the street. An ancient fire door gave against Peralta’s grip and we stepped inside.
The air wasn’t as stale and close as in an Egyptian tomb. The blackness wasn’t as total as on the dark side of the moon. Peralta started to take the flashlight but was apparently satisfied that Lindsey was holding it correctly, away from her body so it wouldn’t attract a bullet. We tracked carefully down a hall framed by crumbling plaster and bricks to another door, wood this time, half ajar. Out onto a wood floor in a larger room. The flashlight leaped out onto old cartons, broken loading pallets, a fair-sized rat ambled lazily away from us, we avoided a black widow web. We all stopped and listened. Somewhere water was dripping. I wondered why the hell we didn’t wait for the city cops, but Peralta and Lindsey went ahead.
Just then something heavy fell on me and the momentum drove me toward what looked like a wooden fence, but then I realized it was a gate to an old freight elevator and I crashed through it painfully and there was no elevator. Behind me, I heard a gunshot, high-pitched, and then several more, deeper blasts. And I had a man on me and we were falling. I smelled his sweat and rancid breath. We dove into the empty darkness and the floor came up suddenly and hard.
Maybe he broke my fall, or maybe I broke his, but we both lay there for a moment, stunned and gasping for breath on what felt like damp concrete. My knee was throbbing and my ankle felt like it was sprained. I swear something slithered across my forearm. I fought panic. I couldn’t see.
Suddenly I felt the air rush of his fist, searching for me. He swung again, so hard I could hear him grunt, and his fist glanced painfully off my shoulder. I jabbed in his direction and connected with cartilage. He cursed-
