CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2
The two men circled each other, the fight resolving into a stalemate.
Dirk seemed reluctant to engage Keen, and Hero could hardly blame him.
So far, he hadn’t managed to lay a hand on the spry demonhunter.
For his part, Keen looked savagely gleeful.
How long had he been waiting for this chance to turn the tables on an old tormentor?
She understood. Visions of flames eating through a convent warmed her heart. A righteous fire…
Her bourbon appeared on a silver tray, and she took it without a glance at the server. The girl vanished, though she left a whisper of a sigh behind her. A world-weary sort for one so young. Hero grinned again. She rather liked this place.
Dirk made a move at last, closing with Keen, burly arms spread wide. The pressing crowd prevented Keen from dancing out of reach and Dirk caught him in a bear hug. Grappling, the two men crashed into a table and chairs, scattering the occupants and sending glasses shattering.
Now the bartender intervened. “Here, now! Take it outside!”
No one paid him any heed. Cheers rose as Dirk seemed to gain the upper hand, and Hero tensed. She didn’t really want to jump in – how would that look for Keen? – but she couldn’t let her partner get hurt. Not badly, anyway.
Somehow, Keen slithered free and managed to trip his opponent as he did so, sending him to his hands and knees.
Ah, so he knew how to wrestle, too – a man of many talents.
He landed a good kick on Dirk, right in his ample midsection, before resuming his boxing stance.
Dirk stayed down, gathering himself. One hand snuck into his coat as he snarled up at Keen. “You always were a cheater!”
“Get up, Dirk.” Keen crooked two fingers at him. “You’ve caught your breath by now, I imagine.”
A few guffaws followed, making Dirk’s face burn red. His muscles bunched under his coat. He seemed ready to charge, but Keen remained unflappable, on his toes, supremely confident.
A little too confident.
He didn’t see the gun, a little snub-nosed affair one would expect a lady to carry, palmed in Dirk’s meaty paw. From his angle, it would have been impossible, but not from Hero’s broadside vantage. She tsk ed. Talk about cheating! The gun looked laughably puny, but lethal just the same.
“Now, now,” she said briskly, her cane whipping forward and striking his hand as it rose toward Keen. Dirk’s fingers spasmed open and the pistol clattered to the floor, its ivory handle catching the lamplight. Gasps were followed by disapproving groans. The hero had suddenly lost his adoring fans.
Some of the PKs in attendance, until now unbothered by the brawl, grew alert at the sight of the gun. They didn’t know Keen from a tree stump, but he wore the uniform and that was all that mattered.
“How dare you draw on a peacekeeper!” cried one of them, incensed.
“You’ll spend the night in the tank for this, Hollander,” added another.
The two PKs shouldered their way through the crowd, one going for his cuffs.
Out of nowhere, a woman dashed forward. She was wrapped in a cloak and wearing a fur hat over her jet-black hair.
A nightdress peeked out from the bottom of her coat, as if she’d leapt straight from her bed.
She blocked the peacekeepers on their way to Dirk, still crouched on the floor and cradling his hand.
“Abby?” Keen said, sounding horrorstruck.
Abigail Hollander stared at him, shamefaced, a trembling hand lifting to her mouth. “DH Keen, please, he’s just drunk. Don’t let them arrest him.”
All Keen’s confidence and swagger vanished. He ran a hand through his hair, sending it awry, flustered. Abigail had managed to quell Keen’s righteous anger without raising a hand against him.
“He pulled a gun on a PK officer,” he said, clearly torn.
“It wasn’t loaded,” she said quickly. She stooped to pick up the weapon, opening the cylinder with a practiced hand. It was indeed empty.
Hero stared, wondering if the woman had managed some sleight of hand. Why would the man carry an unloaded weapon?
“Please …”
At Abigail’s soft plea, Keen looked at the other PKs, as if hoping they would take the burden from him, but they were waiting for his go-ahead – a demonhunter outranked them.
“Why don’t we find another pub, Keen?” Hero said into the awkward standoff. “I’m sure your friend there learned his lesson, right?”
Abby swung toward her and gave her a grateful look, unflinching as she looked into Hero’s flaming eyes. A smile lit her face. Grudgingly, Hero understood Keen’s reaction. The woman was radiant.
After a moment, his eyes narrowed at the cowering Dirk, Keen relented. “Quite right, Inspector. We should go elsewhere.”
“Why don’t you all go elsewhere?” the aggrieved bartender suggested sharply. “I don’t want any more trouble here!” He gave Abby a hard look. “Take him home, Mrs Hollander. And tell him to find a new drinking hole.”
She nodded hastily and started to help her husband to his feet.
“Thank you, Inspector Viridian,” she said, giving Hero an appreciative look.
“I’m forever in your debt.” Her blue eyes were wide, guileless, and she seemed to Hero nothing more than an embarrassed wife, far too used to a drunken husband’s antics.
Her hands fluttered and trembled, her cheeks aflame.
On his feet, Dirk hung his head, completely cowed. His eyes shot toward his wife and away again. He seemed to shrink into himself as he stood beside her. It was blazingly obvious who was in charge between the two of them. Hero frowned, forced to reassess the situation.
“Are you certain you don’t want to press charges, DH?” the PK sergeant asked Keen. His gaze flicked to Hero, and she caught his slight grimace of distaste. “Inspector?”
Keen shook his head, his lips pressed tight. He was shooting daggers at Dirk, oblivious to the man’s sudden meekness. Every line of his body told Hero he wanted to rescue the woman like some knight in a tale.
“Come on, Keen,” Hero said, starting for the door and giving the brim of her hat a jaunty tap with her ebony cane. “We’ve worn out our welcome.”