B-Movie Attack Read Online Free Page B

hesitate. He wasn’t dealing with the average late night visitor trying to gain access to their lockbox. The shaleehs and schaws and outright jaguar-deep growls wrenched beads of sweat from his flesh. His instincts begged him to turn around and run. Twelve thirty-five an hour and a decent pension weren’t enough to run headfirst into harm’s way. He was fifty-eight, and what could an old man do with a bottle of mace, a pair of handcuffs and a walkie talkie?
    Before he could strategize, a rush of wind struck him. He was punched in the chest and thrown five feet onto his back. Three ribs snapped upon landing, and his pelvis shattered. His sternum remained intact, but he was bleeding heavily from the chest. Three quarter-inch slashes exuded red, the muscle tissue beneath glossy and wet. Wayne’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he issued a silent prayer for Al and one for himself before passing out.  

Chapter Three
    Forty-five minutes after the security guards were attacked, Billy Carton, Wayne’s son, had signed on for work. He was the meter man on the surrounding blocks of Corporate Square. He drove in a modified golf cart with a four-cylinder engine. Billy rubbed the Batman sticker symbol he placed on it on his first day of work. He rubbed it every morning for good luck. Batman fights crime in Gotham, and I fight parking violations in Chicago. Secretly, he patted the Batman sticker on the headboard of his bed before he made love to his live-in girlfriend, Jessica Prager. It was a superstition that amazingly worked wonders for his sex life.
    Between 6:45 and 9:30, morning rush hour, was the busiest ticket writing time of the day. People forgot to pay the meters or swipe their meter cards in their haste. Others failed to parallel park correctly or they created illegal spaces of their own on the streets. Billy had been on the job for almost two years since dropping out of the police academy.  
    Billy drove up 131 st Street and caught the dreaded Pontiac Bonneville double parked at the metered section. It was Dr. Adamson’s car. The physician was still in his vehicle sipping his morning coffee and blasting Elton John’s “Rocket Man”. Billy parked his cart in reverse with a beep-beep-beep sound. His stomach clenched. Every encounter with Dr. Adamson went sour, and this occasion wouldn’t be any different. And it didn’t help that Dr. Adamson had been the on-staff physician and general medic at Illinois State Police Academy when Billy attempted to graduate the academy and failed. The doctor knew he'd faked a medical condition to get out of the police academy.  
    Dr. Adamson finished his coffee at his leisure and rolled down his window. “Hey Billy, top of the morning. Aren’t you hitting the eighth hole by now in that cart you call a vehicle?”
    “The city issues the vehicles, and if it were up to me—”
    “Hey, I’m late to work.” Dr. Adamson jokingly eyed his watch. “But a doctor’s got time for his patients. How’s the colon? Has it gone spastic again?”
    “The colon's dandy. Thanks.”
    Billy groaned.  
    Then he blushed.  
    Dr. Adamson had the goods on him, and damn the luck, Billy thought, that Dr. Adamson would later become his parking violation nemesis. Dr. Adamson signed a waiver at the police academy to give him the semester off—and half tuition reimbursement—for suffering from bouts of spastic colon. The problem was, he didn’t have spastic colon. He hated the police academy and begged the doctor for an out. He couldn't just drop out. His father would've been disappointed, so this was the next best option. Billy was grateful for that “out” Dr. Adamson provided. Dr. Adamson considered the secretarial fibbing as a way to avoid having negligent cops on the beat.  
    “Please re-park your vehicle,” Billy said nicely. “I understand you’re in a hurry.”
    “Oh, all right,” Dr. Adamson replied. “But here, I’ve made a spare key. I trust you, Billy-boy. You can