Jimmy walked another block, and from the corner of his eye he thought he could see something following him.

Probably a dog . . .

Or a tiger.

Another cop car whizzed past, and up ahead Jimmy could hear the distorted utterances of a bull horn:

“COME OUT WITH . . . WE PROMISE . . . YOU WILL GET THE ASSITANCE YOU NEED . . . ONLY IF YOU . . .”

There was gunshot, and Jimmy could feel his heart leap into his throat.

“ . . . NOBODY ELSE NEEDS TO GET HUR . . .”

BAM BAM BAM!!!

When Jimmy turned the corner his heart sank back down again. Jackie’s was surrounded with cop cars, ambulances, and fire trucks. Jimmy had only seen this kind of action in movies.

His head felt like it was going to explode, but it was for much more than lack of coffee.

Turning Crimson off, Jimmy caught something from the corner of his eye . . . again.

Jimmy ran over to the wounded cop moments before the paramedics were on him. There was a gaping wound in his side, bleeding into the street. The glint in the cop’s eyes were fading and Jimmy knew that he was dying. His lips peeled back revealing the shiny nubs of his teeth. Naturally, he didn’t know who Jimmy was. “Tell my son I love him,” he said in a final, delirious spasm. He reached out, but Jimmy backed away. He thought of the people on the bus and how silent they’d seemed.

Holy Fuck!

“Move!” One of the approaching paramedics screamed at Billy.

Billy, backing away, bumped into a nearby cop.

“What the fuck?!” he asked.

“Behind the tape, son!”

“Huh?”

“Behind the tape! NOW!”

Jimmy looked over the cops' shoulders. There was a tape strung across the far end of the parking lot. Several spectators were gathered behind it, their expressions void and dull.

“I work here,” Jimmy explained to the cop.

“NOW!”

“But . . .”

An electric shock seemed to go through Jimmy’s body when the cop grabbed his shoulder and began to lead him toward the tape. He tried to remember all the people who worked at Jackie’s.

The cop, lifting the tape, slipped Jimmy under it. “Stay!” He ordered. “Or get lost.”

“What’s going on?” An attractive blonde in a pink tank top asked him.

“I work there,” he said.

“Probably not any more."

“I heard almost everyone’s dead,” said a portly, middle aged man in a suit. “Some guy just went fucking gang busters."

“He works there,” said the girl, pointing at Jimmy.

“Shit,” said the man.

Jimmy took out a cigarette and lit it.

“Got another one of those?” The girl asked.

Jimmy handed her one and looked into her soft face. The sun was reflected in her eyes. “Thanks,” she said.

“No problem.”

“I almost went in there,” came another voice. “I almost . . .”

“All I wanted was a fucking cup of coffee,” he told the girl, trying not to hear the ocean of garble around them.

“Yeah, I’m sick of this shit too.”

The girl turned around and walked off, a trail of smoke snaking behind her, leading.

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