Gamma Blade by Tim Stevens

move along. The female paramedic said: “That’s her. The doc who first attended to the guy.”
    The cops were both immediately interested. They turned to Beth, eyed Venn up.
    He held up his shield, which he’d already taken out so that he didn’t have to reach into his pocket and thereby arouse suspicion. “Lieutenant Joseph Venn. NYPD. I was the one who called, when I saw the group of men on the pier watching the yacht.”
    One of the cops peered at the ID. His eyes switched back to Venn’s face.
    “What you doing here?”
    “Enjoying a weekend in Miami,” said Venn. “At least, trying to.”
    He and Beth told the cops what had happened. As they related their story, another cop car showed up.
    The officer in charge spoke on his phone. Then he said: “We’ll need to take a formal statement. And we need some info on that guy in the ambulance, too.”
    “Any ID on him?” said Venn.
    “Driving license,” said the cop. “His name’s James Harris, from Colorado. We’re checking on the home address right now. Got to tell you, though, this doesn’t look like a routine mugging. Not with what you saw, the guys lined up alongside the yacht.” He jerked his head at one of the patrol cars. “You guys ride with us. We’re following the ambulance to the hospital. Our lieutenant’s going to meet us there. You can talk to him then.”
    Beth said, “I want to ride in the ambulance. He’s my patient.”
    The cop looked at the paramedics, who shrugged. “No problem,” said the male one. “Won’t hurt to have a doctor riding along.”
    Beth was reluctant to let go of Venn, and he was hanging onto her, too. But she patted his arm.
    “See you there, okay?” She prized herself free and got on board the ambulance.
    *
    Brull waited till he’d turned four corners and was six blocks away before he broke into a run.
    His instincts had told him to run first, then slow down once he’d put distance between him and the scene. But his instincts were wrong, and he ignored them. Running out of the alleyway when he knew there were witnesses, and cops, would have painted a target on his back in neon colors.
    Six blocks away, there was nobody following him. He was certain of it.
    But he started running then, because he had work to do.
    He’d parked his car along a tree-lined avenue which ran alongside a park. There were a few late-night strollers on the avenue, he noted, couples and small groups of friends walking off their evening meal. Nobody looked at him for long. He might have been a jogger - though oddly attired for such an activity - or simply late for an appointment or a date.
    Brull’s car was a two-year-old silver Dodge Challenger. Some people might have considered it an overly conspicuous set of wheels for a man in his position to be driving, but here in Miami, muscle cars were a dime a dozen. And in some ways, paradoxically, the car gave him added camouflage. It was the last vehicle you’d expect an otherwise cautious gangster to be driving.
    Naturally, he had no chauffeur. He wouldn’t let anybody else behind the wheel. Brull dropped into the leather front seat and gunned the engine and took off, at the same time flipping open his cell phone.
    It was answered on the first ring.
    Brull said: “Talk to me.”
    Elon, one of his enforcers, was on the line. “It’s off, boss,” he said. “The guys faded fast. Before the cops got there.”
    “Before the local cops got there, you mean,” said Brull. “That guy who chased you...”
    “Yeah, I know,” said Elon. “You kill him?”
    “No.” Brull didn’t explain. He didn’t need to. Elon would guess why his boss had left the cop alive. And in any case, it wasn’t his business what Brull chose to do.
    “He was from New York,” Brull continued.
    “NYPD?”
    “Yeah. His name’s Joseph Venn. V-E-N-N. A detective.”
    Brull listened to silence as Elon pondered this.
    “Get on it,” said Brull. “Find out what New York’s interest is in us.”
    Elon