***  "I didn't have anywhere else to go..." ***
***  "...What do you expect me to do?"  "Help me..." ***
***  "...Just let me get some sleep..." ***
***  "...You don't believe me..." ***
***  "...I thought you'd see it differently."  "You thought wrong." ***

     Brigatti turned back to the phone in her hand, trying to keep her finger from shaking as she completed the number to the precinct.  She couldn't look at him anymore; Hobson was just too good at that, too good at making his eyes so pleading, so tired.  She wouldn't fall for it.

     "Yeah, I guess so."  He sounded so desolate, so alone--why shouldn't he?  But there was something else, too...

     Brigatti looked up to see Hobson backing slowly towards the door.  Her eyes widened, and years of training made her command, "Hobson, stay where you are."  She took a second to slam the phone down--calling for help could come later--and reached into her coat for her gun.  Her fingers clasped around the sleek metal, and she pulled it out and aimed squarely at Hobson's chest in one fluid movement.  ~Damn him, he's still
moving!~  "Hobson--stop!"

     He did, his eyes fixed on the agent of penetrating death that was pointed his way.  Then, his eyes slid up to hers again, and stayed there.  Brigatti's breath caught, and she saw a hint of a smile play over his lips.

     "Or what?"

***One***

     The gun didn't waver.  She'd had long hours of practise to keep the gun from wavering, practise that served her well as she pointed the weapon at Hobson's chest.  Inside, though, she was trembling like a leaf.  "Hobson, I can't let you leave," Brigatti said plainly, keeping her voice level.  "I'm a cop; if I let you go, I could be letting a murderer
loose on Chicago."

     "I'm not a murderer!"  The little smile was gone; Hobson's voice was raspy, but it was full of conviction.  "Brigatti, if you'd just listen to me--"

     "Listen?  I've got plenty to listen to!"  Nodding her head towards the phone, the detective continued, "I'm listening to the captain tell me that the mayor doesn't take kindly to killers threatening his citizens, I'm listening to news reports tell me that you're a psychopathic monster that has to be stopped at all costs, and I'm listening to Paul Armstrong tell me not to feel bad because if you can fool him you can fool anybody!  I don't need anyone else's opinion on the matter, Hobson, I hardly even know what mine is!"

     Hobson paused, and Brigatti saw a glimmer of hope spark deep in his eyes.  "Your opinion is that you know me, Brigatti," he said quietly, "And you know that I couldn't kill anybody.  You know there's something wrong with this; why don't you just let me tell you what I know so we can both find the real killer!"

     "Who?  This 'Joe', this parking lot attendant?"  Shaking her head slowly, Brigatti tightened her grasp on the gun.  "Sorry, Hobson.  As far as I know, the real killer is standing right in front of me.  And I can't let him leave."

     His shoulders slumped, and she watched the tiny spark fade from his eyes, leaving nothing but the tiredness she'd seen earlier.  "I understand," he whispered, and Brigatti felt her hands tremble.

     He didn't protest as she read him his rights.

***Two***

     "Or what?"

     The way he said it--the little rush of air that happened to contain words--chilled her.  Brigatti's hands tightened around her gun, and she tried to ignore the little smile that was playing over his lips.  "Or I'll shoot," she answered, raising her chin a little, daring him to challenge her.

     The smile froze, and suddenly she was sure it had never been there at all.  "Brigatti--please--"  Hobson took a step towards her, raising his hand a little from where it hung at his side--

     --And suddenly she saw the way his eyes were just dull, dead circles against his pale skin.  She saw the rumpled coat and hat that were probably stolen, and the heavy bags that were deepening under his eyes.  She saw the evening shadow darken his face, and for the first time, she was afraid of being alone with him.

     His hand was almost level with his pocket, and as its shadow played over the fabric, Brigatti noticed a bulge she hadn't seen before.  Her eyes widened, and her finger tightened quickly on the trigger.

     One bullet, one massively loud bang, and Hobson was on the floor.  Brigatti took a deep breath, then set her gun down beside the phone and rushed over to him.  Kneeling down, she quickly frisked the pocket--and felt her stomach turn to stone when she realized that he had told the truth--he didn't have a gun.

     "Oh my God..."  Biting her lip, Brigatti turned to check his pulse--and jumped when she felt his fingers slide around her wrist.  "Hobson, I--"

     "Brigatti."  His hat had fallen off; now that his eyes weren't obscured by the brim, she could see the desperation in them, the fear a hard light against their soft brown.  "I didn't--I didn't--"

     "Shh...Gary."  His eyes were dimming; she'd always been a good shot.  "I'll take care of it."  Taking his hand from her wrist, she settled him as comfortably as she could.  "I promise."

     His eyes were almost black.  "My...cat..."

     "Shh."  She waited for him to still; then, standing up slowly, she turned her back on the dead man and picked up the phone.  She dialled mechanically, and looked at nothing as the number rang through on the other end.

     "Hello--captain?  It's Brigatti.  I have Hobson."

***Three***

     "Or what?"

     Brigatti's blood pounded through her head, the quick beating of her heart sounding like a drum in the silence of her apartment.  She couldn't think; the adrenaline, the tension, the total lock Hobson's eyes had on her own--she just couldn't think.

     The tiny smile that played on Hobson's lips dimmed back into nothingness, and his gaze faltered.  Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he turned away and continued his progress towards the door, his shoulders hunched, his head slightly bowed.

     Suddenly, Brigatti realized what was happening--he was getting away.  And a crystal-clear thought echoed through her head:  ~I can't let him get away.~

     Changing her grip on the gun she ran straight at Hobson, raising her arm to strike down on the back of his head with the heavy weapon.  But as she got closer, the tall man glanced around, then spun the rest of his body back to face her.  One hand swung up and caught her arm easily, stopping the blow inches from his face--but the force of Brigatti's
momentum knocked Hobson off-balance and he fell, pulling her to the ground with him.  On the way, their wrists banged into a small corner table, and the sharp pain made Brigatti's hand open involuntarily.  The gun clattered away and under a chair.

     The detective fought against Hobson as they tangled ungracefully on the floor--but he was bigger and stronger than she was, and despite her best efforts he soon had her pinned under him, his hands tight around her wrists, his full weight keeping her motionless between his body and the cold hardwood floor.

     Their faces were inches apart, and Brigatti had no choice but to stare directly into his eyes.  "You gonna kill me, Hobson?"  she demanded breathlessly.

     His eyes widened at the question, and his grip on her wrists slackened.  "You think I could?"  he replied quietly.  His soft brown eyes searched hers for the answer, and a moment later he rolled off of her, breaking the contact.

     Brigatti sat up and watched as Hobson got to his feet.  He reclaimed his cap from where it had landed after she'd knocked it off his head and played with it in his hands.  "You don't think I'm a killer," he stated softly, turning back to face her.

     Pulling herself to her feet, Brigatti looked hard at him for a long moment--then shook her head.  "I don't know what to think.  But I *know* there's a killer somewhere in this city."  She saw the look in his eyes, and softened.  "But if it's you, Hobson...Gary...I'll be very surprised."

     Gary started, his lips parting in amazement.  After a moment he nodded once, slowly.  "You do see it differently."

     Brigatti simply looked at him.  A long moment later, Gary turned and walked slowly out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

     Only when she was sure he was gone did Brigatti let herself collapse.

***Four***

     "Or what?"

     The look on his face told her--or nothing.  She couldn't shoot him; he knew it, and she knew it.  There was too much, too many reasons not to, reasons that only the two of them recognized.  Brigatti couldn't pull that trigger, not when it was his life at stake.

     Their eyes met, and Brigatti froze.  She couldn't shoot--but if she let him go, just let him walk out of her house as if he wasn't wanted all over the city--wouldn't that be just as bad?

     She was frozen--and then Hobson looked away.  Turned away.  Walked away...

     The door closed behind him, and she still couldn't move, couldn't stop aiming her gun at empty space.

     And slowly, softly, a single tear ran over her cheek.

End.

Email the author:  Jayne Leitch
 
 

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