Proven Guilty (The Dresden Files #8) - Jim Butcher Page 0,10
acquired an odd, moaning wheeze as opposed to the usual surly wheeze. I tried my door. It didnt open. I rolled down my window and hauled myself slowly out of the car. If I could get up the energy to slide across the hood before I got back in, I could audition for The Dukes of Hazzard .
Here in Hazzard County, I drawled to myself, we dont much cotton to hit-and-run automotive assaults.
It took an unknown number of minutes for the first cop to arrive, a patrolman I recognized named Grayson. Grayson was an older cop, a big man with a big red nose and a comfortable gut, who looked like he could bounce angry drunks or drink them under the table, take your pick. He got out of his car and started asking me questions in a concerned tone of voice. I answered him as best I could, but something between my brain and my mouth had shorted out, and I found him eyeing me and then looking around the inside of the Beetle for open containers before he sat me down on the ground and started routing traffic around. I got to sit down on the curb, which suited me fine. I watched the sidewalk spin around until someone touched my shoulder.
Karrin Murphy, head of Chicago PDs Special Investigations department, looked like someones cute kid sister. She was maybe a rose petal over five feet tall, had blond hair, blue eyes, a pug nose, and nearly invisible freckles. She was made all of springy muscle; a gymnasts build that did not preclude feminine curves. She was in a white cotton shirt and blue jeans that day, a Cubs ball cap on her head, reflective sunglasses over her eyes.
Harry? she asked. You okay?
Uncle Jesse is gonna be awful disappointed that one of Boss Hoggs flunkies banged up the General Lee, I told her, waving at my car.
She stared at me for a moment and then said, Did you know you have a bruise on the side of your head?
Nah, I said. I poked a finger at it. Do I?
Murphy sighed and gently pushed my finger down. Harry, seriously. If youre so loopy you cant talk to me, I need to get you to a hospital.
Sorry, Murph, I told her. Been a long day already. I got my bells rung pretty good. Ill be fine in a minute.
She exhaled, and then nodded and sat down on the curb with me. Mind if I have one of the EMTs look at you? Just to be careful?
Theyd want to take me to a hospital, I said. Too dangerous. I could short out someones life support. And the Reds are watching the hospitals, putting hits on our wounded. I could draw fire onto the patients.
I know that, she said quietly. I wont let them take you.
Oh. Okay, then, I said. An EMT checked me out. He shined a light into my eyes, for which I kicked him lightly in the shins. He muttered at me for a minute, poked me here and there, examined and measured and counted and so on. Then he shook his head and stood up. Maybe a mild concussion. He should see a doctor to be safe, Lieutenant.
Murphy nodded, thanked the EMT, and looked pointedly at the ambulance. He sidled away, his expression disapproving.
Murphy sat down with me again. All right, spill. What happened?
Someone in a dark grey Chrysler tried to park in my backseat. I waved a hand, annoyed, as she opened her mouth. And no. I didnt get the plates. I was too busy considering a career as a crash test dummy.
Youve got the dummy part down, she said. You into something lately?
Not yet, I complained. I mean, Hells bells, Murphy. I got told half a freaking hour ago that theres bad juju going down somewhere in Chicago. I havent even had time to start checking into it, and someone is already trying to make me into a commercial for seat belts and air bags.
You sure it was deliberate?
Yeah. But whoever it was, he wasnt a pro.
Why do you say that?
If he had been, hed have spun me easy. No idea he was there until hed hit me. Could have bumped me into a spin before I could have straightened out. Flipped my car a few times. Killed me pretty good. I rubbed at the back of my neck. A nice, all-body ache was already spreading out into my muscles. Isnt exactly the best place for it,