As soon as Pugh plopped onto a stool, the guy I’d confronted leaned in and whispered something to him. Then the big man turned to face me.
He said, “Who the hell are you, causing shit in here? This place is ours.”
“I don’t think that’s how the DC police would see it.”
He let out a laugh. “You really think those pussies would even come down here?” Then he scowled as he said, “How do we know you’re not a cop? Or worse, a reporter.” He had a hint of a Virginia drawl.
“Why would a reporter be so bad?”
That seemed to enrage the big man. “Are you kidding me? The way they cover us? They make us look like terrorists. Nothing but lies.” Spittle sprayed his table as he started to shout. He stood up and took a step toward me.
I kept quiet and tried to stay calm.
Pugh said, “This is our turf. We got a right to know who’s trespassin’ and why they’re asking questions.” Then he reached into my sport coat like he was looking for my wallet. I slapped his hand away out of instinct. It felt like an invasive, childish move. That’s why I treated him like a brat.
That might’ve been my mistake.
Chapter 13
The big anarchist pulled the most basic move known by every kid who’s ever been in a fight: he wrapped his arms around me in a giant bear hug. Holy shit was he strong. He squeezed the breath out of me instantly. The sound I made when the air rushed out of me was not particularly dignified. I was immediately immobilized in a cocoon of muscle and fat. He lifted me off my stool like I was a child. As he walked toward the back door, the others just followed his lead. The young woman even opened the door for us.
Pugh called over his shoulder to the barista. “Just taking out the trash, Cheyenne. Nothing to worry about.”
I decided to go with it until we got all the way outside. I was lucky he hadn’t noticed my gun on my hip. He was too intent on crushing me. There was no reason to expose who I really was yet. If things got much worse, I wouldn’t have a choice.
Even though I was being physically carried by a remarkably strong giant, I kept my head. I thought out a few different scenarios. None of them involved pulling my duty pistol. The barista clearly hadn’t called the police and didn’t seem to care that that might work in my favor. Then again, she didn’t care what happened to me.
When we were out of view of the parking lot, things got worse. Quickly.
Jeremy Pugh released his arms from my ribs and dropped me roughly on my feet. My right ankle twisted on the loose gravel scattered along the walkway. The pain felt like an electric shock as it worked up my leg to my brain. My teeth clattered so hard I was afraid I chipped one. I gulped some air quickly.
I was about to say something witty when Pugh hit me with a hammering blow. His forearm connected with my back, snapping my head back and forth like whiplash and knocking me to one knee. Semiconscious, I realized that these guys were serious. And certainly Jeremy Pugh could be a good suspect in the disappearance of Emily Parker.
My worry turned to embarrassment that these morons had escalated this to a level I hadn’t anticipated. I stayed on one knee, motionless, trying to clear my head before I stood up again. I did flinch at a kick that wasn’t thrown. Then I felt something else. First on my leg and then on my back. Then I realized with a sickening feeling what it was. Piss. Jeremy Pugh was peeing on me.
I’d like to say it was the first time I’d encountered the use of urine as a weapon. But as a uniformed patrolman in the Bronx, my team had all been showered with jars of urine from the upper floors of apartments. This just seemed so much more personal and disgusting.
By the time I was upright, Pugh had zipped up his fly and his friends were all laughing. Then they just wandered away like I wasn’t worth another thought.
I watched them. I knew we’d see each other again. Maybe soon.
Chapter 14
I made it back to my hotel room, holding my jacket at arm’s length as if it had been sprayed with a biological weapon. I cared nothing about the view from my seventh-floor window. I didn’t care that I could see the Library of Congress clearly. Instead, I jumped into the shower, still wearing my pants and shirt. Eventually I stripped down and threw the clothing into a laundry bag. I’d spring for the hotel dry cleaning before I ever wore that jacket again.
I try to never let emotions dictate my actions. I was thinking this might be an exception. I needed a little time to cool down. And to pick my time and place to remind Jeremy Pugh that I would not forget what he’d done to me. Now I had Pugh on my list of suspects.