But Not For Lust by BJ Bourg (comprehension books .txt) 📕

The move by Susan had taken Dillon’s attention off of me. I steadied myself and slid my left arm down Dillon’s right arm until it rested behind his elbow. Twisting violently at the hip, I pivoted in a clockwise motion, trying to use my bodyweight to break the man’s arm. A grunt escaped his lips and a small cracking sound was heard, but that was all.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I caught sight of the port captain as he leapt from his chair behind the desk and scurried around us and through the door, yelling at no one in particular to call for help, that the two cops inside would need backup.

At that moment, Dillon reached out and tried to grab Susan with his left mitt, but she threw a straight right punch that crashed into the tips of his outstretched fingers, breaking at least a couple of them. The injury didn’t seem to deter Dillon. He growled like an angry bear and tried to fling me off of him, but I dropped my center of gravity and retained my balance.

Susan threw a combination of punches—a left hook to the jaw, a right uppercut to the chin, and a straight right to the throat—that snapped the man’s head back and forth and knocked his hardhat to the floor. While he was distracted by the attack, I set my feet and pivoted violently again. This time, the man’s weakened arm snapped like a large tree branch and I heard the knife clank to the floor, joining the hardhat at our feet.

Dillon didn’t let out so much as a grunt of pain when the arm broke, but the limb was now useless. I let go and was about to sweep his legs out from under him when Susan threw a thunderous kick directly to his groin. The large man froze in place and quivered. Susan reared back and kicked him again, and then again, each one more powerful than the last.

Dillon cried out in pain and his eyes rolled back in his head. He dropped his left hand with the mangled fingers in a feeble attempt to cover his groin, but Susan kicked a fourth time, destroying what was left of the bones in that hand.

The big man seemed to teeter on the balls of his feet for a split second before falling like a giant tree—slowly at first, and then picking up steam as he got closer to the ground. He landed with a thunderous thud that caused the small office building to shake like there’d been an earthquake.

I glanced at Susan and then down at Dillon. The big man’s face was twisted in pain, a scream caught in his throat.

“Damn, Sue,” I said, wiping sweat from my forehead and bending over to roll him onto his stomach. “I thought you were here to make sure I went easy on him.”

“He dictated the pace.” Susan was barely out of breath. She indicated the injured man. “He’s alive, ain’t he? He got off lucky.”

She was right. Had there been a dozen or more feet between us, we would’ve had time to draw our weapons and shoot him repeatedly. Rather than lying here writhing in pain, he would be bleeding to death on the floor instead.

Dillon groaned as I guided his left arm back to meet his right. His shoulders were large and stiff, so I had to force his wrists together before ratcheting on my handcuffs.

“Watch it!” he grumbled. “You’re gonna break my other arm!”

“Shut up,” was all I said. I straightened and stared down at him. While I firmly believed he would deserve to die for what he’d done to Ty if found guilty, I was glad things had turned out this way. I had questions and I needed answers. Most importantly, I needed to know about his animus toward Ty. What on earth was it that had driven him to do what he had done to the poor man?

As Susan headed for my Tahoe to retrieve an evidence box, I pulled out my cell phone and called for an ambulance. After giving them my location and describing Dillon’s injuries, I helped him to a seated position on the floor. Susan returned right at that moment and, after pulling on a latex glove, recovered the knife from the floor where Dillon had dropped it. She inspected it carefully and then waved me over.

“Look in the crack between the tang and the handle,” she said, pointing. “That’s dried blood.”

I nodded and grabbed one of the folding chairs. I placed the chair directly in front of Dillon and took a seat. I leaned forward to stare into his eyes. He had lost his sunglasses at some point during the fracas, but there was a pale outline where they used to be, thanks to his many hours of working in the sun while wearing them.

“You know why we’re here, don’t you?”

Dillon shifted his position to relieve the pressure on his wrists, but froze and winced in pain. He cursed me and Susan, but neither of us reacted. I wasn’t sure what hurt him worse—his dislocated elbow, his broken fingers, or his crushed jewels—but it was plain to see he was in intense pain.

“I asked you a question,” I said, lifting my boot and nudging his shoulder. “Do you know why we’re here?”

He glared up at me, but didn’t say a word.

“We know everything. We know how you kidnapped Ty, mutilated him, and then beat him to death.” I paused and nodded slowly. “We know every detail about what you did to that poor man. A man like you—I’ve got to think you have a reason for everything you do. What reason did you have for murdering Ty Richardson? The man never hurt anybody. He was innocent of any wrongdoing.”