He’s still standing there, but he’s let go of my wrist.
There must not be that many cops here, because they still haven’t made their way through the rest of the crowd, and I make my way toward the back of the building.
There’s no rear entrance, but there are a couple of windows, though they’re small and I have no idea whether or not they actually open. I’d hate to have to break something, but time is a factor here.
I duck down before I get to the first window, just in case I was wrong and there are police waiting out back for someone to try what I’m about to try. I test the window.
It opens, but not easily, and it makes a piercing squeak as I lift it, drawing the attention of at least one officer, because someone behind me is shouting, “Step away from that window!”
I don’t think I will.
I climb out the window and, as soon as my feet hit the pavement, I’m running. There’s no telling how many cops are out front, so for now, I’m just staying behind the buildings.
“Hey!” a voice shouts a little ways behind me, but I’m not stopping for anything.
I’ve gone about three blocks before the exertion of the fight kicks in and I watch the last bit of useful energy draining from my body. I duck behind a dumpster and peek my head out to look at the path behind me.
If someone was chasing me at first, they’re not anymore.
I stand up again, slowly.
I’m all alone. Unfortunately, with the increased heart rate, the open wound on my forehead is just gushing, and I seriously doubt anyone is going to let me into their cab like this.
It’s not too far to walk home from here. I just hope I don’t run into any neighbors on the way.
My body shivers a little and I realize that, in all the confusion, I never bothered to put my shirt on. I think I had it when I came out the back window, but I can’t really be sure. In all the chaos and confusion, the shirt wasn’t really the first thing on my mind.
I look back in the direction from which I came, but if it’s back there somewhere, I’m not seeing it.
Looking down, now, I’m trying to think of any excuse I could give for my general appearance other than the obvious. If tonight were Halloween, it wouldn’t be a problem. People would just ask how I got the cut on my head to look so real.
Unfortunately, between my black trunks, bare feet and tape-wrapped hands, I don’t think there’s any way I can walk down the street without looking like exactly what I am.
Given the fact there was just a police raid on an underground fight, now’s probably not such a good time to not have real clothes.
I’m walking back home using back alleys as much as possible. When it does become necessary to come out onto the sidewalk for a block or two, I try to move as quickly as I possibly can until I’m back where people can’t see me so easily.
When I get within sight of my house, though, I stop.
I don’t know how they knew where to find me or why they’d go to such lengths over something like this, but there’s a police cruiser going up and down the street.
I don’t have my keys, my phone, anything. What’s really on my mind right now, though, is the police car coming from the other direction.
Seriously, don’t these guys have anything better to do with their time?
I can’t go home, at least not yet. I can’t very well stay out here on the streets, either. Besides, it’s barely spring and Wisconsin gets cold.
I’ve got a buddy that lives about half a mile from here. He’s a bit of a pain in the ass, but I don’t have too many other options at the moment, so I start walking.
I get between buildings as soon as I can. The cop hadn’t seen me, but if they’ve got my ID, they know what I look like. Even if they didn’t, I’m still a guy walking around in nothing but trunks and some hand tape with blood all over him.
Coming to the sidewalk on the far side of this block, I glance down the street in both directions, making sure I don’t have the 5-0 coming down on me, and I go. My feet are starting to hurt.
“Mason?” a woman’s voice calls from down the sidewalk as I reach the other side of the road.
I turn to run, but glance back first to see what I’m dealing with. Given who I see coming toward me, this might actually work out all right for me.
“Jana?” I ask the short, black-haired woman staring at me with her body half-turned like she’s trying to decide whether or not to grab the hand of the woman next to her and run.
I don’t know if Jana and I ever said the words boyfriend and girlfriend when we were whatever it was that we were, but she’s definitely my ex-something.
“What happened to you?” she asks, covering her mouth.
“Oh, just a little sporting event that got interrupted,” I answer and look to the brunette woman standing next to Jana, looking at me with raised eyebrows and a wide-open mouth. “Hi,” I say to the woman. “I’m Mason. I’d shake your hand, but, well…”
“You should go to the hospital,” the woman says. “That cut looks pretty bad.”
“Yeah, I was trying to head home, but…” I stop. I’m already terrifying enough right now just by my appearance. There’s no solid reason to tell them that I’m also on the run from the cops.
“But…?” Jana asks.
“…but I can’t,” I finish.
It’s a stupid explanation—not really an explanation at all. Still, though, it keeps the conversation moving and I don’t have a lot of time to stand here and talk.
“You should really get that cleaned up,” the woman standing next to Jana says.
“I’m on my way to do just that,” I answer. “Hey, it was nice to meet you, but I really should…”
“Are you going to the hospital?” Jana asks.
My mind’s a little blown right now, as I can’t imagine why two people would want to stand and talk to someone in my position.
“Hadn’t planned on it,” I tell her. “I really need to go.”
“Are you doing it?” the brunette asks.
“What?” I return, baffled.
“Are you going to be the one treating the wound, and if so, do you have any experience as a paramedic, nurse, or a doctor?” she asks.
“You’re kind of freaking me out a little here,” I tell the woman. “What, do you see my skull or something?”
“No,” she says, “but I’m pretty sure that’s just because of the blood.”
Jana’s looking a little pale.
“Yeah,” I tell her. “I was going to just jump in the shower or something and put a bandage over it. I’m sure it looks worse than it is.”
“You really need to get that taken care of now,” the brunette says. “And I really think you’re going to want to have someone who knows what they’re doing take care of it.”
“Ash, if we’re going to be drunk and dancing by midnight, we should really get going,” Jana says.
“Hold on a minute,” the brunette woman, apparently Ash, says and comes a little closer to me. “Do you have any communicable diseases?” she asks. “AIDS? Hepatitis? Anything blood borne?”
“You’re going to touch his blood?” Jana asks. “Eww!”