From the Tales of Saint Anthony, the Johnny Holiday Mysteries
These short stories follow the lives of people who populate the fictional city of Saint Anthony (Minneapolis, Minnesota), and make their appearance in the first Johnny Holiday novel, The...
When Officer Sandy O'Rourke finally caught up to his partner he was wheezing and out of breath.
He stopped running, doubled over and vomited into the rain filled gutter; what flew out of his mouth was little more than sputum and bile, and the minute he spent hacking with his head between his knees was the last-long-minute he spent in this world...his last sixty-agonizing- seconds were spent like his first...just struggling to breathe.
Sandy's young protégé, Officer Parsons, had taken off in rush down Lake Street, chasing a tall-young man in a long coat, who was himself chasing a giant down East on Lake, a man so large and menacing that he could only be one person—the notorious Karl Thorrson, the new crime boss over the entire city of Saint Anthony.
There had been an incident at the Round-Up, a busy watering hole that Sandy was fond of drinking in, getting a shot off the cuff every time he circled past while walking the beat.
They had just stopped there and had been handed a shot of Aquavit, not his favorite, he preferred brown liquor, but he wasn't going to complain about it. Parsons declined. Sandy put both down in a flash...then all hell broke out.
He didn't know what had happened, but Karl Thorrson was involved. There was a fight, Thorrson had been pushed out of the establishment, then a terrible stroke of lightning struck who worked there...maybe killed him...Sandy wasn't sure; the kid had only been trying to bring the gangster his hat...and tab.
Karl Thorrson must have gotten spooked by something, how else do you explain the way he took off running?
He sprinted katty-corner across Lake Street and suddenly grew a tail, the tall fellow was in pursuit,
Sandy's partner, didn't have the sense to leave well enough alone; he took off after them without saying a word...Sandy thought about it for a moment before taking off too.
He didn't even think about it, it's what his training compelled him to do.
Sandy wasn't sure how far they ran, four...maybe five blocks; Thorrson and the man tailing him turned down an alley; it was dark and thankfully his partner had found wits enough to slow down and wait for him to catch up.
When Sandy got there he was spent, he puked and clutched at his heart while his partner watched, unsure of what to do.
Sandy fell to his knees in the pouring rain, pushed his hat off his head and found some relief in the falling water. He stared up into and let the rain wash his face clean.
His partner came over to him and put his hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right old man?" he asked tenderly.
Sandy nodded and shook his head in an uncertain motion, he didn't have enough air in his lungs to push out a single.
Officer Parsons pulled his limp body away from the curb, and up to the windows of the store front behind them. He got the old timer under the awning and set his cap back on his head.
Just then a squad car pulled-up and into the alley, it bore the markings of the the park police—it was a radio car.
Parsons waved at them, he tried to flag them down and get some help for his partner, and he watched as the driver looked at him with no emotion on his face, and no indication that he was willing to offer aid of any kind.
Parsons spat and cursed.
He took Sandy's cold hand, he wanted to tell him that it was going to be okay, but at that moment another stroke of lightning hit the city somewhere nearby, and the lights went out everywhere; just as the lights went out in Sandy's eyes...
...Sandy O'Rourke, dead in the line of duty.
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