The others follow, raining burning alcohol and broken glass down on the station. Shouts of surprise from the officers are quickly followed by gunshots. Damn, they react quickly. But they’ve dealt with our kind before.

I push my way deeper into the station, taking advantage of the smoke that is filling the room. I hate them all, but these are just the peons of the police force. I’m after the big dog, the king of the castle himself, Bastard Sheriff Thomas Corevat.

He’s here today, I know. We saw his fancy BMW as we came in, parked right next to the one and only sheriff’s car in the city. Pity we didn’t have enough cocktails to trash those, too.

I’m behind the line of fire, and I’m still alive and unnoticed. How lucky is that? I guess it sucks for the rest of the squatter pack, though. The only reason I’m this far is because they’re out there bleeding. Better them than me. I still have work to do.

I race up the stairs, Molotov ready in one hand, lighter in the other, just in case I run into any more cops. Looks like our first attack pretty well cleaned out the place. I can only hope Bastard Corevat is still holed up in his office like the chicken **** he is. I hear a deep voice yelling at someone on a phone down the hallway. Bingo.

I light the cocktail before I kick in the door, then lob it strait for the bastard’s desk. God, what I would have given to have a camera at that moment. Corevat standing there behind his flaming desk, phone in one hand, cigar in the other, looking at me like I was the Ghost of **** Christmas Future, come for his soul. Not far off, fat man.

He fumbles to get his gun out of the shoulder holster, but the idiot forgets his hands are full. He swears and drops it as he jams his cigar butt into the fleshy pink of his bare arm accidentally. By then, I have another Molotov lit.

“‘For the good of the people and the prosperity of the nation.’ Right, Sheriff?” I can feel the grin spreading across my cheeks as the bottle leaves my fingertips. That should keep him from getting his gun. Oh, look. His cigar box hasn’t caught fire yet. I’ll just take that with me.

I stride into the hallway, whistling while he screams. There is smoke coming up the stairs. I thought it felt hotter in here. Looks like I’ll have to find another way out. I open another door off the hallway. There is a window on the far wall. I can probably get out that way. I put the cigar box safely in my bag and pop out the screen. It’s only just over a story down, and I don’t see the police. They must still be busy in the lobby.

I drop down to the sidewalk below. Time to get out of here. I turn the corner and start heading for our rendezvous place.

“Hey, you!”

****.

“Stop right there, or we’ll open fire!”

Oh, hell no. I start running. Gunshots behind me. If one of those hits me in the back, it’s really gonna hurt. I still have some cocktails in that bag. I pull it off and start fishing around for a cocktail. If I can just get one more off, maybe I can get….

Ow, that smarts. How did the asphalt get so close? I don’t remember falling.

“I got him!”

Oof. Jesus **** Christ, he’s sitting on me, and this one really needs to lay off the donuts, bad. He shoves my face down into the asphalt and wrenches my hands behind my back, slapping handcuffs on my wrists. Fire races through my left shoulder as he tugs on that arm and I start swearing. I know, anything you say can and will blah blah blah. Like they’re gonna let me get off with this one, anyway.

He pulls me to my feet and the world starts spinning. I hate cops. They’re trying to make me stand, but it’s not going to work, even if I wanted to. I start cursing the guy out.

“Shut up or I’ll shut you up myself!”

Ooh, the bastard is sensitive. I keep flapping my jaw. Hell, I’ve already lived longer than I thought I would today. Something hits the back of my head, and the world fades away.