This snippet, written on a typical spring day in a city near Cascade, originally appeared on the Sentinelangst list as my dues. Rated G. Thanks to Kris for beta reading..
The Sentinel world belongs to Pet Fly, Paramount, USA/SCI-FI and UPN. No copyright infringement is intended.
Laurie Borealis
Blair leaned back against the seat of the truck and closed his eyes. He and Jim had been parked since dawn across the street from Miss Monique de Love's house, hoping her common-law husband Al "Ripper" Rippington would appear. When they'd talked to Miss Monique last night at the Baby Doll Lounge, she'd insisted that she hadn't seen Al in weeks, and, besides, he would never murder anybody, but she'd looked intently at her long scarlet fingernails when she said it.
It was now midmorning and Blair was getting itchy. He hoped the elusive Mr. Rippington would make an appearance soon and go meekly into custody. Unfortunately Ripper wasn't known for meekness, but for a hair-trigger temper and tendency to violence. He was considered dangerous enough that Rafe and Henri were there as backup, staked out in an unmarked van down the street.
Blair opened his eyes slightly and looked at the scattered drops of rain falling on the windshield. They seemed to be thicker than they were a minute ago. Another gray, drizzly day in Cascade, he thought glumly, putting his hands in his jacket pockets for warmth. It was almost summer and he could remember only three totally sunny days in the last month. Okay, so there were those days a couple of weeks ago when it got pretty sunny in the afternoon, but that just wasn't the same. He closed his eyes again and his thoughts drifted. He was sitting in a deck chair, Margarita in hand, gazing out at sun-dappled waves breaking on a tropical shore. The smoky smell of beach fires and barbecue wafted up to him on a balmy breeze. He smiled.
"Look sharp, everybody. Something's happening at Miss Monique's."
Blair set down his mental Margarita with a sigh and took a last look at the palm trees and the sunny sands. He opened his eyes and sat up.
Jim was speaking to Rafe and Henri through the walkie-talkie. "I think somebody's coming out," he said, focusing his vision tightly on the house.
"I saw a doorknob turn and the door open a crack," he said to Blair. "Somebody's looking out to see if it's clear."
An instant later the door opened completely and a beefy man wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt emerged from the house. It was Rippington. He peered cautiously up and down the street, hurried down the steps to the sidewalk, and began to jog in their direction.
They both scrambled out of the truck as he approached. When he saw them, he stopped short. Jim said, "You're under arrest for the murder of Lonnie Biggins."
Rippington turned and ran. When he saw Rafe and Henri get out of their van, he stopped short again and changed direction, heading into somebody's yard. All four of the Major Crime crew ran after him.
Blair was behind Jim as they ran across a soggy lawn, between two houses, and into a big back yard. He could see Rippington ahead of them, struggling desperately through a row of wet rhododendron bushes and clambering over a chainlink fence. They followed, pushing through the sodden bushes, and climbed the fence. Blair jumped into a muddy garden, splashed into a mud puddle, and kept going. As he sprinted across a patio, he skidded on something slick under his shoe, his feet went out from under him, and he went crashing headlong into a metal table and several chairs.
Jim had just caught up with Henri, who had brought Rippington down with a flying tackle, when he heard a yelp and the sound of impact behind him. He turned around to see Blair lying in a heap, surrounded by overturned garden furniture.
Rafe arrived, puffing slightly. "Go on, check him out. We've got this guy," he said.
"Thanks." Jim ran back to his partner, who was making no move to get up. He knelt down beside him. "How are you doing?"
Blair was pressing a hand against his temple, his eyes squeezed shut. "Okay. Did you get him?" he asked faintly.
"Sure did. Henri and Rafe are taking care of him."
"That's good." The hand on his head didn't completely hide a small trickle of blood running down the side of his face and mixing with the rain.
"Let me see that," Jim said, gently pushing his friend's hand aside to reveal a bloody gash."What in the world did you do here?"
"I fell down, okay?" Blair said querulously. "I don't know. I just slipped and fell into this stuff. Hit my arm too. And my shoulder. And my side." He moved his arm experimentally, and grimaced. "It's slippery out here, you know. All this damn rain. But I'm fine."
"Can you open your eyes for me?"
"Of course I can. I'm fine."
"How about trying that right now?"
Blair sighed. "All right, all right." Slowly, he opened one eye, then the other, and squinted up at his partner. "Satisfied?"
Jim pushed some wet strands of hair off his face and looked at the pupils of his eyes for signs of concussion. "You'll do."
"I'm going to get up now," Blair said firmly, starting to move. "I'm cold and I'm wet and I want to go home." He gripped Jim's extended arm tightly and lurched to his feet.
"You going to be okay?" Jim asked, looking at him closely. "Dizzy?"
"Just let me stand here for a minute," he muttered, swaying a little, rain dripping off his sodden curls.
Jim looked over at a lumpy smear a few feet away. "Well, it looks like you slipped on a slug," he said, pointing with distaste at a half-smashed slimy creature twitching its last on the patio. A glistening trail of mucus led off into the distance. "A banana slug, to be exact."
"Oh, gross," Blair said, making a face at the gelatinous remains. "A banana peel slug."
Jim snorted.
"I hate slugs, and here I am in the slug capital of the universe. At least it wasn't one of those ten inchers." Blair moved slightly and groaned. "Who knew they were so hazardous to your health, though."
"It isn't just our crime rate that makes Cascade the most dangerous city in America, Chief."
THE END