Chapter 8 - The Final Stand
That night, my apartment was pitched in absolute darkness.
At 0215 hours, the faint scraping of metal echoed from the patio door. The lock clicked, followed by the soft crunch of glass. A heavy shadow stepped into my living room, reeking of alcohol and panic. Landon held an iron tire iron, breathing heavily like a cornered boar.
"Barrett!" he rasped into the dark. "You ruined my life! You think you get to walk away from this?"
I stepped out from the hallway corridor, illuminating him with a 1,000-lumen tactical flashlight. The sudden blast of light blinded him completely.
He swung the tire iron blindly. I stepped inside the arc of his swing, parried his elbow, and swept his lead foot out from underneath him. He hit the floorboards with a bone-jarring crash. Before he could scramble up, I pressed my combat boot firmly against his shoulder blades, pinning him down, while my service pistol rested securely in a low-ready position.
Two seconds later, the front door burst open. Local police officers flooded the room, their weapons drawn.
"Suspect is subdued," I announced calmly, stepping back with hands clear.
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Landon sobbed face-down on the floor, the zip-ties clicking sharply around his wrists.
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