He stood with her now around 2 in the morning outside the luxurious club where they had eaten food only the rich could afford, sipped the expensive champagne, danced, celebrating their third anniversary of marriage. They represented the rich set, envied and even hated by many race hustlers. He was the handsome husband, she the beautiful wife, dressed in their finest.
He gazed at her. As far back as he could remember, women like her had been shown to him as defining female beauty, defining female intelligence; women like her were the epitome of female courage, all her female parts smooth, symmetrically joined. She defined femininity. He unbuttoned his suit coat, took out a small case and opened it. "No necklace is a match for your human beauty, but --"
"What about me?" he heard
He jerked, half turning. Is it human, he thought. Some six feet from him, its large right hand hanging at its side resembled a paw. It held a machete. Loose, thick rolls of dirty looking woolen hair hung down from its large head, hiding parts of its dark face. The picture of some half-civilized jungle dweller flashed through the husband's mind. But this is the 21st century and we're in a modern city, and we're supposed to be modern humans, he thought. Distract it. He dropped the case on the sidewalk, saw the thing's eyes glance at it.
"I want her," it said, pointing the machete at her.
"I'm a police officer," the husband said.
The thing moved its right foot forward. raised the machete over it's head, and was in the process of lifting his left foot when the officer executed two moves that seemed to flow as a simple motion. His left hand pushed his wife away and his right hand went inside his coat at the waist and came out firing until the gun's clip was empty. Now the fools will be out on the streets protesting again about police brutality, he thought.
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