forth.
"Look out!" Frank heard Joe shout.
Frank looked up to see the large gray mythical beast - with the face of a toothy, smiling demon, the wings of an eagle, and the legs of a lion - swooping down on top of him.
Chapter 7
Frank felt himself being pushed from behind. He sprawled onto the grass, sliding on the well-mown lawn. He heard a crash and then several thuds. Small, sharp shards of stone hit Frank in the arms and face. He jumped up and turned.
"Are you okay?" Joe asked, a haze of stone dust enveloping him.
"Yeah," Frank answered, brushing himself off. He looked behind Joe. "Aleksandr!"
The Russian lay on the ground, covered with stone dust, one large piece of the gargoyle lying by his head.
Frank pushed past Joe and ran to Aleksandr. He turned the Russian over. His face was scratched, but he appeared to be okay.
"I think I pushed him too hard," Joe said as he joined Frank. "I shoved both of you at the same time. I think he hit the sidewalk instead of the grass as you did."
"Well, he's out cold," Frank announced.
Joe looked up at the top of the building. A dark head peered over the edge of the roof.
"You!" Joe shouted, and pointed. Frank followed Joe's gesture. The head disappeared. "I'm going after him!"
Joe bolted into the dormitory. He had to fight his way through the people trying to get outside to look at the accident.
Joe grabbed a short, bald man wearing wire-rimmed glasses. "How do I get to the roof?" he shouted.
"Up - up those stairs," the man stammered.
"Any other way up or down?"
The man shook his head. "No. Only those stairs."
Joe let go of the man and bolted up the stairs. "Coming through!" he shouted as he dodged several more people coming down the stairwell.
He got to the third floor and slipped going around the landing, knocking down another man.
"Sorry," Joe yelled without breaking stride as he leapt up the steps.
He reached the fourth-floor landing and turned. Something below caught his eye. The man he had just knocked down was staring up at him, a crowbar in one of his black-gloved hands, his face covered with sweat and the black and gray stubble of a two-day beard. The cap he was wearing made his head appear flat on top. He was the stocky older man from the alley.
"You!" Joe shouted, and he bounded down the stairs.
The man threw the crowbar at Joe.
Joe jumped to one side, slamming into the tiled wall. The crowbar hit the stairs and clanged down to the third-floor landing.
The man darted down the stairwell. Joe jumped the remaining stairs and then headed down to the second floor. The man was short, overweight, and looked to be in his fifties, but he was fast.
He ought to be, Joe thought. He's running for his life.
"Stop that man!" Joe ordered as they reached the crowded first-floor lobby.
But everyone moved aside, out of the way of the fleeing man, giving the thug a clear path to freedom.
"I ... said ... stop!" Joe yelled, and he lunged at the man, hitting him at waist level with a backbreaking tackle.
The man seemed to bend into a sideways V as his feet slid out from under him and he bent over backward. They hit the well-waxed wooden floor with a fleshy smack and slid several yards before crashing into a wall. The stocky man's head hit the wall, and he groaned and went limp. He was unconscious.
"Are you all right, sir?" a young woman asked, her face showing shock and confusion.
"Yes," Joe said, standing and brushing himself off. "Did anyone call the police?" he asked the astonished crowd.
"I did," said an older man. He opened the can of tomato juice he was holding. "Would you mind telling me what's going on here?"
"May I have that juice?" Joe asked the man, trying to sound as calm and polite as the circumstances would allow.
The man hesitated, looked at his tomato juice, then at Joe's smiling but determined face. "Well. I suppose. If you must."
"Thanks," Joe said, grabbing the can. He tilted the can and poured the cold juice onto the stocky man's face.
"I say,"