Constantine - The Novelization - Whoa is (Not)

wreckage, both of them hoping no one was alive. It would be a pain in the ass if they had to takeanyone to the hospital. But then, Mendez decided, maybe they could ask the survivor for moneybefore they got the ambulance. Or there could be a wallet or two - though it was hard to imagineanything surviving that wreck, flame licking up through black, billowing smoke....What kind of car had it been? It was hard to tell now; it was accordioned around whatever ithad struck; the driver, bloody and cooking on the burning hood, surrounded by broken glass. Thecar had struck-Mendez looked at Rodriguez. Did he see it too?Rodriguez nodded, gaping. There was a man, standing there, unhurt. A skinny, ragged,hollow-eyed man of indeterminate age, probably one of the scavengers who picked through thedumps by the look of him. But the car was twisted around the man... just as if he were a columnof the hardest steel.An illusion, it must be. He had just walked up to the car that way, surely.Mendez shrugged and got out of the cruiser."You - did you find anything in the car? Have you been robbing the dead?" he demanded, inSpanish.The scavenger just stared back at him. Glowering. Unafraid.That would not do. You couldn't let the local scum think they could look you in the eye.Mendez drew his gun....--Francisco looked away from the federales, then back to the wreckage of the car. Had it reallystruck him and not hurt him at all?Yes, Francisco. Do you see your power? Take your power north!The cops were snarling something at him. One of them drawing his gun. Going to treat himlike a dog, as they always did.Not this time.That swarming insect sound again. It seemed to urge him on.And something caught his eye. His wrist had been freshly scarred, a symbol burned there inpuckered red. A strange circular symbol...The two cops came closer.Francisco snarled and raised the iron spike in his hand and ran toward the startled federales.They fired their sidearms. The bullets whined harmlessly by. It was as if he had slipped into akind of indefinable sideways - place where the bullets couldn't touch him.And then he was upon them, slashing with the iron spike. Their heads exploded under itsimpact like eggs struck by a hammer. Their headless bodies staggered and fell.Whistling a song, he dug through their pockets.Not carrying much money, for cops."Francisco? What have you done?" It was Herve, his eyes big and round, hands shaking,staring from the side of the highway. Herve had seen him kill these men. Francisco charged him.Herve turned with a strangled sound and tried to run, and immediately stumbled, falling amongthe rocks beside the road.It was the work of but a moment to kill Herve. Run, Francisco. More will come. If there are toomany...He went to the old patrol car, found the keys in it.He had had one legitimate job in his life, taxi driver, till cops like these had told him he had topay them a great bribe in order to keep his license. Money he didn't have. Then it had been backto the gutters.He drove the car down the old highway headed to the nearest town.Abandon the car, Francisco. It is a police car. You will be questioned...