A Caduceus is for Killing by Diana Kirk

self-sufficient women. If they were, then why would they ever need a man? He was a man's man, by God! And, to hell with her.
    Krastowitcz got up and fumbled with her purse. He didn't quite know what to do, so he tucked it under his arm, paid the check, and hurried out. Earlier, he'd hoped there might be the possibility of forming some type of relationship, maybe some-thing deeper. Not anymore. That broad's pussy was probably frozen shut, anyway.
    Once inside his car, he took the long way home by way of Grafton's apartment. He glanced up at the darkening sky where the full moon hung like a swollen breast, its reflection undulating on the hood of his car. Why, at this moment in time, did he have to think of breasts?
    Slowly his anger subsided. Maybe he might have been a bit insensitive. After all, she was a career woman, a physician at Dorlynd, and probably was insulted by his comment about women cops.
    He hadn't really said anything that wasn't true in his book. He was as honest as he knew how to be and if he planned to get to know someone, they needed to know as much about him. And women didn't belong in the police force.
    What was wrong with separating the sexes in certain jobs? After all, they had separate bathrooms, didn't they? As far as he was concerned, if women had their way, all the johns would be unisex. Hell, there'd be all types of weird fucking contraptions. He could just see Doctor Pearson putting her lipstick on while he was standing next to her pissing in the urinal. What a laugh.
    "Never!" he said to himself. He'd never let a woman steal his manhood, not in his lifetime.

         ANDREA STORMED out of the restaurant and into the hot, muggy air. Slowly, reality set in. She shouldn't walk in the down-town riverfront district at eleven o'clock at night.
    She reached for her purse.
    Gone.
    Back at the restaurant. She turned back. No. Krastowitcz would get it. He was a cop. He didn't miss things like that. She'd get it from him tomorrow.
    Keys! Her keys were in her purse. Now, she had to find him and ask him for her purse.
    Sticky air surrounded her. Where did it come from? Humidity always made her asthma worse. What if she had an attack? Her inhaler was back there in her purse, along with her keys. She had no choice but to swallow her pride and find him. She looked around for a cab.
    Nothing.
    She could walk back toward the Old Market area, find a cab there. It was only a couple of blocks away. Her footsteps echoed on the pavement.
    What a fix she was in. She looked up at the moon. Like an evil eye, it watched her, its pupil hooded by an ancient cataract.
    No. Those were clouds. Fear-bumps covered her arms and, even in the July heat, she shivered.
    All alone!
    Salty beads of nervous sweat formed above her lip and her head throbbed. She had to calm down. Fear alone could bring on an attack. She hurried toward the light. The choking anger had finally subsided leaving a residue of fatigue and resignation to envelope her.
    She stopped and turned around.
    Had she imagined a man standing at the corner smoking? Must have. She looked around.
    Nobody.
    A snake-like wisp of smoke curled upward toward the flickering street light on the shadowy street. The forked tongue licked at the insects dancing around the lamp's glow.
    Someone hid in the darkness. Someone who smoked.
    She turned around and hurried back to the Old Market. Each foot clicked on the pavement. She heard, or thought she did, the faintest delay.
    Another click. Someone following? Only off by a second, but she was sure of it now. Her heart pounded. Familiar symptoms of an acute attack surrounded her.
    Asthma. Soon her breath would be gone. She would collapse. An assailant didn't even have to touch her. She'd slowly asphyxiate.
    She looked back into the blackness that cloaked