kickback master was pushing his way toward the dance hall. Thanks to the man’s efforts and the sight of Harry’s Magnum, a clear line was created between the inspector and the fleeing hoodlum. Harry pointed his gun at Thurston’s back and was just about to say “halt,” when the slush-talking drunk wavered into the line of fire.
“You lied to me,” he moaned to Harry. “I looked and I looked, but there was no brew outside.”
Cursing, Harry pulled his gun barrel up, threw himself forward, and bowled the drunk over with a sweeping body block. The amazed drunk thought he was flying until he landed amid the broken table, the broken dishes, the extra macaroni, and the cringing off-duty police officer.
Harry entered the dance hall in time to dodge a rain of beer bottles. Thurston was marking his escape with any box he could grab and throw behind him. Harry crouched to the side of the entrance and took aim again. This time he was able to call out “halt” without any interruptions.
Thurston reacted to the pronouncement by leaping behind a silver cask of beer and clawing at his waistband. That particular hand motion usually meant one thing to Harry; the alleged perpetrator was going for a weapon.
Acting on instinct, Harry’s finger tightened on the Magnum’s trigger. He immediately loosened his trigger finger for two reasons. First, he remembered that he was not shooting on home turf at a local scumbag. Usually that reason was not sufficient for Harry to let someone shoot back at him, but the second reason he didn’t shoot was the more important and the more pressing. Namely, Harry didn’t know whether the keg Thurston was huddled behind was full or empty.
If empty, Harry’s bullets would go through like they went through almost everything else. But if it was full and under pressure, it could explode with the force of a frag grenade, sending hunks of sharp metal and gallons of beer everywhere. Under normal circumstances, Harry might have tried it, but these weren’t normal circumstances. He was fighting in front of an innocent crowd and had no personal cover.
Before Thurston could bring his own gun up and aim, Harry threw himself from the room entrance into the kitchen by way of the rectangular ordering window. He slid across the Formica counter and dropped to the floor. Punctuating his landing were the sounds of two gunshots and the wholesale stampede of the bar’s patrons toward the exits.
Harry hazarded a look through the ordering aperture he had jumped through. Thurston kicked over his keg cover at that very moment, charging for the rear door like the Schlitz Malt Liquor bull. He fired his gun as he went, slapping lead all around the kitchen.
Callahan ducked down while calculating Thurston’s speed. As soon as he thought the guy had reached the rear door, he shot diagonally through the kitchen door. His aim was good but his timing was a smidge off. The bullet punched a hole midway up the kitchen door and blasted outside, narrowly missing both Thurston’s back and the swinging back door.
Immediately afterward Harry was up and out the kitchen door himself, almost tripping over the beer keg Thurston had kicked aside. After noticing that the kickback man was still hustling across the back porch trying to find a way out of the yard, Harry hefted the metal cask up. It was empty. He carried it with him as he cautiously neared the back door.
He stood to one side, his Magnum held high and the beer keg held low. He looked back at the barroom. What patrons were left were staring at him from behind furniture. The only noise was of the off-duty cop groaning in pain from his squashed toes.
Harry looked outside. The back yard was empty. The loading lights from the truck stop next door bathed the area in a humid yellow gleam. Combined with the dark blue of the night, it made the shadows slightly green.
Harry stepped outside. He saw no human figure and he heard nothing. Harry looked to the right. The open part of
“You lied to me,” he moaned to Harry. “I looked and I looked, but there was no brew outside.”
Cursing, Harry pulled his gun barrel up, threw himself forward, and bowled the drunk over with a sweeping body block. The amazed drunk thought he was flying until he landed amid the broken table, the broken dishes, the extra macaroni, and the cringing off-duty police officer.
Harry entered the dance hall in time to dodge a rain of beer bottles. Thurston was marking his escape with any box he could grab and throw behind him. Harry crouched to the side of the entrance and took aim again. This time he was able to call out “halt” without any interruptions.
Thurston reacted to the pronouncement by leaping behind a silver cask of beer and clawing at his waistband. That particular hand motion usually meant one thing to Harry; the alleged perpetrator was going for a weapon.
Acting on instinct, Harry’s finger tightened on the Magnum’s trigger. He immediately loosened his trigger finger for two reasons. First, he remembered that he was not shooting on home turf at a local scumbag. Usually that reason was not sufficient for Harry to let someone shoot back at him, but the second reason he didn’t shoot was the more important and the more pressing. Namely, Harry didn’t know whether the keg Thurston was huddled behind was full or empty.
If empty, Harry’s bullets would go through like they went through almost everything else. But if it was full and under pressure, it could explode with the force of a frag grenade, sending hunks of sharp metal and gallons of beer everywhere. Under normal circumstances, Harry might have tried it, but these weren’t normal circumstances. He was fighting in front of an innocent crowd and had no personal cover.
Before Thurston could bring his own gun up and aim, Harry threw himself from the room entrance into the kitchen by way of the rectangular ordering window. He slid across the Formica counter and dropped to the floor. Punctuating his landing were the sounds of two gunshots and the wholesale stampede of the bar’s patrons toward the exits.
Harry hazarded a look through the ordering aperture he had jumped through. Thurston kicked over his keg cover at that very moment, charging for the rear door like the Schlitz Malt Liquor bull. He fired his gun as he went, slapping lead all around the kitchen.
Callahan ducked down while calculating Thurston’s speed. As soon as he thought the guy had reached the rear door, he shot diagonally through the kitchen door. His aim was good but his timing was a smidge off. The bullet punched a hole midway up the kitchen door and blasted outside, narrowly missing both Thurston’s back and the swinging back door.
Immediately afterward Harry was up and out the kitchen door himself, almost tripping over the beer keg Thurston had kicked aside. After noticing that the kickback man was still hustling across the back porch trying to find a way out of the yard, Harry hefted the metal cask up. It was empty. He carried it with him as he cautiously neared the back door.
He stood to one side, his Magnum held high and the beer keg held low. He looked back at the barroom. What patrons were left were staring at him from behind furniture. The only noise was of the off-duty cop groaning in pain from his squashed toes.
Harry looked outside. The back yard was empty. The loading lights from the truck stop next door bathed the area in a humid yellow gleam. Combined with the dark blue of the night, it made the shadows slightly green.
Harry stepped outside. He saw no human figure and he heard nothing. Harry looked to the right. The open part of
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