shabby condition should not get himself involved.
“Fags! All a bunch of fucking queers!” Max was shouting, apparently undaunted even though he confronted four blades which nicely caught the westering sun.
Whatever the sexual proclivities of the quartet facing down Max, they weren’t taking too kindly to his abuse. Harry had no doubt that it was Max who’d provoked this altercation, thinking he could bust some ass and triumphantly walk away. Just because these four young men might have gone in for ostentatious dress, bright glossy shirts, tight pants, and bracelets, and just because they didn’t look especially strong didn’t mean they couldn’t take Max on and make mincemeat of him.
Max kicked out at one, smacking him in his arm so hard that the man was forced to release the knife grasped in his hand. This was enough to trigger the others. They rushed him all at once. One lunged forward with his blade, scraping a bit of T-shirt and flesh off of Max, causing blood to appear, a red cloud against the background of white fabric. Max evidently didn’t register the pain. He was too busy trying to knock another attacker on his ass. A third man seemed anxious to plunge his knife straight into one of Max’s kidneys.
Harry was watching this without making a move. To be truthful about it, he wouldn’t have minded seeing the knife hit home, but he felt a responsibility to Wendy and intervened, taking the man by surprise. He and one of his buddies turned all their attention on Harry, assuming he was an ally of Max’s. Harry swept his arm forward in a swift, harsh motion. He caught a man in the neck and sent him sprawling.
By sidestepping, he avoided the other assailant completely. When the man came at him again Harry had produced his present. He didn’t expect to have to use it. Usually the prospect of a .44 cartridge in one’s body was sufficient to immobilize even the bravest soul.
“Aw fuck,” one man said, recognizing how dramatically the odds had changed.
Max didn’t seem to notice the introduction of a Magnum into the fray and was busy expending his rage by stomping one of his antagonists into the sidewalk. The man looked bruised and battered, but certainly he appeared in no worse shape than Max himself. Blood was oozing copiously out of tears in his flesh and down his arms and chest. Where there wasn’t any blood there were patches of dirt and sweat. But he was so gone on adrenalin and his own particular brand of craziness that he didn’t seem to notice.
“Max, that’ll be all for today,” Harry said. “School’s over.”
Max didn’t seem to hear or else he decided he’d prefer to ignore Harry’s remark.
“Max!”
Max wasn’t paying any attention, so Harry strode over to him and put his gun to his head. This caused Max to listen more closely. Reluctantly, he did not complete the kick he had begun. His victim rolled gratefully away, clutching his damaged rib cage with his hands.
Harry turned back to the others. A small crowd had collected to watch this unexpected drama.
“Get the hell out of here!” he urged Max’s three standing antagonists.
Grabbing their prostrate friend, they did exactly that.
Max offered Harry a petulent look. He didn’t like being rescued.
“I could’ve handled them,” he muttered.
“Sure you could’ve, Max, sure you could’ve.”
“You don’t believe me?”
Anxious to be rid of him, Harry saw no point in arguing. “Oh, I believe you all right. Now why don’t you go do something about those stab wounds. We don’t want you bleeding to death.”
Max regarded the blood oozing down his shirt and pants legs with indifference; he was determined to show Harry how macho he was. Nothing can touch me was his attitude. Thinking like that, Harry concluded, would get him dead one day.
Wendy approached Max now. She did not, as Harry would have suspected, blanch at the sight of his partially perforated body.
“You’re going to have to get a cab because
“Fags! All a bunch of fucking queers!” Max was shouting, apparently undaunted even though he confronted four blades which nicely caught the westering sun.
Whatever the sexual proclivities of the quartet facing down Max, they weren’t taking too kindly to his abuse. Harry had no doubt that it was Max who’d provoked this altercation, thinking he could bust some ass and triumphantly walk away. Just because these four young men might have gone in for ostentatious dress, bright glossy shirts, tight pants, and bracelets, and just because they didn’t look especially strong didn’t mean they couldn’t take Max on and make mincemeat of him.
Max kicked out at one, smacking him in his arm so hard that the man was forced to release the knife grasped in his hand. This was enough to trigger the others. They rushed him all at once. One lunged forward with his blade, scraping a bit of T-shirt and flesh off of Max, causing blood to appear, a red cloud against the background of white fabric. Max evidently didn’t register the pain. He was too busy trying to knock another attacker on his ass. A third man seemed anxious to plunge his knife straight into one of Max’s kidneys.
Harry was watching this without making a move. To be truthful about it, he wouldn’t have minded seeing the knife hit home, but he felt a responsibility to Wendy and intervened, taking the man by surprise. He and one of his buddies turned all their attention on Harry, assuming he was an ally of Max’s. Harry swept his arm forward in a swift, harsh motion. He caught a man in the neck and sent him sprawling.
By sidestepping, he avoided the other assailant completely. When the man came at him again Harry had produced his present. He didn’t expect to have to use it. Usually the prospect of a .44 cartridge in one’s body was sufficient to immobilize even the bravest soul.
“Aw fuck,” one man said, recognizing how dramatically the odds had changed.
Max didn’t seem to notice the introduction of a Magnum into the fray and was busy expending his rage by stomping one of his antagonists into the sidewalk. The man looked bruised and battered, but certainly he appeared in no worse shape than Max himself. Blood was oozing copiously out of tears in his flesh and down his arms and chest. Where there wasn’t any blood there were patches of dirt and sweat. But he was so gone on adrenalin and his own particular brand of craziness that he didn’t seem to notice.
“Max, that’ll be all for today,” Harry said. “School’s over.”
Max didn’t seem to hear or else he decided he’d prefer to ignore Harry’s remark.
“Max!”
Max wasn’t paying any attention, so Harry strode over to him and put his gun to his head. This caused Max to listen more closely. Reluctantly, he did not complete the kick he had begun. His victim rolled gratefully away, clutching his damaged rib cage with his hands.
Harry turned back to the others. A small crowd had collected to watch this unexpected drama.
“Get the hell out of here!” he urged Max’s three standing antagonists.
Grabbing their prostrate friend, they did exactly that.
Max offered Harry a petulent look. He didn’t like being rescued.
“I could’ve handled them,” he muttered.
“Sure you could’ve, Max, sure you could’ve.”
“You don’t believe me?”
Anxious to be rid of him, Harry saw no point in arguing. “Oh, I believe you all right. Now why don’t you go do something about those stab wounds. We don’t want you bleeding to death.”
Max regarded the blood oozing down his shirt and pants legs with indifference; he was determined to show Harry how macho he was. Nothing can touch me was his attitude. Thinking like that, Harry concluded, would get him dead one day.
Wendy approached Max now. She did not, as Harry would have suspected, blanch at the sight of his partially perforated body.
“You’re going to have to get a cab because
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