onion and jalapeno omelet. He had been out of luck as to the bacon.
He put the pan in the dishwasher along with his coffee cup and returned to the TV in the den where Leon was waiting, impatient to witness the next development.
Semitz and Rogers had stripped down to their boxers.
Lang picked up the mike. “I believe I said ‘strip.’ ”
Semitz looked up at the camera. “That how you get your jollies, looking at naked men?”
“I sure as hell don’t get them being surprised by concealed weapons,” Lang replied. “I’ve got things to do besides waiting for you to decide if you want to spend the rest of your lives in that metal box or not. You’ve got exactly thirty seconds to strip, turn around and line up to exit one at a time. After that, I’ll be unavailable the rest of the day.”
They stripped.
“Your first good decision,” Lang commented. “Now, Semitz, hands locked behind your head, come straight forward.”
Although Leon didn’t see it from his position in front of the den’s bar, Lang must have pressed a button or flipped a switch somewhere because the steel plate in front of the man Reilly called Semitz silently lifted, stopping about a third of the way to the ceiling. The former prisoner had to stoop to get under it.
Lang pointed. “There, stand right in front of Leon there.”
“When do I get my clothes back?”
“As soon as I remove your weapons. Now move!”
Lang beckoned to Rogers. “Your turn. You stand against the wall over there.”
It had to have been premeditated: Just as Rogers appeared to do as instructed, he pivoted and charged Lang. At the same instant, so did Semitz. Lang had planned to separate the two to prevent just such a thing from happening. Now he was at the top of a triangle with two sides rapidly diminishing in distance.
Just as Rogers was within arm’s length, Lang leaned to his right, planting a leg against the man’s ankle.
Rogers’ momentum sent him sprawling.
Before he could recover, Lang delivered a kick to his ear.
Barotrauma, or injury to the ear’s mechanisms can result from disparate air pressure between the middle ear and the outside worlds. A swift kick in the ear is likely to produce such a disparity, resulting in imbalance, dizziness, and disorientation. Besides, it hurts like hell.
As Rogers was momentarily stunned, Lang turned to face Semitz. The man was on all fours, struggling to prevent a face plant on the floor. Above him stood Leon, a half shattered bottle in his hand.
Lang’s first thought was that the bottle was tinted brown. His second was that meant a bottle of eighteen year old single malt Macallan was what was drenching the bleeding head of Semitz.
He sighed. “Not exactly Marquis of Queensberry rules, Leon, but good show.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. I’ll take care of what’s left of these two. You go through the clothes piled up in the corner there. I’m guessing you’ll find weapons.
Leon used his foot to sort through the mound of clothing, his nose definitely detecting something unpleasant.
“Man! one of them dudes definitely pissed in his pants!”
He stooped over, lifting an automatic in two fingers in much the same way one might carry a dead rat by the tail. “This what you lookin’ fo??
The standard US
He put the pan in the dishwasher along with his coffee cup and returned to the TV in the den where Leon was waiting, impatient to witness the next development.
Semitz and Rogers had stripped down to their boxers.
Lang picked up the mike. “I believe I said ‘strip.’ ”
Semitz looked up at the camera. “That how you get your jollies, looking at naked men?”
“I sure as hell don’t get them being surprised by concealed weapons,” Lang replied. “I’ve got things to do besides waiting for you to decide if you want to spend the rest of your lives in that metal box or not. You’ve got exactly thirty seconds to strip, turn around and line up to exit one at a time. After that, I’ll be unavailable the rest of the day.”
They stripped.
“Your first good decision,” Lang commented. “Now, Semitz, hands locked behind your head, come straight forward.”
Although Leon didn’t see it from his position in front of the den’s bar, Lang must have pressed a button or flipped a switch somewhere because the steel plate in front of the man Reilly called Semitz silently lifted, stopping about a third of the way to the ceiling. The former prisoner had to stoop to get under it.
Lang pointed. “There, stand right in front of Leon there.”
“When do I get my clothes back?”
“As soon as I remove your weapons. Now move!”
Lang beckoned to Rogers. “Your turn. You stand against the wall over there.”
It had to have been premeditated: Just as Rogers appeared to do as instructed, he pivoted and charged Lang. At the same instant, so did Semitz. Lang had planned to separate the two to prevent just such a thing from happening. Now he was at the top of a triangle with two sides rapidly diminishing in distance.
Just as Rogers was within arm’s length, Lang leaned to his right, planting a leg against the man’s ankle.
Rogers’ momentum sent him sprawling.
Before he could recover, Lang delivered a kick to his ear.
Barotrauma, or injury to the ear’s mechanisms can result from disparate air pressure between the middle ear and the outside worlds. A swift kick in the ear is likely to produce such a disparity, resulting in imbalance, dizziness, and disorientation. Besides, it hurts like hell.
As Rogers was momentarily stunned, Lang turned to face Semitz. The man was on all fours, struggling to prevent a face plant on the floor. Above him stood Leon, a half shattered bottle in his hand.
Lang’s first thought was that the bottle was tinted brown. His second was that meant a bottle of eighteen year old single malt Macallan was what was drenching the bleeding head of Semitz.
He sighed. “Not exactly Marquis of Queensberry rules, Leon, but good show.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. I’ll take care of what’s left of these two. You go through the clothes piled up in the corner there. I’m guessing you’ll find weapons.
Leon used his foot to sort through the mound of clothing, his nose definitely detecting something unpleasant.
“Man! one of them dudes definitely pissed in his pants!”
He stooped over, lifting an automatic in two fingers in much the same way one might carry a dead rat by the tail. “This what you lookin’ fo??
The standard US
Similar Books
