cars.
I crouched quietly in the shadow of the car parked next to mine.
"Son of a bitch'll probably stay up there with her and screw her all night."
The voice was startlingly close. A bad-tempered voice, muttering. And too close. I did not understand it until I felt the car I was touching move slightly. The voice was sitting in the car. I made myself smaller against the side of the car.
"Shut your face, Sully." a thinner, higher voice said. It was inside the car also. It had the flavor of command.
There was a scrape of leather on hardpan, and then a third voice, and I guessed it was Cigarette moving over from my truck to the far side of the sedan. "What's with the conversation, guys?" His voice was soft and guarded.
"Sully's getting tired of waiting."
"So am I," Cigarette said. "Want we should go up there and take him?"
"Forget it," said the voice of command. "Too much can go wrong."
Sully said, "We were lucky nothing went wrong already, the way you followed so close."
"Knock it off, both of you. Cappy wants it done soon as we can. An accident. Shut up and wait." I spent ten silent minutes wondering what the hell I was going to do next. Three of them, planning to give me a fatal accident. Let me count the ways. I had not spotted anyone following me. I am always on the watch for a tail. So the man was good. Maybe he had the car rigged for two sets of headlights. That would do it, at night.
Sully made my mind up for me. "I'm going to get out and move around some."
"Go ahead."
He got out my side. It was a four-door sedan, and he opened the back door as I squirmed back away from him. If he headed toward the rear of the car, I was fine for the moment. But he came toward me and his knee hit my shoulder. As he grunted with surprise, I lunged up and grabbed him by the clothing and yanked him down, turning him as I brought him down, turning him away from the car, using leverage to drop him on his back. His head made a melony sound against the hardpan and he went loose. Somebody yelled, and as I got up, I drove my shoulder into the reopening door of the car, hammering it shut. But it didn't slam. It bounced off something, and a man screamed so loudly I guessed that he had his hand on the doorframe to pull himself up out of the seat. I scooted around the back end of the sedan, looking hard and fast for Cigarette. Nowhere in sight. I froze and then, as I heard a grunt of effort behind me, I dropped with the top of my left shoulder ablaze, swung my legs around and kicked his legs out from under him. As he went down I saw the glint of the blade in his hand. I bounded up before he did, and kicked him in the face with the side of my shoe as he started up. He rolled all the way over and ended up on his hands and knees, and so I kicked him again. Hands can be fragile. Broken hands hurt like sin. He ended up on his back, knife tinkling away under one of the cars. I didn't want to stay for names and serial numbers. I didn't know how badly I was bleeding. I piled into the pickup, started it in a hurry and backed out in a big swing, turning my lights on as I started forward. The one I had thumped first came wobbling out from beyond the other car. He came right out in front of the pickup, then tried to turn and run, but he entangled his feet and fell. I swerved away from the major portion of him, but my right front wheel went over both his knees, making a sickening celery sound, accompanied by a high gargling scream.
I kept checking myself on the fast ride back, listening to see if I felt faint or dizzy. My shirt was sopping wet in the shoulder area. I got aboard without incident, peeled the shirt off as soon as I was aboard and buttoned up.
Then I checked myself with mirrors. It was such a tiny gouge I almost felt let down. I had ducked almost all the way beneath the thrust. It had sliced the very top ridge of the muscle, torn some nerves, opened some blood vessels, but could almost be covered by a Band-Aid. I held cold-water pads on
I crouched quietly in the shadow of the car parked next to mine.
"Son of a bitch'll probably stay up there with her and screw her all night."
The voice was startlingly close. A bad-tempered voice, muttering. And too close. I did not understand it until I felt the car I was touching move slightly. The voice was sitting in the car. I made myself smaller against the side of the car.
"Shut your face, Sully." a thinner, higher voice said. It was inside the car also. It had the flavor of command.
There was a scrape of leather on hardpan, and then a third voice, and I guessed it was Cigarette moving over from my truck to the far side of the sedan. "What's with the conversation, guys?" His voice was soft and guarded.
"Sully's getting tired of waiting."
"So am I," Cigarette said. "Want we should go up there and take him?"
"Forget it," said the voice of command. "Too much can go wrong."
Sully said, "We were lucky nothing went wrong already, the way you followed so close."
"Knock it off, both of you. Cappy wants it done soon as we can. An accident. Shut up and wait." I spent ten silent minutes wondering what the hell I was going to do next. Three of them, planning to give me a fatal accident. Let me count the ways. I had not spotted anyone following me. I am always on the watch for a tail. So the man was good. Maybe he had the car rigged for two sets of headlights. That would do it, at night.
Sully made my mind up for me. "I'm going to get out and move around some."
"Go ahead."
He got out my side. It was a four-door sedan, and he opened the back door as I squirmed back away from him. If he headed toward the rear of the car, I was fine for the moment. But he came toward me and his knee hit my shoulder. As he grunted with surprise, I lunged up and grabbed him by the clothing and yanked him down, turning him as I brought him down, turning him away from the car, using leverage to drop him on his back. His head made a melony sound against the hardpan and he went loose. Somebody yelled, and as I got up, I drove my shoulder into the reopening door of the car, hammering it shut. But it didn't slam. It bounced off something, and a man screamed so loudly I guessed that he had his hand on the doorframe to pull himself up out of the seat. I scooted around the back end of the sedan, looking hard and fast for Cigarette. Nowhere in sight. I froze and then, as I heard a grunt of effort behind me, I dropped with the top of my left shoulder ablaze, swung my legs around and kicked his legs out from under him. As he went down I saw the glint of the blade in his hand. I bounded up before he did, and kicked him in the face with the side of my shoe as he started up. He rolled all the way over and ended up on his hands and knees, and so I kicked him again. Hands can be fragile. Broken hands hurt like sin. He ended up on his back, knife tinkling away under one of the cars. I didn't want to stay for names and serial numbers. I didn't know how badly I was bleeding. I piled into the pickup, started it in a hurry and backed out in a big swing, turning my lights on as I started forward. The one I had thumped first came wobbling out from beyond the other car. He came right out in front of the pickup, then tried to turn and run, but he entangled his feet and fell. I swerved away from the major portion of him, but my right front wheel went over both his knees, making a sickening celery sound, accompanied by a high gargling scream.
I kept checking myself on the fast ride back, listening to see if I felt faint or dizzy. My shirt was sopping wet in the shoulder area. I got aboard without incident, peeled the shirt off as soon as I was aboard and buttoned up.
Then I checked myself with mirrors. It was such a tiny gouge I almost felt let down. I had ducked almost all the way beneath the thrust. It had sliced the very top ridge of the muscle, torn some nerves, opened some blood vessels, but could almost be covered by a Band-Aid. I held cold-water pads on
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