The Naked Edge by David Morrell Page A

Reynolds is her mother.”
    “What the—”
    “She played Princess Leia in the first three Star Wars movies.”
    “Man, I might as well shoot you to keep you from talking me to death.”
    “She also writes novels and screenplays. Her best line is, ‘The trouble with instant gratification is, it takes too long.’”
    Raoul looked as if Bowie was speaking Martian.
    “You won't shoot me,” Bowie said, “because it's too quick. It wouldn't be as much fun as prolonging the foreplay by cutting or stomping me.”
    “Foreplay?” For a moment, Raoul looked confused, as if the concept wasn't familiar to him. “Yeah, you got that right.”
    “Can I have him, Raoul?” one of the kids asked. “Let me take a piece of him.”
    Raoul thought about it.
    Perhaps he's beginning to suspect , Bowie thought. If so, that's encouraging. I'm not wasting my time.
    “All of us'll take him,” Raoul decided.
    They pushed away from the car and spread out. One of the kids finished his beer and threw the can. So did the others.
    Bowie had no trouble avoiding the cans.
    “What'll it be, Raoul?” a kid asked. “Stomp?”
    “Or cut?” The kid with the knife grinned.
    “Want to make a bet?” Bowie asked.
    “That your arms and legs are gonna be busted? That's a sure thing.”
    As they came closer, Bowie folded his left arm across his chest and raised his right palm to the side of his face in an absolutely non-threatening pose.
    “Well, well, look at how chilled this guy is,” a kid said.
    “He won't be after we stomp him.”
    “I'm serious. You want to make a bet?” Bowie asked.
    They came even closer. Bowie kept his left arm across his chest, his right palm on his face.
    “For what?”
    “The money in my wallet.”
    “We're gonna have it anyhow,” Raoul said, holding the gun.
    “But don't you want to know what the bet is?”
    They were almost to him.
    “So what's the stupid damned bet?” Raoul wanted to know.
    “That you can stand twenty feet away from me, holding your gun at your side.”
    “Yeah? And?”
    “I can get to you before you shoot me.”
    Raoul snickered. “Yeah. Right.”
    “Believe me.”
    Raoul snickered again and turned to his friends.
    At that point, Bowie could have taken them.
    “And what'll I tell the cops when I put a bullet in your guts?” Raoul asked.
    “Self-defense.”
    “You've been smokin’ too much crack,” one of the kids said. “A gun against fists ain't self-defense.”
    “Well, maybe if I had something that the police would agree was a threat.”
    “Like what?” Raoul asked.
    “Oh, I don't know. A knife maybe.”
    “This is loco. ” The kid with the knife sneered. “He wants me to give him my—”
    “Wait. Shut up while I understand this,” Raoul told him. “I stand thirty feet away.”
    “I said twenty.”
    “Thirty.”
    “That's the length of a good-sized room,” Bowie pretended to object.
    “And you stand over here with a knife.”
    “Yes.”
    “And you bet I can't shoot you before you get to me?”
    Bowie nodded. “And if you do shoot me, it's self-defense because I've got a knife. You can tell the cops how I followed you. Stalked you.”
    “I'm telling you this guy is loco ,” the kid with the knife said.
    “How about it, Raoul? You've been away five years. Didn't you lie awake, dreaming of action? And now here you've got it. And it's perfectly legal. Your first day out.”
    Raoul studied him.
    As the sun became more intense, Bowie waited.
    “Forty feet,” Raoul said.
    “You're taking advantage. The bet I offered—”
    “Was forty feet,” Raoul said. He turned to his friends. “Right? Forty feet.”
    “Sure, Raoul. That's what he said.”
    “Okay, if you want to be tough about this,” Bowie said.
    Looking amused, Raoul took forty steps backward. Generous steps.
    The kid with the knife said, “I ain't givin’ him this.”
    “Then I'll need to use mine.” Bowie still had his left arm folded across his chest, his right palm to his chin. With