Part 35 (1/2)

Tony grabbed the man.

Perhaps it was the booze. Perhaps it was the situation. It was probably both. Tony grabbed the cabbie's shoulders and shook him. The driver was not a big man. He grabbed onto Tony's wrists and screamed. Tony screamed back. The driver screamed louder. Tony shouted at him to shut the f.u.c.k up or he would be thrown out of the cab. The driver dove forward, reaching for something.

Tony snapped. He did not have time for this s.h.i.+t.

With all his strength, he yanked the driver back and through the gap between the front seats. The man wore a seat belt. Tony swore and clamped his arm around the man's neck, while his other hand went for the seatbelt release b.u.t.ton. He found the b.u.t.ton and undid it without a problem. The driver screamed and clawed and moved to bite. Tony felt the enamel against his earlobe and instinctively smashed the side of his skull into the driver's face.

”You f.u.c.ker!” the driver screamed at him, one hand still on Tony's arm, while the other went for his jaw. Tony didn't care. He just wanted the guy to drive. Was that so f.u.c.king hard to do? Couldn't he see that he was in a G.o.dd.a.m.n hurry? Jesus H. Christ!

Tony hauled the driver's a.s.s between the front seats and into the back. He somehow opened the rear door and shoved the cabbie out. He held on to the door. Cursing, Tony climbed out and kicked the hand off. He slammed the door and pointed a warning finger at the cabbie on the pavement, who backed away from the crazy stealing his car.

Tony didn't give a s.h.i.+t. He was on a mission from G.o.d, or at least Lucy, to find Death. He had found the f.u.c.ker, and G.o.d d.a.m.n him if he was about to let some s.h.i.+thead taxi driver f.u.c.k up his pursuit. Tony jumped in behind the wheel and slammed the door.

”You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!” he heard from outside. ”You b.a.s.t.a.r.d! f.u.c.king b.a.s.t.a.r.d!”

Tony put the car into drive and stomped on the accelerator. He threw the seat belt back and swore at it. The headlights showed the road ahead and the curve. He gunned the engine, ignoring any pedestrians and hoping to Lord above they had the good sense to stay out of his way. Then again, if someone did get in his way and he accidentally ran someone down, they weren't going to die anyway.

The thought made him speed up.

Red tail lights ahead of him. Tony was sure it was the Taurus. He gunned his car, getting it up to a hundred and closing the distance quickly. When he got close enough, he flicked on his high beams. He was close enough to see three heads in the back seat. One of the heads turned about.

It was Frank.

Death.

And he was smiling.

The head next to Death also turned and squinted.

Target acquired, Tony thought, and brought his car in closer to the Taurus.

Chapter 41.

”Who the f.u.c.k is this guy?” Peters asked no one in particular.

The interior of the car was lit up from the car behind them. The two Hansons were up front, driver and navigator. The driving Hanson swore, reached up and turned the rear view mirror down to get rid of the glare. He hated tailgaters that hung onto his a.s.s.

Death continued to smile.

Peters, sitting on Death's right while Bull Wash was on his left, zeroed in on the smile. He came close to Death's ear.

”You know who he is?” Peters demanded.

Death winced. The Minion's breath reeked.

”He's my boy,” Death announced, and distantly thought he should not have revealed that information. Not to these head lice. Then he reconsidered, and thought, f.u.c.kit. ”My amigo. My aide. Probably saw you abducting me.”

”Your buddy is he?”

”He's not my...” Death shook his head in annoyance. That was a slip. The Mundane wasn't his friend.

”Well, then,” Peters smiled, ”drive on.”

”He's up our a.s.s,” the driving Hanson complained. ”I can't drive like this.”

Peters looked back again. ”Wait till we're out of town. Then, we'll do something.”

Death did not like the sound of that. ”What?”

”You just keep your f.u.c.king mouth shut,” Peters warned him and suddenly smiled. ”Please.”

Death grimaced. The Minion's breath stank of decaying s.h.i.+t.

”f.u.c.king mans.h.i.+t,” Peters swore, frowning at the way the car's interior was lit up. No wonder he wanted to burn this world down.

Tony realized they were heading out of town. That would not do. It was time to get a little more proactive in his pursuit. Baring teeth, he floored the accelerator and pulled out from behind the Taurus. He overtook and pa.s.sed the car, hazarding a long look to see who was inside. Death was there, looking stoned. There were four others as well, looking tons p.i.s.sed off.

Well, Tony thought, they sure as h.e.l.l won't like this.

He brought the car in front of the Taurus and immediately slammed on the brakes, red tail lights blazing in the darkness. The driving Hanson swore aloud as he reciprocated. The Taurus shrieked to a halt. He and his brother lunged forward and cracked their faces on the dash and winds.h.i.+eld. In the rear, the men crashed into the backs of the fronts seats with grunts of surprise. No one had thought to wear a seat belt.

Tony got out of his car and marched towards the halted Taurus. He focused on the rear door, ignoring the slumped over figures in the front of the car. One of the rear doors swung open. That was good. He would not have to smash open a window to get to Death.

A figure got out. He straightened up, shaking off the daze of the sudden stop. It was a big man. The size of a pro wrestler. Perhaps he was. Tony didn't give a s.h.i.+t. He shook his hands loose at his sides. If the monster wanted to get busy, he was up for it. The man looked down at Tony, black eyes s.h.i.+ning with anger. Tony brought his hands up; it looked like there was going to be some action after all. The rising of his blood shoved aside the effect of the alcohol in his system. His body went into machine mode, and he looked to get some hurting done. Tony closed the distance and swung first, straight from the shoulder, his fist snapping out with bone-shattering force.

His foe brought up his forearms and absorbed the punch.

Tony snarled, and in the next second, threw a jabbing left, aiming for the midsection of the giant. He hit it and felt hard flesh. He hit it again and again in rapid succession, and sidestepped, throwing another punch towards the big man's face. The monster blocked it. Tony roared, feeling a fighter's rage now, an urge to inflict pain, and punched the man in his kidneys, twisting his fist for greater force. It landed hard. He threw another body-jarring punch into his target's right side, then unloaded a salvo of battles.h.i.+p sh.e.l.ls square into his foe's mid-section, roaring as he did so.

Then, without warning, his world exploded.

He came to, lying on cold asphalt, staring up into a starless night sky. He was on his back, splayed out, and it slowly occurred to him that he had been hit. What was worse, he had been knocked out. He tried to move something, but all of his limbs were offline. He tried to lift his head, but his neck would have none of it. His jaw ached as if it were impaled on a tuna hook. His awareness suddenly switched viewpoints on him to gaze down on his p.r.o.ne form in the road. Then, he was looking at the sky again, forcing himself to stay awake.

He felt grip the front of his s.h.i.+rt. He was lifted up, like a weightlifter curling an easy warm-up rep. Tony's toes tiptoed on the asphalt, and instinct fed him no bulls.h.i.+t as to how serious his situation was. He opened his eyes and rolled his head to stare into eyes so black he thought they were burnt out sockets. His vision focused a little more, and he saw the icy flecks of life within them.

Bull Wash smiled at the man thing. He let Tony's feet touch the ground and held him upright with one hand clamped iron tight around his throat. Wash's other fist, the size of a meteor, came in and gently touched Tony's nose. Bull Wash pulled his fist back. Tony saw the c.o.c.ked fist, reached up weakly with both hands, seeking the thumb of the hand that held him so that he could try a joint lock and escape. He groped at fingers of steel. Bull Wash let him, wondering for a moment what the little man was trying to do.

Then, the fist smashed into his face, and Tony's consciousness imploded into the blackness of his skull.

”What are you doing?” Peters stuck his head out the window and yelled Wash held his victim up with one arm. He punched Tony's body and face again and again, methodically, like a chef tenderizing a meaty, but still-b.l.o.o.d.y steak.

”Better kill him,” Bull Wash replied, loading up to punch his victim again.