Part 41 (2/2)

Farrow, Otis, and Wilson moved forward. They walked onto a series of blue plastic tarps that had been spread out on the concrete floor. Farrow looked into the man's strange eyes as they approached him. There was something familiar about the eyes.

This is not a card game that's happening here tonight, thought Farrow. thought Farrow. This is something else. This is something else.

Wilson fanned off to the left of Otis. A looked pa.s.sed between Farrow and Otis and they stopped walking.

”Who are you?” said Farrow to the gray-haired man.

”Dimitri Karras.”

Farrow s.h.i.+fted his weight. ”That supposed to mean something to me?”

”Jimmy Karras was my son.”

Farrow spread his hands. ”So?”

As Farrow's coat opened, Karras saw the b.u.t.t of Farrow's gun holstered at his waistline.

No one spoke. Their breath was heavy and visible in the buzzing light.

”What is this?” said Otis, looking from Karras to Wilson, who stood facing him now on his left. ”Y 'all lookin' to take us off?”

”It's not a robbery, Roman.” Farrow looked down at the tarp beneath his feet. ”It's a slaughter.”

”That's right,” said Karras. ”Like you slaughtered those people in the pizza parlor. Like you slaughtered my son.”

Farrow nodded slowly. ”That boy in the road. That's what this is about.”

Karras drew the .45 from behind his back. Wilson drew the .38.

Farrow and Otis did not move their hands. Otis turned his head and saw the revolver in Wilson's hand. He'd shoot the white man with the blank eyes first. He knew that Wilson would never have the courage to use the gun.

Karras raised his gun and pointed it at Farrow's face. Bernie's voice entered his head.

Always aim for the body.

Karras lowered the barrel of the gun.

”Kill him, Dimitri,” said Wilson.

Karras watched Farrow move a step to the right.

Lead that body a little if it's moving.

”Your son,” said Farrow very quietly. ”That was an accident.”

”It's all an accident,” said Karras.

”Kill him!” screamed Wilson.

Otis looked over at Wilson and laughed. The revolver was shaking wildly in Wilson's hand.

Farrow looked into Karras's eyes, the light winking on his face. Now he knew what had seemed familiar to him. It was as if Farrow were looking at his own eyes in the mirror. There was nothing in the man's eyes, nothing at all.

Karras stared back.

And keep firing your weapon until you've accomplished what you set out to do.

”I guess they got us, Roman,” said Farrow.

”Yeah,” said Otis. ”Guess we oughtta just go ahead and surrender.” Otis raised his arms over his head. He rotated his right hand at the wrist as if he was waving good bye. The ID bracelet dropped beneath the cuff of his s.h.i.+rt.

His right hand flashed down to his waist.

Wilson squeezed the trigger of the .38.

The slug blew through Otis's armpit and punched out of his back. The force of it spun him around. He drew his .45 and fired. Wilson felt his cheekbone rip away. He fell back screaming, still firing his weapon, as he took a second bullet in the groin.

Karras fired his gun. The .45 jumped in his hand and he fired again and the weapon bucked. He saw the blur that was Farrow through the ejecting sh.e.l.ls and the gunsmoke that had exploded into the room.

Wilson was falling. He fired and saw blood erupt from Otis's neck as he drifted back. Wilson's last shot blew lights from the ceiling as he hit the concrete.

Karras saw flame spit from Farrow's gun. The roar of the gun was deafening, and Karras kept firing and felt something graze his scalp and it burned. The Colt's receiver slid open as the final shot was expended, and Karras tumbled over the desk as rounds blew through particle board and bits of pressed wood bit sharply at his face.

He dropped his gun and covered up. A bell sound vibrated in his ears. Through the sound, he heard the door open at the front of the warehouse.

Karras stood and waved smoke from his face. The smell of cordite was heavy in the room. His feet crunched copper casings as he went to Thomas Wilson. He kicked the gun from Otis's hand and kept on walking for Wilson.

He knelt over Wilson. The left side of Wilson's face was ruined, a stew of blood and bone. There was blood in his lap and on his thighs and blood had pooled beneath him.

”I'm going to get help,” said Karras. ”You're going to live, Thomas, you hear me?”

Wilson blinked his eyes and squeezed Karras's hand.

”You came in a car,” said Karras. His eyes felt wild and jittery, and he squinted to make them small. He didn't want Thomas to be afraid.

Wilson's eyes s.h.i.+fted in the direction of Otis.

”I'll be back,” said Karras. ”You're gonna be okay. You did good, Thomas, hear?” His words sounded hollow coming from his mouth.

Karras went to Otis. His white s.h.i.+rt was soaked red and it flapped beneath the left arm. He had taken another bullet in the throat. He was dying. A wheezing noise came from his open mouth.

Karras searched Otis's pockets and found the keys. Karras stood and sprinted for the warehouse door.

Frank Farrow pulled his fingers away from his stomach, where he had been pressing them at the point of pain. There was a black hole ripped in his s.h.i.+rt, and blood leaked freely from the hole.

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