Part 19 (2/2)

The thug stepped closer. ”I could use a pair like those, and they're in my size.” Ryan knew where this was going. No chance of him backing out, and he couldn't just chill the man.

He'd have to do this the hard way. Bending his fingers at the knuckles, Ryan kept his hand flat and started forward when he froze motionless.

Over the man's shoulder, Ryan could dimly see minuscule flashes of light from inside the shadows of the skysc.r.a.per. A firefight was raging on the top floor, and the strobing muzzle-flashes could only be autofire blasters. The ville sec men he'd seen had only bolt-action rifles and revolvers. And they certainly would have used autofire blasters the previous night. Which meant it was J.B. and his Uzi, or whoever was using the HK G-12.

”Hey, I'm talking wid you!” the man stated gruffly, grabbing Ryan by the shoulder and spinning him.

”Now gimme the boots, punk!”

Ryan bent over as if to comply, then stood fast and rammed his fingertips straight into the man's throat.

Gasping for air, the thug backed away. Swinging a boot, Ryan caught the man between the legs. Breath exploded from the thug, and as he bent over in pain, the one-eyed man raised his knee to catch him on the way down. The impact straightened out the thug, almost flipping him over. Arms flailing, he hit the ground like wet newspaper and lay there, bleeding from the ruin of his face.

Some gasps rose from the crowd nearby, but most kept moving, unwilling to become embroiled in a fight that wasn't their concern. Some shopkeepers closed their doors, and a few folk turned into alleys to avoid the clear s.p.a.ce that had magically appeared around the combatants.

”What's going on here?” a man demanded, pus.h.i.+ng a path through the milling throng. The man was big and muscular, wearing good clothes, with a revolver holstered on his hip, a stout club in his grip and a red band of cloth on his arm marked with a white circle and a big blue letter A.

But all of the identifying items of a sec man were unnecessary. As soon as he had spoken, Ryan knew it was a guard from his att.i.tude toward the crowd. They weren't people to serve or a.s.sist, but a problem the man had to handle quietly before he could get back to his interrupted drinking.

”All right, gleeb,” he barked, fixing Ryan with a menacing stare. ”Did you attack this man? We got laws about fighting near the greenhouses. You bust a pane of clear gla.s.s, and it's fifty strokes of the whip.”

Aside from an acknowledging grunt, Ryan didn't reply, calculating his chances of making a break into the open doorway of the blacksmith shop. Once out of sight and over the bellows, he could ace the sec man and find someplace to hide. He noticed that Krysty had already gone, blending into the crowd. They had agreed upon that. If one got caught, the other stayed free to finish the job. The clock was ticking on Dean, and minutes counted.

Then four more sec men converged on the sleeping giant, and Ryan knew there was no escape. He'd have to talk his way out of this mess. A difficult matter when he didn't even know the name of the ville or the baron who ruled there.

”Trouble?” asked the leader of the new group, a hand resting on the b.u.t.t of his blaster. The others fanned out behind him to establish a greater presence of authority.

”Yeah, I think so,” the first guard murmured.

Ryan noted that several shops had closed their doors, and folks were avoiding this section of the street.

He had a gren, and wondered how best to use it-blow up a greenhouse or try to kill as many sec men ashe could. Both had their downside.

”Hey, Roberto!” called out a thin man eating an apple as he walked over from the market square.

The first guard scowled for a moment, then relaxed slightly. ”Hey, Dawson. See what happened?”

”Sure. Crusher tried to roust the new guy,” Dawson said, munching contentedly. ”Bad mistake.”

”Didn't think anybody could take Crusher but the hunchback,” said one of the other guards.

Already the tension was starting to diminish, and Ryan felt the muscles in his arms unkink. Somebody had vouched for him, and as far as the sec men were concerned, the matter was already over.

”Did he, now? Fair enough, then. You want to kick him some more while he's down?” Roberto asked, still brandis.h.i.+ng his club. ”Somebody attacks you for no reason, you get to pound them. It's a law we got to discourage brawling.”

”Nah, he ain't going to bother me none again,” Ryan said.

The second group of sec men seemed satisfied, and moved on, but one of the men stared hard at Ryan before leaving, as if trying to memorize his features, or worse, recall them.

Dawson finished the apple, then tucked it into a pocket. ”Pretty good with your fists,” he acknowledged.

”Got an a.s.signment yet from Leonard?”

”Tomorrow. He was busy,” Ryan risked saying. Then on impulse, he threw back his cowl as if having nothing to hide.

Roberto laughed. ”Yeah, the kid tries to run the whole ville. But then, he'll be baron when Strichland dies.”

”Seems like an okay guy.”

Tapping the wooden club against his leg, Roberto frowned. ”Don't let that smiling face fool you, newbie.

The baron would toss his own mother into the Machine.”

”Ain't that the truth,” Dawson added, his face as somber as the tone of his voice.

There was that word again. Ryan filed that phrase away, along with the sound of real fear in the guard's voice. ”Meant Leonard.”

”Oh, yeah, he's okay. Pretty good in a fight, too. And smart. He's the one who thought of the greenhouses. We call him the Brain in the barracks.” The club was brandished. ”But you didn't hear that from me.”

”Hear what?” Ryan asked blandly.

A slow smile. ”Quick. You're very quick. What's your name?”

”Finnegan,” Ryan replied, recalling an old friend who no longer walked the Deathlands. ”Friends call me Finn.” Dawson licked his sticky fingers clean. ”Any good with a blaster?”

”Some.”

”Yeah?” Roberto scratched his head with the club. ”Know how to turn a regular lead bullet into a dumdum?”

”f.u.c.king carefully,” Ryan stated honestly.

Both men laughed. ”You'll do, Finn,” Dawson said, smiling. ”After your stint in the muck, try for security. We always need tough guys.” He glanced at the supine form in the sand. ”And I think you'll fit right in.”

”Thanks.”

”Better than weeding,” Roberto added, as he turned and strolled away. ”Or wall duty.”

”Yar, anything is better than that. Well, see ya later, Finn.”

”Later,” Ryan agreed.

Having said their piece and ascertained there were no problems, the sec men went back to their business, and the crowds flowed around Ryan again. The fight was over, and the disturbance in their ville had been settled. Life went on again.

Some kids darted out from the legs of the crowd and started going through Crusher's pocket, and Roberto halfheartedly chased them away.

Retreating to the safety of the market square, Ryan looked for Krysty, but she was nowhere to be seen.

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