Part 1 (2/2)
”Like h.e.l.l we will, Escott. Stand up and follow Sled out the back door.”
Escott glanced up as the big shadow of the man in gray loomed over him. ”I meant what I-”
”Shut up or you get it now.”
He shot her a glum look and stood. He put on his hat and reached for the cane, but Sled grabbed it first, grinning at Escott's discomfiture. Sled opened the back door and started through a short, dark pa.s.sage that served as storage s.p.a.ce and led to the rear alley. The bartender watched me and pretended not to notice his other customers.
I gave up my drunk act and vanished into thin air. Maybe he could pretend not to notice that, either.
Escott moved slowly through the pa.s.sage after Sled. The woman was behind him, presumably with her hand still on the gun in her purse. For the moment I was only aware of their bodies and general positions. The woman s.h.i.+vered as I pa.s.sed her, the way they say you do when someone walks over your grave. Escott paused when I brushed past him and had to be urged on; it was his way of letting me know he was conscious of my presence.
Sled was out the back door now, waiting as Escott emerged with the woman. I didn't know if Sled had his gun ready yet, but hers was, so she'd have to be dealt with first.
I melted back into reality and solidified. From her point of view I just came out of nowhere, which was essentially correct. I slapped the gun from her grip, put a hand over her mouth, another around her waist, then half lifted her away into the dark.
She made a nasal squeal of outrage, her heels flailing against my s.h.i.+ns.
Sled's attention cut from Escott to her, and the gun jumped from the shoulder holster to his hand like magic. Escott grabbed it, forcing it down, and used his body to ram Sled against the brick wall of the dive. He was stronger than his thin frame promised, and the bricks did nothing for Sled's looks or disposition. He hit Escott with the cane, but it was at the wrong angle and he couldn't put his full strength in it. There was a meaty thump and gasp as Escott slammed the man's gun hand hard into the bricks. The gun dropped. The cane came down again. Escott took the blow against his side and at the same time led with a right that went halfway to Sled's backbone.
While they danced around, I tore the purse from the woman. Holding on to her was like trying to give a bath to an alley cat. I pushed her away from the melee, hoping she would have the sense to run. We wanted the stamp, not her. She was agile, though; one second she was getting her balance, the next she was making an unladylike tackle for Sled's gun.
She got it.
Her index finger slotted neatly over the trigger on the first try and she rolled and brought it up like an expert, firing point blank at me as I lunged. The yellow flash filled my whole world. I didn't hear the thing go off, maybe at that range it was too loud to hear. I felt the wrenching impact as the slug struck over my left eye and sent me on a slow, breathless tumble into white-hot agony.
Its duration was mercifully brief. I was writhing and solid one instant and weightless and floating the next. The shock and pain had knocked me incorporeal, temporarily releasing me from the burden of having a body full of outraged nerve endings. I wanted to stay in that non-place, but Escott's voice, distorted as though through layers of cotton, was dragging me back. He shouted my name once, and then the gun went off again.
I reappeared in time to see the smoke flaring away from its muzzle. Sled launched himself away from Escott, grabbed the protesting woman on the run, and dragged her off the battlefield.
Escott was leaning against the wall and had made no move to stop them. He was doubled over, struggling to breathe, with his arms curled tight around his stomach.
His pale face stood out from the shadows like a fun-house ghost. Even as I found my feet he lost his and sank to the ground.
I was kneeling by him in a second, heart in my throat. ”Charles?” My voice was all funny, as though it were borrowed from some stranger.
”Minute-” he gasped. He shut his eyes, let his mouth sag, and concentrated on drawing in air. I eased him more comfortably against the wall and tried to check his damage, but he shook his head.
”How bad?” I asked.
He showed a few teeth, but I couldn't tell if it was a grimace or a smile: with him it could go either way. His breathing evened a little and his eyes cracked open.
”Where's the stamp?” he whispered.
Stamp? What the h.e.l.l did that matter? ”I'll get an ambulance.”
”No need, I'm not hurt.”
”You're doing a good imitation of it. Just hold on and-” One of his hands came up. ”Give me a minute and I'll be fine.”
”Charles...”
The other hand came up. Clean. ”I'm only winded.”
”What the- ”My bulletproof vest,” he said with an air of stating the obvious.
I checked; under the rumpled clothes was a solid-feeling something encasing his torso.
”Unlike you,” he continued, ”I have no supernatural defense against flying bits of metal and must provide an artificial one.”
I was stuck exactly at the halfway point between relief and rage. He wisely chose not to laugh at the expression I must have been wearing.
”I think I shall purchase a more effective vest for the future, though, this one seems a bit too thin for the job. Now, where is the stamp?”
Mutely, I handed over the beaded green bag. I didn't trust myself to say anything yet as it probably would have been too obscene. While he rummaged for the leather case I got up and checked the alley exit, putting some distance between us for a minute. On top of everything else, the son of a b.i.t.c.h didn't need a punch in the chops from a friend who was glad to see him alive.
Sled and the woman were long gone. It seemed like a good idea for us as well; their bartender friend might come out any minute, and we'd had enough excitement for one night.
Escott found and checked the case with its faded smudge of blue paper. ”Philately is not an especial interest of mine. I fear I am quite unimpressed, even if it is worth five thousand American dollars.”
”Yeah, well, let's make tracks before that girl remembers and decides to come back.”
He saw the sense of it. ”Would you help me up? I fear the bullet caught me near that knife wound, and things are still rather tender there. What rotten bad luck.”
”I'd say it was pretty good since it missed your head.” I got him to his feet and retrieved his cane.
”Heavens, are you all right? I saw you- ”She was using lead, not wood, so I'm just peachy.”
He decided to ignore the sarcasm. I was justifiably annoyed with him and he knew the best thing was to let it run its course.He leaned on my arm for support as we gingerly picked our way out of the alley.
Though his was pretty fair, he didn't have my night vision and relied on me to keep him afoot. We found his big Nash a block away. He insisted he could drive, so I shoveled him behind the wheel and took my place on the pa.s.senger side with a sigh.
”What went wrong back there?” I asked.
”She recognized me, for one thing, but that's all right because I recognized her.”
”Okay, I'm holding my breath.”
He spared me a sideways look, started the car, and pulled into the street. ”I can believe that. She still might have been willing to deal, but the whole business went wrong because of Swafford's marked money. I should have checked it earlier.”
”You really think she would have chanced a deal, even after spotting you?”
”It was a possibility. Even knowing me. she might have taken the money and given you the chance to follow, but then the best-laid plans and all that. Safford has his precious stamp and cash, but he's going to hear a few words from me about it.”
He suddenly swung the car in a wide turn. ”I think we shall visit him now while I'm still angry.”
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