Part 37 (1/2)

This was too civilized for me. I wasn't brought up to handle violence with ”Now, now.”

Armand came forward two more steps. ”At least let me free you from the mud.”

”Freeze,” Shane ordered. ”One more step and I blow your nuts off.”

I said, ”That's more like it.”

”Thank you, Maurey. Now help me out of this mire.”

”That's my pistol, isn't it?”

Took some pus.h.i.+ng and tugging-and pain in my burnt hand-but I finally got Shane back on the driveway and down the rest of the hill. I couldn't see my own face, thank G.o.d, but Shane looked in bad shape. He was coughing his guts out. Each cough spasm ended in what sounded like gagging, and I was scared to p.i.s.s he might pa.s.s out.

”You want me to hold Charley?” I asked.

”I am perfectly competent with a gun.”

”I can't believe you stole him. Then you lied, you swore to G.o.d himself you didn't take Charley.”

”Lying to alcoholics is mandatory, especially where firearms are concerned,” Shane said.

Armand lurched ahead of us like a spoiled child. He even had hair growing out his b.u.t.t, the jerk. My greatest fear was that he might call a bluff and realize Charley wasn't loaded. We'd be in big trouble then.

”I'll never trust another sober man,” I said.

Shane spit something up. ”Aren't you glad now that I lied?”

I rubbed my hand over the top of his wet head. ”You think because you're saving my life I'm going to forgive those ugly things you said?”

”Yes, I think so.”

Back in the dry, lit barn, Arrnand stood over by the art nouveau junk pile, eyeballing me. He had the ugliest p.e.n.i.s I'd ever seen-looked like those Chinese handcuffs we played with as kids. He breathed at hyperventilation speed. Between the blood-pounding excitement and running, his pills must have been flat sizzling. A heart attack might be appropriate.

Shane kept Charley pointed at Armand, but he looked at me. ”Holy Hannah, child, what did he hit you with?”

”You don't look so healthy yourself. Did you see a phone inside? Maybe I should call someone.”

Armand gave a bark laugh. ”Who could you call? The police are after you both.”

Shane started to speak but went into a coughing fit that lasted thirty seconds and left drool hanging off the corner of his mouth. Finally he asked, ”Did he rape you?”

”He was going to.” I picked my torn s.h.i.+rt off the floor and wiped Shane's mouth. He smiled weakly at me.

”I wasn't going to rape her. Why should I rape something I'd already had?” Armand's voice was full of disgust.

Shane pointed the shaky gun. ”You. Shut up.” He took the s.h.i.+rt from my hand and gently dabbed my chin. It came away soaked in blood and dirt.

”Hold your pistol,” Shane said. ”It's time this villain paid for his sins.”

I took Charley. ”Let's charge the villain a lot. Beating me up should be expensive.”

”If he'd raped you, I would have cut out his reproductive system.”

Armand paled noticeably. I had the urge to point Charley at his crotch and pull the trigger, just to watch the jerk faint. ”He f.u.c.ked me while I was unconscious last night. Is that rape?”

”What am I, a lawyer?” With effort, Shane wheeled toward Armand. ”If he moves, shoot him.”

”Gladly.”

Shane stopped out of the line of fire. He motioned to one of the two tanks connected to the welding torch. ”Place your foot up here.”

Armand fastened his eyes on mine. ”You can't hurt me. I'll call the police. She slept with me last night, and she stayed when you left. No court in Tennessee would convict me of rape.”

”You're not going to court,” Shane said. I saw him dig in his pocket. ”Now put your foot here.”

Armand's mouth formed a red sneer inside his black beard. ”Look at her. She enjoyed what I did. She wants more. You always wanted a real man, didn't you, b.i.t.c.h.”

He screamed and dropped like a stuck pig. Shane flashed that wicked little knife of his, said, ”Banzai, motherf.u.c.ker,” and leaned over Armand's writhing body. Five seconds later Armand screamed again, worse than when I stuck a hot welding torch to his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es.

Shane turned the wheelchair a half circle and slowly made his way back across the floor. He held out his hand to show me two big toes, each with hairy growth behind the yellow nail.

Shane kind of sighed. ”I always wanted just cause to do that. Being a cripple makes you mean sometimes.”

I said, ”Jesus Christ, will he die?”

Shane looked at Armand, who lay on his back, weeping and holding the ends of his feet with both hands. ”Not if he seeks treatment. Are you aware if you slice the big toe off a person you effectively cripple him?”

”Armand had it coming.”

Shane looked down at the toes in his hand. ”I know. Still, if I weren't dying, I probably would have taken only one.”

”You're not dying,” I said.

Shane bent close over his hand. ”Good Lord, Maurey, this toe has bite marks.”

44.

”You definitely should seek professional treatment,” Shane said to Armand. ”The human body has only so much blood to give, then it runs dry.”

For the advice, Armand's face returned hatred.

”Think he can drive a truck without toes?” I asked.