"Remember me telling you I've killed people? I want to be sure you believe it."
Wayne didn't. Not from what he saw of this skinny guy's face, imperfections all over it, lack of character hiding behind the sunglasses. Even if he'd been told, he wouldn't believe it. Till the guy's hand came up from somewhere with a big nickelplate revolver and stuck the barrel under Wayne's nose, giving it a nudge. Wayne tried to raise his head believing now, yes, it was possible.
Very gently he pushed aside the gun barrel with the tips of his fingers, still looking at the guy's sunglasses, and said, "I never doubted for a minute."
"I want you to be sure," the skinny guy said to him. "So you know what can happen to you."
Wayne felt himself shoved from behind, the Indian saying, "He believes you, okay? Let's go."
They went downstairs, Wayne leading. He paused in the foyer to say, "It's this way," and took them along the remodeled hall past rows of office cubicles partitioned in panels of knotty pine and frosted glass, most of them empty. Carmen's desk was at the end of the row, on the right. He didn't want her to be there. But she was, talking on the phone. Wayne saw her look up, saw her eyes, her surprised expression, as they walked past and came to a glass door in the rear of the house. Wayne was pulling the door open when the Indian placed his hand against the glass. He held it, looking out at the gravel parking area in the backyard.
"It's in your car?"
The skinny one, anxious, said, "Where else would it be? He's taking it out to that house I told him."
The Indian said, "Okay, let's go."
Wayne pulled the door open. He was stepping outside when he heard Carmen's voice behind him, raised, coming from the hall, "Wayne?" but didn't turn or even pause. He kept going, hearing the Indian say, "Who's Wayne?" and the skinny one, closer to him, say, "Who cares? Somebody works there." Then saying, "You drive a truck?" as Wayne approached the side of the pickup bed and reached over to work the combination on the metal tool box. Wayne said, "When I go out on the job, yeah," slipping the lock off, lifting the lid and reaching in with his right hand. He heard the Indian say, "There's a woman there, watching us," Wayne's hand touching cold metal now, a spud wrench, a bull pin next to it--too short--his hand groping until it found the sleever bar, thirty slender inches of solid metal, about three pounds worth, one end flat for prying. Wayne gripped it hearing the skinny guy say, "What're you doing?" The Indian saying, "She still watching us." The skinny one, closer to him, saying, "Come on, will you?" His hand still in the tool box, Wayne turned his head enough to see the skinny one right there and the Indian a few feet behind him, looking toward the office.
"I found it."
The skinny one said, "Well, gimme it."
And Wayne said, "Here."
* * *
Carmen saw it through the glass door, the heavyset man in the way at first because he was watching her and looked as though he might come back inside.
She saw Wayne come around from the truck with the sleever bar a flash of metal, knew what it was and saw the one with the hair twisting away, sunglasses flying and the metal bar raking him across the shoulders. He stumbled, yelling at Wayne, but didn't fall down, not that time, not until Wayne swung at his legs, going for his knees. The guy was jumping back as Wayne connected, hitting him low in the thighs, and his legs went out from under him. Carmen saw the heavyset man hurrying to get his suit coat unbuttoned, Wayne after him now, raising the bar to swing it at him, the heavyset man reaching into his coat, but had to bring his hands out fast to protect himself, hunching, and Wayne hit him twice across the arms, high, around the shoulders, the man trying to cover his head, and that was when Wayne swung the metal bar with both hands, like a baseball bat, and slammed it into the man's stomach, hard. The man doubled over, bringing his arms down, and Wayne hit him
Wayne didn't. Not from what he saw of this skinny guy's face, imperfections all over it, lack of character hiding behind the sunglasses. Even if he'd been told, he wouldn't believe it. Till the guy's hand came up from somewhere with a big nickelplate revolver and stuck the barrel under Wayne's nose, giving it a nudge. Wayne tried to raise his head believing now, yes, it was possible.
Very gently he pushed aside the gun barrel with the tips of his fingers, still looking at the guy's sunglasses, and said, "I never doubted for a minute."
"I want you to be sure," the skinny guy said to him. "So you know what can happen to you."
Wayne felt himself shoved from behind, the Indian saying, "He believes you, okay? Let's go."
They went downstairs, Wayne leading. He paused in the foyer to say, "It's this way," and took them along the remodeled hall past rows of office cubicles partitioned in panels of knotty pine and frosted glass, most of them empty. Carmen's desk was at the end of the row, on the right. He didn't want her to be there. But she was, talking on the phone. Wayne saw her look up, saw her eyes, her surprised expression, as they walked past and came to a glass door in the rear of the house. Wayne was pulling the door open when the Indian placed his hand against the glass. He held it, looking out at the gravel parking area in the backyard.
"It's in your car?"
The skinny one, anxious, said, "Where else would it be? He's taking it out to that house I told him."
The Indian said, "Okay, let's go."
Wayne pulled the door open. He was stepping outside when he heard Carmen's voice behind him, raised, coming from the hall, "Wayne?" but didn't turn or even pause. He kept going, hearing the Indian say, "Who's Wayne?" and the skinny one, closer to him, say, "Who cares? Somebody works there." Then saying, "You drive a truck?" as Wayne approached the side of the pickup bed and reached over to work the combination on the metal tool box. Wayne said, "When I go out on the job, yeah," slipping the lock off, lifting the lid and reaching in with his right hand. He heard the Indian say, "There's a woman there, watching us," Wayne's hand touching cold metal now, a spud wrench, a bull pin next to it--too short--his hand groping until it found the sleever bar, thirty slender inches of solid metal, about three pounds worth, one end flat for prying. Wayne gripped it hearing the skinny guy say, "What're you doing?" The Indian saying, "She still watching us." The skinny one, closer to him, saying, "Come on, will you?" His hand still in the tool box, Wayne turned his head enough to see the skinny one right there and the Indian a few feet behind him, looking toward the office.
"I found it."
The skinny one said, "Well, gimme it."
And Wayne said, "Here."
* * *
Carmen saw it through the glass door, the heavyset man in the way at first because he was watching her and looked as though he might come back inside.
She saw Wayne come around from the truck with the sleever bar a flash of metal, knew what it was and saw the one with the hair twisting away, sunglasses flying and the metal bar raking him across the shoulders. He stumbled, yelling at Wayne, but didn't fall down, not that time, not until Wayne swung at his legs, going for his knees. The guy was jumping back as Wayne connected, hitting him low in the thighs, and his legs went out from under him. Carmen saw the heavyset man hurrying to get his suit coat unbuttoned, Wayne after him now, raising the bar to swing it at him, the heavyset man reaching into his coat, but had to bring his hands out fast to protect himself, hunching, and Wayne hit him twice across the arms, high, around the shoulders, the man trying to cover his head, and that was when Wayne swung the metal bar with both hands, like a baseball bat, and slammed it into the man's stomach, hard. The man doubled over, bringing his arms down, and Wayne hit him
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