![Repairman Jack [03]-Conspiracies](https://fs.dianahicksbooks.com/440545/thumbs/152x264/repairman-jack-03-conspiracies.jpg)
Read Online Repairman Jack [03]-Conspiracies by F. Paul Wilson - Free Book Online
Authors: F. Paul Wilson
Ads: Link
hidden in its groove. Time for you to make your move."
Jack took a deep, tension-easing breath, then squared himself in front of the table. He pointed at the caps with both index fingers, moving them in circles as if they were fleshy divining rods.
"I choose ... I choose ... "
He moved his hands closer to the caps.
" ... I choose ... "
Closer ... quick glances at the positions of the sticks ...
Then he struck.
" ... the middle!"
With one lightning move he overturned the two end caps, shouted, "I win!" when no ball showed, then snatched up the two piles of bills and the earring.
"What the fuck?" said Nocap.
Jack was already moving as he shoved the earring into Santo's hand.
"Bye."
"Hey!" yelled the shaker.
"That's okay," Jack said, backpedaling away down the path. "I don't need to see the ball. I trust you."
He turned and broke into a jog. Behind him he heard Santo laugh. He glanced back and saw his wife hugging him. He also saw Knitcap and one of the slides starting after him.
He quickened his pace. He knew he wasn't going to lose them. Fifth Avenue was less than a hundred yards away, but even if he got there ahead of them, that wouldn't stop them. They'd jump him on the sidewalk and take back the money. Or try to. Jack didn't want to deal with them in public; witnesses could describe him, a camera-toting tourist might even snap a photo. Or worst casea cop might come to his rescue.
No, he'd have to deal with both of them here. He needed a spot where they'd think they had him all to themselves. And up ahead he saw just the place.
He hopped over a low fence onto the grass and half ran, half slid down a steep slope to a lower walkway that ran into a short tunnel beneath the path he'd been on. He stopped midway in the brick-lined underpass and ducked into one of the shallow arched recesses that lined the walls. He pulled his Semmerling LM-4 from its ankle holster and stuck it in the side pocket of his jeans for easier access.
He was hoping he wouldn't have to use itthat simply showing it would be enough. Trouble with the world's smallest .45 automatic was its size. People saw it and thought it was a toy. But it packed a wallop, especially loaded as it was the MagSafe Defenders.
The frangible loads gave Jack the option of inflicting a disabling woundsay, to the thighor an almost guaranteed kill with a shot anywhere into the chest. And he didn't have to worry about the bullet coming out the other side and hitting an innocent passerbyfrangibles did devastating damage to their target, but stayed put.
He was making a show of counting his money when they found him.
"Awright, mothahfuckah," Knitcap said. He held a six-inch blade point down by his right thigh.
Jack slid his hand toward the Semmerling pocket but stopped it halfway there. He'd been expecting knives; he hadn't expected the pearl-handled .38 revolver in the young slide's hand.
"Yeah," said the slide, pointing the pistol at Jack's head. "Yeah!"
For one frozen, heart-stopping, bladder-squeezing second as the barrel lined up with his face, Jack thought he was going to die. He saw murder in the slide's face. The kid was all of seventeen, but his cold dark eyes said he hadn't been a real kid for a long time.
But Jack calmed somewhat when he saw how the kid was holding it. Maybe he'd been watching too many gangsta videos, or bad shoot-'em-up flicks. Whatever the reason, the slide was holding his pistol sideways ... beyond sidewayshe'd rotated it a good 150 degrees so that the heel of the grip was higher than the barrel. And he had his ring and pinky fingers sticking up in the air like he was having afternoon tea.
When he was ready to pull the trigger he'd need to get a firmer grip or risk having the pistol jump out of his hand.
So Jack figured he was safe for the momentthe kid was stylin' now, showing off for the older stickbut as soon as those waving fingers wrapped themselves around the grip ...
What now? Look scared, then attack? The
Jack took a deep, tension-easing breath, then squared himself in front of the table. He pointed at the caps with both index fingers, moving them in circles as if they were fleshy divining rods.
"I choose ... I choose ... "
He moved his hands closer to the caps.
" ... I choose ... "
Closer ... quick glances at the positions of the sticks ...
Then he struck.
" ... the middle!"
With one lightning move he overturned the two end caps, shouted, "I win!" when no ball showed, then snatched up the two piles of bills and the earring.
"What the fuck?" said Nocap.
Jack was already moving as he shoved the earring into Santo's hand.
"Bye."
"Hey!" yelled the shaker.
"That's okay," Jack said, backpedaling away down the path. "I don't need to see the ball. I trust you."
He turned and broke into a jog. Behind him he heard Santo laugh. He glanced back and saw his wife hugging him. He also saw Knitcap and one of the slides starting after him.
He quickened his pace. He knew he wasn't going to lose them. Fifth Avenue was less than a hundred yards away, but even if he got there ahead of them, that wouldn't stop them. They'd jump him on the sidewalk and take back the money. Or try to. Jack didn't want to deal with them in public; witnesses could describe him, a camera-toting tourist might even snap a photo. Or worst casea cop might come to his rescue.
No, he'd have to deal with both of them here. He needed a spot where they'd think they had him all to themselves. And up ahead he saw just the place.
He hopped over a low fence onto the grass and half ran, half slid down a steep slope to a lower walkway that ran into a short tunnel beneath the path he'd been on. He stopped midway in the brick-lined underpass and ducked into one of the shallow arched recesses that lined the walls. He pulled his Semmerling LM-4 from its ankle holster and stuck it in the side pocket of his jeans for easier access.
He was hoping he wouldn't have to use itthat simply showing it would be enough. Trouble with the world's smallest .45 automatic was its size. People saw it and thought it was a toy. But it packed a wallop, especially loaded as it was the MagSafe Defenders.
The frangible loads gave Jack the option of inflicting a disabling woundsay, to the thighor an almost guaranteed kill with a shot anywhere into the chest. And he didn't have to worry about the bullet coming out the other side and hitting an innocent passerbyfrangibles did devastating damage to their target, but stayed put.
He was making a show of counting his money when they found him.
"Awright, mothahfuckah," Knitcap said. He held a six-inch blade point down by his right thigh.
Jack slid his hand toward the Semmerling pocket but stopped it halfway there. He'd been expecting knives; he hadn't expected the pearl-handled .38 revolver in the young slide's hand.
"Yeah," said the slide, pointing the pistol at Jack's head. "Yeah!"
For one frozen, heart-stopping, bladder-squeezing second as the barrel lined up with his face, Jack thought he was going to die. He saw murder in the slide's face. The kid was all of seventeen, but his cold dark eyes said he hadn't been a real kid for a long time.
But Jack calmed somewhat when he saw how the kid was holding it. Maybe he'd been watching too many gangsta videos, or bad shoot-'em-up flicks. Whatever the reason, the slide was holding his pistol sideways ... beyond sidewayshe'd rotated it a good 150 degrees so that the heel of the grip was higher than the barrel. And he had his ring and pinky fingers sticking up in the air like he was having afternoon tea.
When he was ready to pull the trigger he'd need to get a firmer grip or risk having the pistol jump out of his hand.
So Jack figured he was safe for the momentthe kid was stylin' now, showing off for the older stickbut as soon as those waving fingers wrapped themselves around the grip ...
What now? Look scared, then attack? The
Similar Books
