Read Online The Barbed-Wire Kiss by Wallace Stroby - Free Book Online
Authors: Wallace Stroby
Ads: Link
his window, but Harry went up on the passenger side instead, saw the woman turning to face him. She was pretty, with high cheekbones, wearing a brown Western shirt with pearl snaps. He let the flashlight beam drop slightly so as not to blind her. When he reached the window, he saw the folded jacket on her lap, shined the light inside.
When the window exploded, he stepped back quickly, instinctively, and then he was falling, his breath gone. He sat down hard on wet gravel. The flashlight hit the ground, rolled, and ended up pointing at the Nova’s right front tire. He tried to draw in breath, couldn’t, and then the pain began to bloom in his stomach. He brought his right hand to his shirt, felt the warmth and wetness there, and then the realization came:
I’ve been shot. Mother of Christ, I’ve been shot
.
They were shouting at each other in the car now, their voices loud, panicked. Cubes of safety glass glittered like diamonds around him. He heard the passenger side door unlock, the latch pop.
Coming out
, he thought,
to finish the job
.
His hand went to the Heckler & Koch in the belt holster beneath his overcoat. He drew it, his hand slick with blood, thumbed off the safety. A jolt of pain hit like a kick drum in his stomach, filled his body.
I’m dying
, he thought.
Whatever happens now doesn’t matter, because I’m already dying
.
The door opened wide. A pair of booted feet swung out, touched gravel. He raised the H&K, but it seemed to weigh too much. It was like holding a cinder block at arm’s length. The squat, square barrel wavered, swayed.
Broken glass crunched under the boots. The woman stepped out from behind the door. At first he couldn’t see the weapon—her right hand was empty. Then he saw the short-barreled revolver in her left, the dull metal finish of it. A small gun, he thought, watching it come up. Almost a toy.
She thumbed the hammer back with her right hand—a solid metallic click—and then he was looking into the darkness of the muzzle. She was taking aim with both hands, a look of concentration on her face, but he felt no fear, no alarm. A great calmness had come over him. When the woman leveled the gun at him, he carefully shot her twice in the chest.
She stepped back abruptly, as if trying to climb into the Nova butt first, without turning. Her gun went off and a bullet whined over his head into the trees. He fired again, saw the black spot blossom above her right eyebrow. She slumped back into the car, and then the tires squealed and her body jolted out, fell onto its side. The Nova lurched away, spraying gravel. He fired at it, heard the round puncture metal. The car fishtailed out onto the highway, the passenger door swinging wide and then thumping back shut. He watched the taillights grow smaller, the directional still flashing.
He lowered the H&K, looked at the woman. She was on her right side, facing him, brown eyes shining wetly. He looked into them, into the emptiness beyond, and then she rolled slowly, facedown onto the gravel.
He pressed the palm of his left hand over his wound, felt the warmth flowing out between his fingers. The crotch of his pants was soaked with it, as if he’d wet himself. Two cars flew past without slowing. The lights in the grille of the Caprice were still flashing, like some miniature carnival ride. He could hear the crackle of the radio inside.
The H&K was suddenly too heavy to hold, so he set it down. The snow blew around him, filled the air, but he couldn’t feel it. Even the pain in his stomach was easing.
He tried to lower himself back slowly, felt hard ground beneath his head. He looked up into the gray sky, watched the snow spiraling down around him.
Melissa
, he thought.
Look what I did. Look at how stupid I was. How did I let this happen?
He felt her presence suddenly, like a warmth in the air beside him. The scent of her perfume. It made him smile. And then there was nothing but grayness and drifting snow, and all the pain was
When the window exploded, he stepped back quickly, instinctively, and then he was falling, his breath gone. He sat down hard on wet gravel. The flashlight hit the ground, rolled, and ended up pointing at the Nova’s right front tire. He tried to draw in breath, couldn’t, and then the pain began to bloom in his stomach. He brought his right hand to his shirt, felt the warmth and wetness there, and then the realization came:
I’ve been shot. Mother of Christ, I’ve been shot
.
They were shouting at each other in the car now, their voices loud, panicked. Cubes of safety glass glittered like diamonds around him. He heard the passenger side door unlock, the latch pop.
Coming out
, he thought,
to finish the job
.
His hand went to the Heckler & Koch in the belt holster beneath his overcoat. He drew it, his hand slick with blood, thumbed off the safety. A jolt of pain hit like a kick drum in his stomach, filled his body.
I’m dying
, he thought.
Whatever happens now doesn’t matter, because I’m already dying
.
The door opened wide. A pair of booted feet swung out, touched gravel. He raised the H&K, but it seemed to weigh too much. It was like holding a cinder block at arm’s length. The squat, square barrel wavered, swayed.
Broken glass crunched under the boots. The woman stepped out from behind the door. At first he couldn’t see the weapon—her right hand was empty. Then he saw the short-barreled revolver in her left, the dull metal finish of it. A small gun, he thought, watching it come up. Almost a toy.
She thumbed the hammer back with her right hand—a solid metallic click—and then he was looking into the darkness of the muzzle. She was taking aim with both hands, a look of concentration on her face, but he felt no fear, no alarm. A great calmness had come over him. When the woman leveled the gun at him, he carefully shot her twice in the chest.
She stepped back abruptly, as if trying to climb into the Nova butt first, without turning. Her gun went off and a bullet whined over his head into the trees. He fired again, saw the black spot blossom above her right eyebrow. She slumped back into the car, and then the tires squealed and her body jolted out, fell onto its side. The Nova lurched away, spraying gravel. He fired at it, heard the round puncture metal. The car fishtailed out onto the highway, the passenger door swinging wide and then thumping back shut. He watched the taillights grow smaller, the directional still flashing.
He lowered the H&K, looked at the woman. She was on her right side, facing him, brown eyes shining wetly. He looked into them, into the emptiness beyond, and then she rolled slowly, facedown onto the gravel.
He pressed the palm of his left hand over his wound, felt the warmth flowing out between his fingers. The crotch of his pants was soaked with it, as if he’d wet himself. Two cars flew past without slowing. The lights in the grille of the Caprice were still flashing, like some miniature carnival ride. He could hear the crackle of the radio inside.
The H&K was suddenly too heavy to hold, so he set it down. The snow blew around him, filled the air, but he couldn’t feel it. Even the pain in his stomach was easing.
He tried to lower himself back slowly, felt hard ground beneath his head. He looked up into the gray sky, watched the snow spiraling down around him.
Melissa
, he thought.
Look what I did. Look at how stupid I was. How did I let this happen?
He felt her presence suddenly, like a warmth in the air beside him. The scent of her perfume. It made him smile. And then there was nothing but grayness and drifting snow, and all the pain was
Similar Books
