barked.
It was more of a sneeze, actually—but it sounded louder than a marching band in a tin can. Had the thugs heard that? Not daring to move, I scanned the building, convinced they could hear my eyeballs rotating in my skull. The idling sedan’s headlights revealed just enough detail to count heads. One, two, three...
Something hard and cold pressed against my temple. I sighed. Four.
Thanks a lot, dog.
“Hey, Skids. How’s it hangin’?”
A hand made of gristle and steel clamped on my upper arm. I caught a whiff of sour perspiration and cigarette breath when he said, “Going somewhere, Donatti?”
“Yeah. With you.”
“You’re a smart monkey.” Skids jerked me toward the entrance and thrust me into the glare of the headlights. The semi-automatic trained on my head looked like a cap gun in Skids’ meaty paw. “Unload.”
“Come on, man. I need this shit. Gotta earn a living—”
The gun drifted lower. “Unload, or I ventilate your thigh.”
“Fine.” I emptied my pockets, dropping items one by one on the ground with deliberate slowness. As if buying time would improve the situation. Even with an hour to spare, I couldn’t come up with a way out of this. The other three wandered back toward the car and collected the dog, grinning the universal gotcha smiles of thugs everywhere. “I’m gonna get my junk back, right?”
“Doubt it. You won’t be needing any of this. Unless you’ve got Trevor’s item jammed up your ass.” If Skids was amused, his cold features didn’t betray the emotion. “Care to explain what in the hell you were thinking, Donatti? We know you had it. Who'd you fence it to?”
I added the last of the cash to the pile at my feet and glowered at Skids. “I’m not explaining jack to you. Trevor wants to know, I’ll tell him.”
“You’ll have an easier time if you tell me. Trevor wants to hurt you. Extensively. I’ll just shoot you now and get it over with.”
“I’ll take my chances, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” Skids gestured with the semi. His free hand produced a key fob with a fat plastic tag. He aimed at the car, pushed a button, and the trunk popped open. “First class is full. You get to ride coach.”
“Lucky me.” I moved as slowly as I dared, figuring I had two options: climb in the trunk, or run. If I picked the trunk, I’d have to tell Trevor I lost the score. Not that I knew why the bastard wanted the thing in the first place. Taking the trunk meant being taken to Trevor, where I’d be tortured to death.
And if I ran, I’d be shot. Great options.
I concentrated on the exit. To the right of the crumbling drive leading into the place, a few lone trees provided scant cover opportunities. I could run hard to the left, hope the hint of forest in that direction thickened fast. I’d probably take a bullet before I got out of range— if I got out of range—but Skids wouldn’t shoot to kill. At least, not the first time.
Left it was, then. I tensed, slowed to a crawl. And stopped when a long, low shape streaked across the entrance from right to left, impossibly fast, and disappeared. Was it the wolf I’d heard out here earlier? I blinked and glanced at Skids, wondering if he’d seen it—or if I was just losing the few remaining ounces of sanity I possessed.
Skids displayed no reaction. His expression remained immutable. “Get in there.”
I shook my head. Must have been a panic-induced hallucination. I stood in front of the open trunk, poised to climb inside. Drew a breath. And ran.
Gunfire snapped immediately. I lurched aside, hoping for a graze instead of penetration. I heard a faint, wet pop as a bullet met flesh, but felt no pain, no weakness. I kept moving. Where had he hit me?
An unfamiliar voice rang out. “That hurt. ”
I misplaced a foot, stumbled, and went down with a grunt. Rolling onto my back, I located the source of the voice and froze. A tall stranger in a long, weather-beaten duster stood between me and Skids. The
It was more of a sneeze, actually—but it sounded louder than a marching band in a tin can. Had the thugs heard that? Not daring to move, I scanned the building, convinced they could hear my eyeballs rotating in my skull. The idling sedan’s headlights revealed just enough detail to count heads. One, two, three...
Something hard and cold pressed against my temple. I sighed. Four.
Thanks a lot, dog.
“Hey, Skids. How’s it hangin’?”
A hand made of gristle and steel clamped on my upper arm. I caught a whiff of sour perspiration and cigarette breath when he said, “Going somewhere, Donatti?”
“Yeah. With you.”
“You’re a smart monkey.” Skids jerked me toward the entrance and thrust me into the glare of the headlights. The semi-automatic trained on my head looked like a cap gun in Skids’ meaty paw. “Unload.”
“Come on, man. I need this shit. Gotta earn a living—”
The gun drifted lower. “Unload, or I ventilate your thigh.”
“Fine.” I emptied my pockets, dropping items one by one on the ground with deliberate slowness. As if buying time would improve the situation. Even with an hour to spare, I couldn’t come up with a way out of this. The other three wandered back toward the car and collected the dog, grinning the universal gotcha smiles of thugs everywhere. “I’m gonna get my junk back, right?”
“Doubt it. You won’t be needing any of this. Unless you’ve got Trevor’s item jammed up your ass.” If Skids was amused, his cold features didn’t betray the emotion. “Care to explain what in the hell you were thinking, Donatti? We know you had it. Who'd you fence it to?”
I added the last of the cash to the pile at my feet and glowered at Skids. “I’m not explaining jack to you. Trevor wants to know, I’ll tell him.”
“You’ll have an easier time if you tell me. Trevor wants to hurt you. Extensively. I’ll just shoot you now and get it over with.”
“I’ll take my chances, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” Skids gestured with the semi. His free hand produced a key fob with a fat plastic tag. He aimed at the car, pushed a button, and the trunk popped open. “First class is full. You get to ride coach.”
“Lucky me.” I moved as slowly as I dared, figuring I had two options: climb in the trunk, or run. If I picked the trunk, I’d have to tell Trevor I lost the score. Not that I knew why the bastard wanted the thing in the first place. Taking the trunk meant being taken to Trevor, where I’d be tortured to death.
And if I ran, I’d be shot. Great options.
I concentrated on the exit. To the right of the crumbling drive leading into the place, a few lone trees provided scant cover opportunities. I could run hard to the left, hope the hint of forest in that direction thickened fast. I’d probably take a bullet before I got out of range— if I got out of range—but Skids wouldn’t shoot to kill. At least, not the first time.
Left it was, then. I tensed, slowed to a crawl. And stopped when a long, low shape streaked across the entrance from right to left, impossibly fast, and disappeared. Was it the wolf I’d heard out here earlier? I blinked and glanced at Skids, wondering if he’d seen it—or if I was just losing the few remaining ounces of sanity I possessed.
Skids displayed no reaction. His expression remained immutable. “Get in there.”
I shook my head. Must have been a panic-induced hallucination. I stood in front of the open trunk, poised to climb inside. Drew a breath. And ran.
Gunfire snapped immediately. I lurched aside, hoping for a graze instead of penetration. I heard a faint, wet pop as a bullet met flesh, but felt no pain, no weakness. I kept moving. Where had he hit me?
An unfamiliar voice rang out. “That hurt. ”
I misplaced a foot, stumbled, and went down with a grunt. Rolling onto my back, I located the source of the voice and froze. A tall stranger in a long, weather-beaten duster stood between me and Skids. The
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