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Authors: Jean-Patrick Manchette
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idiotically.
The Lancia turned on a dime and drove into the gas station via the exit. The car sprang toward Gerfaut, who pulled the trigger of the automatic. The Lanciaâs windshield exploded. At the same time, Gerfaut jumped back, stumbled, and fell hard against a coffee machine, bruising his back agonizingly. The bright red car bore down on him, rocking and pitching. Gerfaut fled for his life, but the Lancia swerved and accelerated, threatening to smash Gerfaut into the office window. Gerfaut pirouetted away, but the carâs left headlight struck him glancingly on the buttock and catapulted him across the cement on his belly. The Lancia utterly demolished the office window. With a thunderous roar, huge pieces of broken plate glass, road maps, toolboxes, cans of oil, lightbulbs, and cartoony promotional figures made of wire and latex were hurled in every direction.
With gravel still clinging to his forehead and cheeks and his nose scraped raw, Gerfaut turned over onto his back. His buttock was horribly painful. He had lost the Star. He had no idea where the weapon had landed. He raised himself on his elbows and saw Carlo get out of the Italian car, on the side farther from him, holding the Smith & Wesson .45. Bastien reversed at top speed, heading for the attendant, who abandoned the pump and ran for the office. Carlo took aim at Gerfaut. The attendant lowered his head and butted Carlo and sent him sprawling into the debris of the window, the lightbulbs, the road maps, the figurines, and all the other debris. The tank of the Taunus was full, but the automatic pump was still delivering high-octane gasoline at full flow, and the fuel was flowing freely across the concrete. A long rivulet wended its way toward Gerfaut.
Bastien got out of the Lancia and shot the pump attendant in the back with the SIG automatic. The man fell on his face at the door to the office, pulled his knees up beneath him, and tried to get up. Still sitting amid the debris of the office window, Carlo brought his .45 up with both hands, placed it against the side of the attendantâs face, and blew the manâs head off.
âShit! Shit!â said Carlo.
Gerfaut managed to get up. He had taken three steps toward the Taunus when White Streaks fired at him with the SIG. The projectile raked his skull, and he fell bluntly on his back with blood streaming over his face. Carlo got to his feet, ran toward the Lancia, and got behind the wheel. Gerfaut rolled about on the concrete.
âFinish that cunt off!â yelled Carlo.
Bastien tossed his head to get his white forelock out of his eyes and headed for Gerfaut. Gerfaut took his Criquet lighter from his shirt pocket and ignited the rivulet of high-octane gasoline. His hand and arm were badly burned in the process. Flames leapt instantly from the lighter to the Taunus, enveloping the automobile in seconds. Gerfaut bounded to his feet, flabbergasted to discover that he could stand and even run. He dashed toward the road. As he reached it, he had the impression that he was still being fired on. At that moment the gas tank of the Taunus blew up, and the blast hurled him across the road. He landed nose first in soft earth and turnip or potato leaves. Once more he got to his feet. Shouting meaninglessly, he turned to look back. He was much impressed to see the killer with the white streaks in his hair flaming like a tailorâs dummy, prostrate on the concrete with his arms crossed at his chest. Every window smashed and tires smoking, the Lancia emerged phoenix-like from the flames and bounced back onto the road. The panic-stricken Gerfaut turned his back on the inferno and began running across the field, wrenching his ankles in the loose dirt. He ran blindly in the direction of the railroad tracks.
12
When Gerfaut half regained consciousness, he did not know if he was at home in Paris, or on vacation, or even perhaps at Liétardâs place. He was lying on a hard surface in an almost
The Lancia turned on a dime and drove into the gas station via the exit. The car sprang toward Gerfaut, who pulled the trigger of the automatic. The Lanciaâs windshield exploded. At the same time, Gerfaut jumped back, stumbled, and fell hard against a coffee machine, bruising his back agonizingly. The bright red car bore down on him, rocking and pitching. Gerfaut fled for his life, but the Lancia swerved and accelerated, threatening to smash Gerfaut into the office window. Gerfaut pirouetted away, but the carâs left headlight struck him glancingly on the buttock and catapulted him across the cement on his belly. The Lancia utterly demolished the office window. With a thunderous roar, huge pieces of broken plate glass, road maps, toolboxes, cans of oil, lightbulbs, and cartoony promotional figures made of wire and latex were hurled in every direction.
With gravel still clinging to his forehead and cheeks and his nose scraped raw, Gerfaut turned over onto his back. His buttock was horribly painful. He had lost the Star. He had no idea where the weapon had landed. He raised himself on his elbows and saw Carlo get out of the Italian car, on the side farther from him, holding the Smith & Wesson .45. Bastien reversed at top speed, heading for the attendant, who abandoned the pump and ran for the office. Carlo took aim at Gerfaut. The attendant lowered his head and butted Carlo and sent him sprawling into the debris of the window, the lightbulbs, the road maps, the figurines, and all the other debris. The tank of the Taunus was full, but the automatic pump was still delivering high-octane gasoline at full flow, and the fuel was flowing freely across the concrete. A long rivulet wended its way toward Gerfaut.
Bastien got out of the Lancia and shot the pump attendant in the back with the SIG automatic. The man fell on his face at the door to the office, pulled his knees up beneath him, and tried to get up. Still sitting amid the debris of the office window, Carlo brought his .45 up with both hands, placed it against the side of the attendantâs face, and blew the manâs head off.
âShit! Shit!â said Carlo.
Gerfaut managed to get up. He had taken three steps toward the Taunus when White Streaks fired at him with the SIG. The projectile raked his skull, and he fell bluntly on his back with blood streaming over his face. Carlo got to his feet, ran toward the Lancia, and got behind the wheel. Gerfaut rolled about on the concrete.
âFinish that cunt off!â yelled Carlo.
Bastien tossed his head to get his white forelock out of his eyes and headed for Gerfaut. Gerfaut took his Criquet lighter from his shirt pocket and ignited the rivulet of high-octane gasoline. His hand and arm were badly burned in the process. Flames leapt instantly from the lighter to the Taunus, enveloping the automobile in seconds. Gerfaut bounded to his feet, flabbergasted to discover that he could stand and even run. He dashed toward the road. As he reached it, he had the impression that he was still being fired on. At that moment the gas tank of the Taunus blew up, and the blast hurled him across the road. He landed nose first in soft earth and turnip or potato leaves. Once more he got to his feet. Shouting meaninglessly, he turned to look back. He was much impressed to see the killer with the white streaks in his hair flaming like a tailorâs dummy, prostrate on the concrete with his arms crossed at his chest. Every window smashed and tires smoking, the Lancia emerged phoenix-like from the flames and bounced back onto the road. The panic-stricken Gerfaut turned his back on the inferno and began running across the field, wrenching his ankles in the loose dirt. He ran blindly in the direction of the railroad tracks.
12
When Gerfaut half regained consciousness, he did not know if he was at home in Paris, or on vacation, or even perhaps at Liétardâs place. He was lying on a hard surface in an almost
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