slammed into his midchest. An older man might have had his sternum or collarbones snap, but the blond was solid and fit. He went crashing over backwards with Lou on top. His hefty pistol clattered away.
Lou’s breath exploded out of him, and his right elbow hit with numbing force. His body momentarily went limp from the pain, and he rolled to his side. He was relieved to see there were no other guards. From where he lay, it seemed as if his sudden appearance hadn’t registered with either Cap or George. In fact, he wasn’t even certain George was breathing.
“Cap, can you hear me?” he said in a harsh whisper. “It’s Lou.”
A moan and movement of the fighter’s head were the response.
The men were suspended from a beam by a single heavy chain, secured by a padlock.
To Lou’s right, the stunned guard was groaning and struggling to roll over. He kept pressing against his ears with his huge hands, perhaps trying to muffle the continued explosions in his head. With any luck, the man was out of commission.
Lou crawled to his friends and cringed. Cap’s eyes were nearly lost within mounds of swollen bruises. There were cuts on his cheeks and arms, and his lips were split and caked with dried blood. Chester’s thugs had accomplished what no opponent in the ring had ever been able to do.
“What took you so long?” Cap rasped, his words thick and barely discernible.
“I’m going to get you guys out of here,” Lou said. “Just hang in there.”
“Very funny,” Cap managed.
Lou was on his feet now, checking George. Gratefully, he was breathing, albeit shallowly and slowly. Lou lifted his head and checked his pupils as best he could. Wide but equal in size. Better than they might have been. George’s hands were pitifully swollen, and folded over like rags. Lou wondered if there was any function left in them.
“Lou!”
He was scanning the dark corners of the car for the guard’s gun, when Cap grunted a frantic warning and kicked his feet to get Lou’s attention.
The guard was on his knees, propping himself up with a hand on each side. He was a beast, Lou realized- huge hands, broad shoulders, and the neck of a linebacker. His platinum blond hair was smeared with blood, probably from a gash at the back of his head. Still, he looked far more lucid now.
Lou scanned the boxcar once more, searching for the gun or some other sort of weapon. The walls and grimy floor beneath him seemed bare.
Where in the hell was the gun?
The guard was quickly regaining his senses and had to be dealt with. If he woke up much more, it would be like being trapped inside a metal box with an angry tiger. Lou had never kicked anyone in the face, but this seemed like the time. He took two steps and swung his right leg up toward the man’s chin, as viciously as he could. The guard reacted much quicker than Lou had anticipated, batting Lou’s foot aside with the swipe of a meaty arm, and the kick barely connected enough to throw the man off balance.
Trouble.
Lou knew he had only seconds to act. Another kick was probably not the answer. His eyes were drawn to a large amount of excess chain, dangling from George and looped loosely on the floor.
The guard was wobbly, but readying himself to stand. Lou’s only hope was that the man’s concussion was still slowing him down.
Diving headfirst, Lou grabbed the chain about four feet from the end, and swung it with all his might at the guard’s face, connecting with much more force than he had with the kick. The blond reeled as Lou was wrapping the end of the chain around his own fist, creating in effect a set of brass knuckles. A right hook connected solidly enough to send the man spinning onto his face.
Lou leapt on his back and in an instant had the chain wrapped around his throat. Kicking frantically, the guard rolled over, forcing Lou onto his back. But Lou, now beneath him, was still able to keep maximum tension on the chain.
The man, on top, facing upward, was thrashing wildly, trying to break free of Lou’s hold. Lou responded by pulling even tighter on the chain.
“Stop fighting,” he said through tightly clenched teeth. “You’re only going to make it worse.”
For emphasis, he used up what felt like his remaining strength to increase the tension.
The guard continued to thrash. Lou kept the chain taut, but the task was getting harder. His own muscles were battered and burning, and he doubted he could hold on much longer. The beast had to black out. Turning his head for better leverage, Lou held on.
At that moment, where the floor met the wall, in the darkest corner of the car, he spotted the gun. There was no way the guard could have seen it there yet.
Was the man losing consciousness? Getting foggy? It certainly didn’t feel like it. Could Lou beat him to the gun and get set to shoot it? Close call.
Lou’s arms were on fire now. If anything, the guard’s struggles seemed to be intensifying. His weight, pressing down, was making it hard for Lou to take in a full breath. He felt his strength beginning to go.
This was it.
Somehow, he had to get the beast off him and go for the gun.
At that moment desperation took over, and with absolutely no idea what he was about to do, Lou tilted his chin down, released the chain, and with all his might, bit the man at the base of his neck. At the same moment, he shoved upward as forcefully as he could. The guard, wrestling with the chain, and now in intense pain where his shoulder joined his neck, offered no resistance.
Lou shoved him aside and scrambled for the gun. The guard actually managed to grab him by the ankle, but it was too late. Lou spun around and leveled the pistol at the man’s chest.
“One more move and you’re dead!” Lou snapped.
The guard, the chain loose around his neck and blood flowing freely from the deep bite Lou had inflicted, sank back exhausted and beaten.
Painfully, gasping for air, Lou struggled to his feet. “The key … now!”
The guard unwound the chain and let it fall. “I don’t have the key,” he said, barely able to be heard over his hoarseness. “Mr. Chester has the key. He’s the only one.”
“Stand up and pull your pockets out.”
The man did as he was ordered. Nothing but a wallet. Next Lou warily retrieved his jacket from where it had been laid over a folding chair. Nothing in the pockets but what seemed like a full magazine of ammunition.
Lou flipped open the wallet. “Dolph, that your name?”
“You fucking bit me, you bastard.”
“I’ll look for some soap to wash out my mouth. Okay, Dolph, where’s Chester?.… I said, where in the fuck is Chester? Tell me now or I swear I’m going to shoot you in the knees.”
“He should be at the silo, waiting for you.”
Lou turned the man around and jammed the muzzle hard up against his spine, noting with some satisfaction the continued bleeding from the deep gouge he had created.
“Nice going, Doc,” Cap managed. “I’m proud of you.”
“Just be strong.… George?…”
No response.
An idea had begun to take shape.
“Where to?” the guard asked.
“On your face, Dolph. Right here. Dammit, I’m in a very bad mood, and I won’t hesitate to shoot. Now on your face!”
The guard complied.
Lou wrapped the jacket around the pistol and, closing his eyes tightly, shot the padlock twice-once on the bottom and once on the side. The jacket did a lousy job of muffling the sound, and the lock fell in two beside the prostrate gunman. Lou undid the chain and kicked it aside as both George and Cap crumpled to the floor, groaning.
“Cap, can you stand?”
“If my arms don’t fall off. You are a piece of work, Doc. An absolute piece of work. I think now you just been
