I dragged him up and threw him across the hood of the car, picked up his Luger, and jammed it into
his throat.
„The entire exhibition had taken about thirty seconds.
“You fucking Mongoloid!” I screamed in his ear. “That?s three strikes. You?re out.”
“No, no, no!” Doe screamed.
The security guard was in the street, blowing his whistle, not sure whether to pull his gun or not.
“Call this number,” I yelled to him, and barked out the number of the Warehouse. I repeated it.
“You got that?” I demanded.
“Yes, sir!”
“You call it now, tell whoever answers that Jake Kilmer wants company and not to waste time getting
here.”
“Yes, sir” He dashed back inside the security house.
Nance wasn?t alone. Nance was never alone. Nance was a company mail; he liked people around.
“Run back inside the compound,” I told Doe.
“But—”
“Do it now. This creep isn?t alone. Just get inside and stay there until——”
Headlights ended that sentence. The car moved toward us from a block away. I gripped the Luger in
two hands and blew out a headlight. The car picked up speed and stopped an inch in front of mine. I
aimed at the other light and a voice behind me said:
“Drop it, or the girl goes down.”
Nance tried to gargle something through swollen, bloody lips. I dragged him off the hood and threw
him on the ground, dropped the clip out of his gun, and threw it at him with everything I had. It hit
him in the side and clattered harmlessly across the sidewalk.
A moment later something just as hard hit me in the back of the head. The street turned on end. Doe
Spun around me like a doll on a merry-go-round. The lights went out.
72
FLASHBACK: NAM DARY, END OF TOUR
The 556th day:
