They pulled Sharky to his feet, shoved him into the chair and strapped him down. He felt like a rag doll in their hands.
‘Look at you,’ Fat Boy said. ‘How much longer do you really think you can hold out? You’re a wreck.’
Sharky did not answer.
‘1 ask you again, where is the woman?’ Kershman was almost screaming.
Sharky kept his teeth clamped shut.
‘Where is she?’ Kershman said and there was an almost feline quality to his panicked tone.
Somebody’s putting the heat on him.
‘You’re a fool,’ Fat Boy screeched. ‘Jaw sao.’
Liung picked up the sharpening steel and the blade rang across the rough metal. It grated Sharky’s nerves, turning them raw. His finger began throbbing from anticipation. Fear was a lump in his throat.
The Chin stuck the knife point into the table next to his finger and waited.
‘Kan ni ti ch’ua pa,’ Kershman said.
This time Sharky was more aware of what was happening. He heard the knife slice through bone and gristle a second before the pain stabbed up his arm to his shoulder. The cabin whirled around him and he groaned into his clenched teeth, stifling his agony. The finger was already numb when Liung cauterized it.
Sharky slumped forward, let his body go limp, felt them unstrap him, drag him back to the cot, and drop him on it. They tied his leg.
He was going to pass out again, he could feel himself slipping into that dark pit. He thought about The Nosh and the anger sustained him for a few minutes. He began to slip. He thought about Fat Boy, about his Mauser stuck there in his belt. That was good, that helped, but then he began to drop off again.
He thought about Domino and that was fine. Was she worth all this? The answer came back instantly. Yes. And how about the tape with the Chinese orgy? It was clear now. The man trying to kill her was with her the night he had been monitoring her. Why was she protecting him?
The worst of it passed and Sharky’s mind began to clear again. His hand was a pulsating lump at the end of his arm. He tried to ignore it, to concentrate on Fat Boy.
There has to be a way to get the little asshole in here.
There is, stupid. The slant-eyed bastards are the answer.
They don’t speak English. Fat Boy speaks English. Lie has to hear you, right?
Right.
He rolled over with his back to the door, and reaching down with his good hand, he undid the belt buckle and then slowly, inch by inch, he slipped it through the loops. The belt fell loose and he relaxed for a. minute.
He was lying on his left side. The only way to get any leverage and keep his back to the door was to swing the belt with his crippled hand.
Jesus!
He pressed the end of the belt into his palm and, gritting his teeth from the pain, held it in place with his thumb. With his left hand he slowly wrapped the belt around his fist until about six inches were left. The heavy brass buckle hung on the end of the belt like a ball on the end of a mace.
One shot, kiddo, that’s all you get. And don’t forget Winkin, Blinkin, and Nod. They ain’t gonna be hanging around sipping tea.
One thing at a time.
He had one shot and he had to make it good. If they got the belt, he was dead.
There was movement on the deck above him again. Winkin, Blinkin, and Nod were probably up there, doing their homework. Fat Boy was on the phone again. His voice was up a notch. More panic.
There were nine shots left in the Mauser, counting out the one he had used in the dark.
Two each for Winkin, Blinkin, and Nod.
One for Fat Boy.
One for the rope.
One for luck.
Go for it, kiddo. Go for the bomb. Time’s running out.
He heard Fat Boy hang up the phone. He was coming down the passageway. Sharky rolled over almost on his face. He slid one knee up under his leg.
Fat Boy was at the door. He was coming in.
Sharky moaned.
Fat Boy edged a little closer.
He groaned again, a little lower.
Fat Boy moved in.
‘Help me,’ Sharky said, almost in a whisper.
