From behind him be heard Fat Boy’s voice, close to his ear, ‘The address, Sharky. Where is Domino? Tell me and I’ll help you.’
A 1ile closer, Sharky thought. A foot or two.
‘Domino?’
‘Damn you!’ Fat Boy said, leaning closer, his lips wet with saliva, his frog eyes bulging with anger.
Sharky hunched his shoulders and with a massive effort, he rolled over, straightening his arm. The buckle snapped at the end of the belt. The belt whipped in a full arc and whooshed into the side of Kershman’s nose. It burst like a raw egg. The bone shattered. Blood gushed out like water from a pump. The fat man screamed in pain, his eyes bulging with horror as he saw Sharky reach out and grab at his belt.
Sharky’s fingers felt the butt of the gun, but the fat man was reeling backwards. He clutched at it frantically, pulling it loose, but it fell from his hand. Sharky lunged off the bunk to the floor and grabbed the automatic as Kershman grappled with the chair to keep his balance.
Sharky could hear the Chins coming on the run. He grabbed the gun, held it at arm’s length straight up at Kershman, saw the fear in his bleeding face.
‘Please!’ Kershman screamed as Sharky fired. The bullet tore straight up through his chin, his mouth, and into his brain. He went down on his back, his face frozen in terror.
Sharky whirled, still holding the gun at arm’s length, held it an inch from the knot around his ankle, and fired again. The heat from the blast scorched his ankle. The rope dis.. integrated.
Liung swept through the door with the grace of a ballet dancer, his arm whipping up from his belt, the glint of steel in his fist. Sharky fired, saw the disc sparkle towards him, felt it rip through the top of his shoulder and thud into the wall behind him. The bullet tore into Liung’s chest, jolted him, but did not stop him. He kept coming, his hand swept to his belt again. Sharky felt the Mauser jump and roar in his fist. He shot Lung in the stomach. The Chin made no sound. Blood spurted from both wounds. And he still came.
Jesus, it’s like shooting an elephants
His kneecap, idiot, his kneecap.
Sharky lowered the pistol and shattered Liung’s kneecap with the next shot. He wobbled and fell straight forward, reaching out and grabbing Sharky’s ankle. Sharky thrust the Mauser an inch from Liung’s temple and fired. The Chinese died without a sound.
Six shots.
Three left.
He was on his feet when the second Chin charged the door. Sharky stepped over Kershman’s body and tilted the table on end, dropping behind it as the Chin flung out his band and sent three steel discs into the tabletop. Sharky raised on his knees and squeezed off a shot straight into the Chin’s face, but he was moving too fast. It hit the corner of his jaw and tore half his ear off.
Two left.
The Chin leaped at him, kicked the table, split it in two as Sharky rolled over and slammed his back into the side of the bunk. The Chin rose over him, his hand raised, the fingers rigid, and started to chop down on him. The gun roared in Sharky’s fist and the Chin’s left eye exploded. He plunged over Sharky’s head and died face down on the cot.
Sharky spun towards the door. The third one was there, his hooded eyes gleaming through the latticework, not six feet away.
One shot left.
Sharky swung the gun out, holding it with both hands, the belt still dangling from his ruined hand.
The Chin whirled and was gone. Sharky was on his feet. He jumped to the doorway and swung into the passage in time to see his adversary leap through the hatchway to the deck. Sharky ran to the bottom of the hatch ladder and stopped. He listened.
Nothing.
The Chin too was motionless. He had jumped up on the cabin roof and was poised there, over the batch, every muscle tensed, his fingers curved in a classic karate pose. Waiting.
Sharky peered through the hatch and checked out the afterdeck. The Chin was not there. There was no place to bide. Against one railing there was a large emergency box. Two fuel tanks on the stern. Nothing else.
He looked overhead, wondering whether the Chin was up there. He had one shot left and the Chin had God knows how many of those whatchamacallit discs.
Sharky could take a chance, run out on the deck cowboy- style, and try to drop him with a John Wayne shot.
Suicide.
He had to get in close, put him away with one shot.
The Chin crept towards the bow of the boat, moving as soundlessly as a puff of smoke
Sharky reasoned that the longer he waited, the slimmer the odds were. The Chin was trained to be patient. He could outwait Sharky until they were both too weak to walk. Sharky’s patience was already running thin. If he missed with his last shot, the Chin could kill him with his big toe. He looked at the emergency box. Perhaps there was something in there he could use as a weapon. An axe, anything.
His finger began to throb. His nerves were screaming.
Go for the box. If it’s empty, take your best shot and go overboard. Maybe the son of a bitch can’t swim.
Sharky climbed to the top of the hatch ladder, hesitated for a moment, and then ran towards the emergency
