Mike regained his feet, grabbed the salad bowl, dumped out the remaining lettuce and trapped the tarantula under the bowl. The bowl shook for a few seconds, the big spider?s legs flailing against the inside.
Mike flopped back into his chair. His heart beat a mile a minute.
Linda stared openmouthed for a second, then broke into braying laughter.
?Yes, very fucking hilarious,? Mike said.
?You were terrified.? Laughter overcame her again. She started to hiccup.
?You screamed,? Mike said. ?You were scared too.?
Linda fluttered her eyelashes. ?I?m a girl. I?m allowed.?
A knock at the front door.
?You don?t have to knock,? Mike shouted. ?Just come in.?
?He?s afraid you?ll spank him,? Linda said. ?You better let him in. He?s the only one brave enough to take the spider out.?
Another knock.
?Hell.?
Mike got up, went to the door, turned the knob, swung it open. ?I said you didn?t have to??
He saw a blur of wood. It hit him in the forehead. Lights exploded behind his eyes. His knees went watery. He was vaguely aware of Linda?s scream. A flash of purple. The axe handle came around again and smashed him in the ribs. The pain stabbed, took his breath away. He went down. The world tilted, and bells rang. Another strike across his back.
Linda screamed again and there was shuffling and a loud
Mike set his jaw, made fists. He had to get up. He grunted, got up on one knee.
Another sharp hit at the base of his skull. Everything went black, his face bounced off the wooden floor. The hot buzzing in his ears, the weight that seemed to push him down and down and down.
18
Mike?s eyes flickered open. He had no sense of time. He saw floor, the chair and table legs. What was he doing down here? Oh, yeah. Somebody had beat the shit out of him with a piece of wood.
Linda. He had to see if she was okay.
He closed his left eye, then opened it and closed his right. He couldn?t get the left eye to focus. Bleary. It must have been knocked out of whack with the hit at the back of his head.
He grunted, struggled to his hands and knees.
?You awake.
Mike felt a hand on his collar. He was jerked up, dumped in a chair at the dining room table. Dizzy. He held his head and tried to look at his assailant. He had to close the bad eye to focus.
The man in front of him was short, but wide, powerful chest and arms. Hispanic. He wore a ridiculous purple suit, flashed gold teeth in his wicked smile. An axe handle dangled from one hand, a revolver stuck in the man?s belt.
?Are you okay, Mike?? Linda asked.
Mike glanced at Linda. He still had one eye shut. She had a fat bottom lip, a bit of blood at the corner of her mouth, but otherwise seemed okay.
The sinister purple suit brought up the axe handle, wiggled it three inches from Mike?s face. ?Andrew Foley. I
