backward.
Fisk collided with the front of the cell. Griff and Rowdy were ready. Rowdy thrust his right arm between the bars and hooked it around Fisk’s neck. Griff was shouting, “Get him, bro! Get him!”
Rowdy pulled back hard. He was a big man, too, almost as big as Fisk, and with plenty of muscle. The back of Fisk’s head fetched up against the bars with a clang that sent them ringing. Rowdy grabbed his own right wrist with his left hand and got Fisk in a choke hold.
Jack kept his feet working, scrabbling them on the linoleum floor to keep slamming the top of the back of the chair into Fisk’s middle. Rowdy got a knee up against the bars where the small of Fisk’s back was.
The big biker leaned back, putting his weight into the choke hold.
Fisk’s eyes were like soft-boiled eggs floating in a purple face. He had both hands up clawing at Rowdy’s forearm where it circled his throat but he couldn’t break the other’s grip.
Griff said, “Get him, bro, get him!” He’d stopped yelling and was calling out in a breathy whisper, like a crapshooting gambler urging the dice to come through for him on a long-shot roll.
Griff grabbed the top of Fisk’s gun in its hip holster. It was a.357, held down not by a flap but by a leather strap. Griff’s fingers tore at the strap, loosing it.
Sharon Stallings already had her gun out. It was a.357, too. She came out from behind the front desk, angling for a clear shot. Fisk was in her way, causing her to hesitate.
Griff yanked Fisk’s gun clear of the holster and leveled it at Stallings. Gunfire cannonaded as he cut loose, shooting the middle out of her. She came apart and fell down in a heap.
Griff shoved the gun’s smoking snout against Fisk’s side but before he could pull the trigger there was a cracking sound like a crisp breadstick being snapped in two. Only instead of a breadstick it was Fisk’s neck that was being broken as Rowdy pivoted his upper body and twisted Fisk’s head to an angle beyond the human design tolerance limit.
19. THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 9 P.M. AND 10 P.M. MOUNTAIN DAYLIGHT TIME
Griff said, “Keep holding him up — don’t drop him!”
Rowdy said, “I ain’t dropping nothing.” He still stood with his arm through the bars holding Fisk in a chokehold. Fisk was all dead weight now with nothing to hold him up but Rowdy. His bulging-eyed, slack- jawed head lolled at an unnatural angle.
Rowdy said, “I could do this all day.”
“We ain’t got all day, man.”
Jack said, “You’re so right.”
Griff’s eyes lit up. “Hey, you’re still with us! Stay awake, dude. Don’t pass out!”
“I won’t.”
Griff first checked Fisk’s handcuff case on his belt because sometimes cops keep their handcuff keys there in a small compartment but the search came up empty. He now stood with his hand between the bars reaching into Fisk’s right front pants pocket. He stood on tiptoes, standing sideways with the side of his face pressed against the bars for a longer reach. His face was hot and the bars were cool. He was reaching in and down. He said, “I think I got his key ring— ”
Rowdy said, “Don’t drop it, man.”
The pocket tore at the seams as Griff closed his fingers around a chunk of loose metal and fished it out. He pulled his closed fist back to his side of the bars before opening it. A key ring lay in his palm. He said, “I ain’t dropping nothing.”
Rowdy sagged in relief, allowing Fisk to slump a bit lower. Griff, alarmed, said, “Whoa! Keep hold of him until I’m sure the handcuff key is on this ring.”
Rowdy said, “Step on it. This slob weighs a ton.”
Griff’s hands shook with eagerness as he held the ring up to the light and began flipping through the keys until he came to a pair of tiny black keys that looked like something out of a child’s play set. “All right! Handcuff keys if ever I saw ’em — and believe me, I’ve seen plenty!”
“Stop bragging. Can I let this pig loose?”
“Yeah, but don’t let him fall too far in case these keys don’t work and we got to check him for others.”
Rowdy eased Fisk down the bars to the floor, the body folding up as though it were as boneless as a bag of dirty laundry. The corpse sprawled at the foot of the barred cell door, an inert lump.
Now the bikers could see Jack Bauer, the back of him anyway. Jack’s head tilted forward, chin resting on his chest. He breathed slowly, deeply.
Griff said, “Shit! He’s passed out!”
Jack raised his head. “No… I was just resting.”
“Rest later. Fight it, man! You need to stay awake and alert. We need you. You need us. We need each other to get out of this scrape.”
“You should set that to music.”
Griff grinned tightly, below the eyes. “You can still joke, huh? That’s good. That’ll keep you going. Turn around so I can see you.”
Jack used his feet to rotate the chair’s swivel seat in a half circle so that he was facing the cell door. He had to step on one of Fisk’s outflung arms to do so. It bothered him not a bit.
Jack’s right eye was blackened and his left was swollen half-shut but he could still see out of it. His nose was bloodied and his lips were smashed and split, bleeding on the inside where they’d been cut against his teeth. He felt around with his tongue; his teeth seemed to be all there. He couldn’t tell if any of them were loose or not. His jaws ached at the hinges. His ribs were bruised and his belly ached.
Griff said, “What’s your name, dude?”
“Jack.”
“I’m Griff and this is my buddy Rowdy.”
“Hi.”
Rowdy said, “Pleased to meet cha’, Jack.”
“Likewise.”
Griff said, “You handle yourself okay, Jack. That was nice work softening up that big pig for us.”
Jack glanced at Sharon Stallings, a corpse in the center of a still-expanding pool of blood, then eyed Fisk. It was the first time he’d taken a good look at Fisk dead. On him it looked good. Jack said, “You men didn’t do too badly yourselves.”
“Thanks. Now that we’ve done the mutual admiration bit let’s focus on something really important, like getting out of here.” Griff held a handcuff key between thumb and forefinger so it was separated from the other keys on the ring. “Wheel that chair over here so I can reach you.”
Jack used his feet to propel himself on the rollers so his left side was against the bars. Fisk’s body blocked his progress until Rowdy collared the corpse by the shirt at the back of its neck and dragged it to one side.
Griff knelt so he was at eye level with the chair arm. He reached through the bars with both hands, the left holding Jack’s cuffed hand steady while the right fitted the key into the equally tiny slotted keyhole and turned it until something clicked.
The cuffs unlocked, Jack freeing the metal bracelet from his left wrist. The flesh was marked with angry red grooves where the cuff had bitten into it. He bent his arm at the elbow and raised his hand, flexing it to restore the circulation. Numbness was succeeded by a tingling wave of pins- and-needles sensation that momentarily took his breath away.
Griff said, “I don’t know if the same key will work on another cop’s cuffs but it should. It’d be a hassle for them to keep track of different sets of keys for each pair of cuffs.”
Rowdy said, “If it don’t work you can blast the chain loose with the.357.”
Jack said, “Let’s try the key first.” He jockeyed the chair around so that its right side pressed against the
