were five of them. Two had revolvers, one had an automatic. The other two sported switchblades.
Deborah held the captured gun in a two-handed firing-range stance.
Lyons shot the gang member whose revolver was closest to being lined up on target.
The 158-grain wad cutter slammed into the punk's chest, stopping him dead. The two cannibals behind him were sprayed by the half pound of flesh that was shredded away from the exit wound.
Panic caused the animal with the automatic to fire prematurely. The Browning BDA .380 kicked and spewed its death seed into the air. Deborah's captured gun barked back and the punk spun away with the impact of a .38 in his shoulder.
What was left of the gang took off in a sprint for survival.
Deborah dropped the .38 into her purse as the parking-lot attendant walked up to Lyons.
'Thanks, mister,' he said. 'I thought I was gone.'
'You're welcome,' Lyons grunted.
The old man surveyed the dead punks. 'I'll have the cops pick up the litter. They'll want to ask you some questions.'
'Sorry, friend. I've got things to do. Just tell them that a pair of concerned citizens gave you some moral support.'
Lyons and Deborah strolled toward the street. There was no use hurrying. Whoever had followed them had lots of time to set up both exits from the secluded parking lot.
Lyons spotted a grungy cafeteria in the middle of the next block.
'Still hungry?' he asked.
She nodded.
He mechanically began eating. 'So what made you decide to help butcher people who work for computer firms?' Lyons asked around a mouthful of meat loaf.
Deborah finished chewing her mouthful of sandwich before answering. 'I used to earn four hundred dollars a week as a stripper.'
'Paint, film or clothes?' Lyons asked. He stared straight ahead while they talked, never looking at her. He shoveled in the food.
'Uhhh, clothes. No one ever thought I might be some other kind of stripper. You're the first who ever asked me a question like that.'
'So what happened?'
'You ever notice how many fewer burlesque houses there are over the last five years? It's the video games that do it. Even the Roxy where I worked for years, is now a video-game parlor. If it weren't for those damn computers and all those silly games, I'd still be employed.'
Lyons continued to feed himself and stare straight ahead.
'You really believe that crap?' he asked.
'You haven't told me about yourself,' she said, changing the subject. 'Do you know that you're the first man I've been with who hasn't told me how important he is?'
'Then you've been with assholes,' Lyons snapped.
They finished eating in silence.
'Great food,' he said. 'Now, it's time to get to work.'
'How do you plan on getting into Elwood and searching around?' Devine asked.
'I've got a plan,' Lyons replied.
He led the way to the street in a leisurely pace. Immediately he spotted a tail in a battered pickup. A scrawny character with a scar over one cheek was at the wheel. Lyons proceeded until he came to a pay phone. He looked up the number to the building department in city hall and placed a call, asking for a building inspector.
In a hoarse voice, he conned the inspector. 'Hey, I'm a straight Gyproc man. I don't go for this cheating on buildings. I don't want no part of it.'
'What are you talking about?' the inspector asked.
'Having to pull every second stud out of walls, before putting the Gyproc up.'
'Where is this happening?'
'Ah, hell. Never mind. With my luck you'd use a magnet or something. Forget it.'
'What do you mean use a magnet?'
'Those stud finders you use actually are small magnets. They don't find the wood. They find the nails. Whenever a stud is pulled, some nails are put through the Gyproc anyway.' Lyons hesitated. 'Hell, if you meet me right away, I'll go to the site with you and show you which walls to inspect, but no one can see me. I got to work for those people again, and I gotta keep my union membership.'
The building inspector was all fired up to be a hero. He took the location and said he would be there in twenty minutes.
'What the hell are you up to?' Deborah asked when Lyons hung up.
'We need identification and transportation. The city is about to provide it. When that inspector gets here, I want you to distract him.'
Twenty minutes later, the city inspector pulled his two-year-old Ford up to the curb alongside a large blond man, who stood with his back to the road and refused to turn around. The city employee honked his horn. When that produced no noticeable reaction, he climbed from the car and approached the man.
Before he reached Lyons, he was intercepted by a stunning blonde with a blockbuster figure.
'Could you tell me where Parsons Street is?' she asked.
He turned to her to direct her. At that moment the large blond man turned and struck him under the ear. The inspector's knees buckled. Before he could fall, the blond man had him by the coat collar and the belt. The beautiful woman opened the back door of the car and the man dumped the unconscious city employee inside. They then climbed into the car and drove away.
'This is better,' Lyons said. 'Do you know how to find Smyrna?'
'Take 285 to the Cobb Parkway. What are you going to do with that inspector?'
'We should kill him, but for now just get me his wallet,' Lyons, playing the role of Carl Leggit, said.
Deborah leaned over the back of the front seat and fished into the unconscious man's jacket pocket.
'I want a cut of this guy's money,' she said.
'I want the entire damn wallet, but first check to make sure the id is there and it doesn't have a photograph attached. That id's going to get us into Elwood.'
'There's a photograph,' she reported.
'Then I'm going to have to flash it only once and so damn fast no one can see a thing. That's okay, though. If there's a photograph, people assume you wouldn't dare use someone else's id.'
'You're kidding.'
'Just watch.'
They arrived at Elwood Electronic Industries twenty minutes later. As they climbed out of the car, Deborah nodded her head toward the back seat.
'What about him?' she asked.
'He'll sleep for another half hour. By then, we'll be gone.'
The receptionist looked up politely. Her smile was warm, but her eyes held the calculating look of a prospective mother-in-law sizing up the engagement ring.
'Who's in charge here?' Lyons demanded in a gruff voice.
'Mr. Brognola, but if you've no appointment...'
'Would you please tell him that John Ironman is here to do the annual building inspection?'
'Do you have identification, Mr. Ironman?'
'Of course I have identification, and I'll show it to Brognola. Now, buzz him.'
The receptionist looked as if she was tempted to move around her desk and personally eject John Ironman, but she restrained herself and placed a call instead.
'Mr. Brognola will be right out.'
'Thanks.'
Hal Brognola appeared in the reception area twenty seconds later. He wore a gray suit.
'Mr. Ironman?'
