“Listen up, flyboy!” Gideon moved away from the rape scene. “This here ain’t none of yore concern.”
“Yea, boy!” Rayford was still behind the creature. He saw no reason to move. In fact, he gave the creature a brutal thrust, a primal challenge of possessiveness, causing her once more to cry out. It was a clear gesture of defiance to the would-be rescuer. “You need to turn on back around and go on back inside, if you know what’s good for ya!”
“Yea! If you know what’s good for ya!” Junior parroted.
Tiger looked from them to the creature that now looked up at him, eyes pleading. There was pain and degradation in them. When he’d turned the corner and saw what it was; that it had been one of those genetic freaks like Ruff, he’d been tempted to turn around. But he just couldn’t. He didn’t fly that way. Whatever it was … human … animal … it didn’t deserve what was happening to it now. The look on its face was one he couldn’t ignore. One he wouldn’t ignore.
“C’mon, boys. Y’all let her up and we’ll all go have us a drink,” Tiger would take one stab at being conciliatory, though he knew already how it was all going to end. But it gave him precious time. In those few seconds, he took all three of them in. He took note of the blade lying beside Rayford. He noticed Gideon trying to separate and flank him. And he noticed Junior was waiting for orders … any orders. He was the follower. He would be the least of his concerns and the last one needed to be dealt with if anything went down.
“If we’s a wantin’ a drink with yore money, we’d just take it once we got through with yore sorry ass! You know who we are … boy?” Rayford was growing impatient. Another savage thrust, another pitiful cry.
“Yeah, I know who you are,” Tiger was growing impatient, too. “And I’m not going to tell you again, Rayford.” Tiger had learned long ago never to come to Blackwater unarmed. He pulled back his jacket, revealing the Krueger Arms Spacehawk nestled in a shoulder holster. The time for diplomacy was at an end. “Let it up … you inbred piece of shit.”
“Well, lookie here!” Gideon cackled. “We got us a real live hero, boys!” He continued to distance himself, trying to force Tiger to widen his field of vision. At the same time, Rayford was easing the rail pistol out of his jacket pocket. He’d slid out of the creature. She’d have to wait. But she’d be worth it, once he’d dealt with this do-gooder interloper. He’d make her pay as well for the trouble this asshole had caused.
“That’s far enough, old man,” Tiger told Gideon calmly, his hand going to the butt of the pistol. Gideon stopped, holding up his hands.
“Easy there, pard!” he said. “You wouldn’t wanna shoot an old man now, would you?” He hoped to keep Tiger distracted. Just long enough for his boys to get the drop on him. That’s all he needed. It was three against one. The odds were in their favor. This meddling spacer might have meant well, but he’d fucked with the wrong clan.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Tiger replied dryly. “And I guess I’m going to have to shoot the father to make believers out of his sons.”
“You can try!” Gideon yelled as he suddenly dove for the ground. Tiger caught the metallic glint as Rayford cleared denim with the pistol. The man was a bully, used to dealing with people who were intimidated and scared. He’d never had a need for quickness or speed. Tiger, on the other hand, had spent years in the black frontier of space. He’d dealt with pirates, smugglers, drunks and backstreet cutthroats in the lawless frontier of space and the domed cities on Mars and Luna. The Krueger cleared the holster in a blur.
The Spacehawk was bored for a twelve-millimeter shell. Tiger had it loaded with a round popular with deep spacers. Known as the “People Popper,” it was a fragmentation round designed especially for use in outer space. It was designed to inflict catastrophic damage to human flesh and bone, while doing minimal structural damage. This was especially vital in the confines of a pressurized spacecraft or near the outer dome skins of a Martian or lunar city. The bullet was designed not to penetrate, but to explode on impact, bursting into several different pieces of high temperature incendiary fragments. These fragments burnt super-hot, doing extreme damage to human flesh and bone. Yet, they only burnt for a few seconds, thus minimizing major damage to property.
Rayford never even had time to bring the pistol around, before the round exploded against his wrist. A small flash of intense, white light lit the night, and he screamed like a man possessed. The fancy pistol fell to the ground, smoking from the intense heat. The three fingers gripping the butt were blown off with the initial blast. The rest of his hand disappeared in the instant, intense heat, leaving behind a mangled lump of burnt flesh and shattered bone, resembling an overcooked piece of barbeque. Rayford stared in horror at it as he screamed in pain and rage. Junior, who had been going for his pistol, suddenly saw the folly of his ways and tossed it ten feet away, as if it were suddenly a turd.
“Don’t shoot, flyboy!” he screamed, throwing his hands into the air. “Don’t shoot!”
“Well, I’ll be damned, Junior,” Tiger couldn’t help but smile. “Who’d of ever thought you’d be the
