– Shit.
One of the silhouettes stands at the edge of the firelight, peering under the boardwalk.
– Selig, come away, we have to go.
– Some got away.
– Too late. We have to go. The fire.
– They got away. The one that shot Chaim got away. The midget got away. One of his whores got away.
A siren whines, coming closer.
– We have to go.
– They killed Chaim. They killed Fletcher. They killed Elias. We have to find them. We have to kill them.
More sirens join the first.
– We have to go, Selig.
– Chaim. They killed my brother. Chaim. I have to kill them.
He starts to scramble under the boardwalk.
I train both barrels on his shadow.
He stops, scents, his head turns toward my hiding place. Two of the others come after him and grab him.
– Selig.
They pull him from under the boardwalk, dragging him away from the flames, away from my gun that killed his brother.
Lucky fucker.
I pinch the hollow shaft just below the plastic fletching and flatten it between my fingers. Sitting on the floor of the van, arm tight to my side and braced against the paneled interior wall, I grip the arrow just above the pinched alloy and begin to bend it back and forth, stressing the metal. The tip wiggles between my ribs.
When the metal bends with ease, I wrap my fist around it, take a few shallow breaths, feeling the point dig at the side of my lung, and give a single sharp yank that tears the tail of the arrow away and hurts like a motherfucker. I drop the scrap on the floor and lift my right arm and pull it free, fresh blood running from the hole that had sealed itself around the shaft that juts from my side.
I press my fingers into the hole in my side, feeling for the sharp-edged barbs, finding them. I’m lucky that they haven’t slipped in past the ribs. I won’t have to break my own bones to dig the fucker out. That would have sucked.
I take my switchblade from my boot top and it snaps open. I have to use my left hand to cut short twin seams through the skin and muscle on either side of the shaft, then drop the knife, twist the shaft so that the broad surface of the arrowhead is parallel to the ribs and jerk it and find out that it has two shorter barbs right at the tip that snag on the bone and only come free when I curse and twist my right arm around and get a two-handed grip and pull the fucking thing out along with a hunk of meat and cartilage and muscle and slivers of bone.
I pick up one of the strips I’ve already torn my undershirt into and start wrapping it around my torso. The Vyrus will seal the wounds soon, but the more blood I can keep inside, the better this will go for me. I’ve already dribbled a fair amount. And I’m likely to lose more by the time I’ve killed all the people I want to see dead right now.
Someone puts a hand on the outer handle of the rear door and tests to see if it’s locked. It is.
Out the windshield I can see the whirling lights on the cop cars and fire engines and ambulances reflected on the apartment fronts at the intersection of Mermaid and 37th. No cops have poked around over here yet, just one cruiser that drifted down the street playing its searchlight over the garbage cans and row houses. That doesn’t mean they won’t be going car to car soon.
They tug a little harder on the handle. Someone says something. Someone answers. I try to smell something other than my own blood. Catch the scent.
I edge to the door, picking up the pointy end of the broken arrow, ease the lock button up and the door swings suddenly open and I grab the midget and haul him in and throw him down and push the arrow into his ear farther than it should go and point at Vendetta still crouched outside the van.
– Get the fuck in here and sit in the corner and don’t move.
She climbs into the van and pulls the door closed.
Stretch starts to open his mouth and I twist the arrow and blood runs freely from his ear.
– Close your mouth.
He closes his mouth.
– Show me those teeth again and I’ll clean both your ears at the same time.
Vendetta shifts.
– The cops.
I keep my eyes on Stretch.
– I know.
She moves.
I give Stretch a little more of the arrow.
– He’s already gonna be deaf in this ear, honey, move again and I’ll take the short route to making him deaf in the other.
She stays where she is.
– The cops. They’re looking in cars. Coming down Thirty-seventh.
I look out front. Bobbing flashlight beams are working toward the intersection.
Fuck.
I can shove the arrow through Stretch’s ear and jump the girl and probably break her neck before she screams, and start the van and roll with the lights off and circle around Seagate.
I lick my lips, shift, my left hand tenses on the arrow.
Stretch is looking in my eyes.
– She’s alive.
I poke the arrow deeper.
– Told you to keep those teeth hid.
He winces.
– They got her. But she’s alive. Get us out. I’ll tell you where.
The flashlights are coming closer. Once the cops are at the intersection I’m fucked. They see the van rolling, they’ll be after me. High-speed pursuit in a crap van. Busted. Dead.
I put my knee on his chest, pull the arrow out of his ear, shove it in his mouth, push the barbs into his inner cheek, fishhook him and pull.
He strains his neck, trying to keep his face in one piece.
I tug.
– Where?
He gurgles.
– Fuggckgyooog.
The lights are bright at the end of the street.
I drop the arrow and pick up the hogleg and rise and kick him in the crotch three times with my steel toes and whip the barrels of the gun across Vendetta’s forehead and give her the boot.
– Don’t fuck with me or I’ll kill you bad.
I get in the front seat and start the engine and pull out, lights dark.
– Where?
He turns his head.
– Sorry? That was my bad ear.
– Where, fucking where?
His smile shines bloody as he works the arrow out of his mouth.
– Gravesend.
