Georgie understood right away. “Live,” he said. The others agreed.
“Fine,” I told them. “I’m only going to be in town for a couple of days, I hope, and I don’t want to see any of you again. So I’m going to take out some insurance. Hold still. If any of you yank your hands away, I’m going to assume that means you’ve changed your answer.” I turned the revolver around and held it like a club.
“Please,” the ex-Marine said. “Please don’t.”
“It’s gonna hurt,” I said, letting some of my anger show, “but not as bad as a bullet in the guts.”
I slammed the butt of the revolver onto the backs of their hands, aiming for the knuckle of their index fingers.
It wasn’t the smartest move, but the smartest move would have been to kill them all. I didn’t want them shooting at me from a moving vehicle tomorrow. I had to take them out of the game somehow, and I had to teach them, and whoever pulled their strings, not to mess with me. Breaking their hands was gentle compared with what I should have done.
They cursed and whimpered like scolded boys. When it was done, I slid open the side door.
“School’s out for the day,” I said, and kicked Georgie through the open door.
He tumbled out onto the curb, and the other three scrambled after him on their knees and elbows. They crouched on the sidewalk, blinking in the drizzle, holding their arms across their chests just as I had outside Sara’s bar. I slammed the door shut.
The keys were, in fact, in the ignition. I laid the guns in my lap, started the van, and pulled into traffic.
At the first red light, I picked up the driver’s revolver. I took out my ghost knife and cut off the hammer, then sliced through the cylinder. I tossed it into the back of the van. Georgie’s gun was already ruined.
I have my reasons for not liking guns.
On impulse, I opened the glove compartment and peeked inside. My curiosity was rewarded with an envelope filled with five $50 bills.
Things were looking up.
My arm was bleeding pretty freely. It was annoying and I’d need to have it taken care of. I took the tourist map from my inside jacket pocket and consulted it. Looking around the neighborhood, I oriented myself to the two main roads in town. The hospital was behind me and to the east. I turned at a corner, then did it again.
I was a couple of blocks from the hospital when I saw a McDonald’s. Half an omelet and toast hadn’t held me, so I pulled into the drive-through. If I was going to wait in an emergency room, I might as well have lunch with me.
And wooden men don’t have to worry about cholesterol.
I ordered the biggest, sloppiest burger they had, along with fries and a milk shake. In for a penny, in for a pound. As I pulled up to the pickup window, a pretty teenage girl with a splatter of pimples over her face leaned out the window.
“Hi, Uncle Ethan!” she said.
Then she saw my face. Her mouth dropped open, but she didn’t say a word. “Hello yourself,” I said. I paid her with Georgie’s money. She gave me the food.
“That looks like my uncle’s van,” she said.
“Really? Weird,” I said to her. I set the bag of food on the seat next to me and drove to the emergency room.
To my surprise, there were no other patients. To my further surprise, I didn’t need stitches. The doctor cleaned the wound, glued it shut, and packed a bandage against it. It cost me three hundred dollars. Luckily, I hadn’t bought two milk shakes. Uncle Ethan paid my bill for me, leaving about six dollars in my pocket. Easy come…
I thanked the emergency room staff and walked toward the exit to check on the van. Through the glass doors, I saw the Escalade slowly cruising through the parking lot. I stepped away from the glass. The SUV circled Uncle Ethan’s van, then drove around the building.
I turned away from the doors and hustled through the hospital, moving as fast as I could without attracting attention. I had planned to visit Harlan Semple while I was here. That would have to wait.
I passed bare corridors with no doors. For a moment I felt lost, then I burst through some double doors and found myself in a storage room filled with plastic tubes in plastic bags, and IV stands. Feeling relieved, I broke into a sprint, running to the loading dock I knew had to be at the end of the hall.
There was a small panel van backed against the loading dock, and an eighteen-wheeler backing up beside it. A man in jeans and a polo shirt called out to me, telling me I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I jumped off the loading dock and ran to the street beyond.
I reached the sidewalk. The street was nearly empty, and the Escalade was nowhere in sight. I was standing at the exit of the parking lot. Nothing there, either.
Wait. There it was. The Escalade pulled into view, then stopped, as if the driver was looking around. I ducked behind a tall hedge, bumping against the stop sign that controlled traffic entering the road.
The vehicle turned toward the exit and puttered toward the spot where I was hiding. I watched it through a break in the bushes, trying to get a glimpse of the driver. I couldn’t. The overcast clouds reflected off the windshield, blocking my view. Still, I was sure it was Charles Hammer in there.
The Escalade pulled a little past the stop sign and paused on the sidewalk. I knew the driver would be watching the traffic to the left, so I stepped from my hiding spot, yanked open the passenger door, and hopped into the seat.
“Hello,” I said.
The driver cried out in a high-pitched voice, and for a second, I thought Charles Hammer looked much shorter
