with an oncoming cab. A horn blared. He swerved, straightened out and slowed, glancing into the rearview mirror.
'I think we lost 'em.'
Tony cruised for a block, then checked the mirror again. His eyes widened.
'Madonn'!'
He floored the accelerator and the straight-eight Leland engine howled.
'Where's the hardware?' Carney asked.
'On the floor in the back!'
Carney got to his knees and reached, couldn't get it, and tumbled into the back seat. He picked up the submachine gun and cocked it. He pushed Velma down in the seat, then rolled down the back side window and stuck the barrel of the gun out.
A green Durant Roadmaster was pulling into the oncoming lane to pass. Carney let it have a few rounds in the general area of its huge shiny grille.
There was an answering shotgun blast that shattered the rear window. Carney ducked, waited, then sat up. He pointed his index finger through the jagged hole in the glass.
Fire left his finger and enveloped the Durant.
The Durant slowed, flames dancing on its shiny paint. But the fire began to dissipate, rolling off and turning to smoke. The flames soon burned out, leaving the car untouched. The big car sped to catch up.
'They got somethin' workin', boss!'
'Yeah, so I noticed.'
Tony tore right around a corner.
He slammed on the brakes, and Carney hit the back of the seat. Ahead, a huge truck was angled into the street, unloading, and blocking the way.
'Out!' Carney yelled. 'Run for it!'
Tony reached into the back seat for the submachine gun, brought it out, opened the door, raised the gun and got off about twenty rounds before being cut down by a storm of bullets.
While that was happening, Carney opened the back door, rolled onto the pavement, crawled between two parked cars and hid behind one.
He heard advancing footsteps. He summoned power ? and was amazed by how much was available.
'Carney!'
He recognized the voice as Seamus Riordan's, who would have been Tweel's capo de tutti capi had Tweel been Italian. Since he was not, Riordan was lieutenant hood, first under the demons.
'Come on out, Mr. Carney. You can't win. The deng's got us fixed up so good you can't touch us. Come on out. We won't hurt the dame. She's one of us.'
Carney stood up.
Seamus Riordan, tall, tweed-jacketed and red-haired, stopped in his tracks when he saw the strange-looking long tube in Carney's hands.
'Whatcha got?'
'Bazooka,' Carney said.
'What's that?'
Carney demonstrated, aiming at the Durant. The missile left the tube with a whoosh. By the time Riordan swiveled his head to follow it, the Durant had blossomed into a gorgeous red fireball. The concussion knocked Riordan down.
'They didn't fix you up good enough,' Carney said.
Riordan got to his knees, groped for his lozenge-magazined submachine gun, got it and raised it ? but by that time Carney was there to kick it away. Carney then kicked Riordan's solar plexus.
'Not quite good enough, Seamus, me boy.'
Another kick. Riordan groaned.
'Were you sent to pick me up or kill me?'
'Pick you up.'
Carney's foot found a softer spot near Riordan's groin.
Riordan screamed, 'Kill you!'
'That answer was extracted under duress, but I believe you.'
Carney went to Tony. Most of the bullets had found his legs, but a few had hit his chest. He was still conscious.
'Madonn',' Tony said. 'I'm hit. It don't hurt, though. Funny. Always wondered.'
Velma was on her knees on the front seat, looking down at Tony.
Carney asked her, 'You okay?'
She nodded, then reached for something. She handed Carney the bottle. 'Saved it.'
Carney took it and pulled out the cork. He tipped the open bottle to Tony's lips.
'Drink a little.'
Tony drank. He choked. 'Boss, that tastes like lighter fluid.'
'You get used to it. It might save your life.'
The big Durant burned, thick black smoke coiling into the narrow band of sky between the tenements. Out of the sleeping city night, sirens approached.
Eighteen
Voyager
It was a tight fit for two beasts and two humans inside the tiny craft. There were four seats, but they were small, obviously designed for nonhuman occupants. Ironically, the nonhumans were the most discommoded: Snowclaw spilled out of his chair, and Goofus's sufficed only for his tail and hind legs.
Jeremy's voice came out of the intercom speaker. 'Okay, everything seems to check out. We're ready any time you guys are.'
'We're ready as hell,' Gene said.
'Yeah, whatever that means.'
'We're ready, Jeremy,' Linda said.
'Okay. Remember, no more voice communications once you get started, but my messages will be on the computer screen. The computer will be doing most of the piloting anyway. If contact is broken for some reason, the craft's automatic systems will kick in. So don't be too worried. I programmed it to do just about everything on its own.'
'Reassuring,' Gene said. 'For some reason Chernobyl comes to mind… but, hey, this is an adventure.'
Jeremy sounded a bit put out. 'A good… you know, like, attitude would help, Gene. A little respect for technology, maybe.'
Gene tugged at his collar. 'Hey, it's rough bein' a computer, you know? You don't get no respect.'
'Very funny, Gene,' Linda said sternly. 'Does everything have to be a joke with you? Can't you take one thing seriously? I mean, just for once?'
Gene cringed. 'Eeep.'
'I'm scared! I don't know about you. You always act so goddamned brave and macho. Sometimes… Gene, sometimes you really make me mad.'
'Sorry,' Gene said in a flat voice. 'Okay. Jeremy. Let her rip. Don't bother with a countdown or anything. That'll just make it worse.'
'Okay. Good luck, you guys. Be careful.'
'Yeah, we will.'
It was quiet inside the craft except for Goofus's heavy panting.
'I'm sorry I snapped at you, Gene.'
'Forget it. We're all under pressure here.'
