All the Earth, Thrown to the Sky

46

Outside, we saw Bad Tiger running across the lot in the direction of the rides. Strangler took off after him.

Jane said, “Well?”

She broke into a run, and we followed.

Darting between people and around concessions and booths, we followed Strangler and Bad Tiger to where the air was filled with the grinding and clanking of gears, shifting seats, and people yelling and laughing.

Bad Tiger was making good time, but Strangler, big man or not, was making better. We kept running after them, and then Bad Tiger came up against a swirling ride and stopped. The chairs with people in it swung down and back up, around and down again. Bad Tiger seemed kind of frozen by it. He looked at the ride; then he turned and looked at us. But mainly he looked at Strangler and that barbell.

Bad Tiger reached down and pulled up his pants cuff. There was a little holster there, and in the little holster was a little revolver.

Like I said, it wasn’t a big gun, but any gun if it’s pointed at you is big, which is why little men love to carry them.

He pointed it at Strangler.

“I ain’t running no more,” Bad Tiger said.

“You’ve run all your life,” Strangler said. “You ain’t nothing but a runner.”

“Yeah, you think so. I tell you, I ain’t running from you no more. You best just let me go.”

“Without your money.” The way Strangler said it, I thought he was about to break out and snicker.

“I don’t need no money. Banks got plenty of money.”

“Nah,” Strangler said. “I let you go, I figure I’m going to have to see you again, and I don’t want to.”

Strangler advanced with the barbell.

“Then I’ll shoot you.”

“I just don’t care,” Strangler said, and stepped forward.

Bad Tiger fired the gun.