Knock Out

67

SAVICH LOOKED AT HIS SIG from the corner of his eye, then looked at her closely, weighed his chances of diving for his gun, raising it, and shooting her. He figured his odds and realized it was a no-go. He couldn’t trust his leg.

He said, “Let me get some pressure on my leg, okay? You don’t want me to bleed to death, do you? How could I walk you and Victor to safety?”

She chewed on her lower lip. “All right, use your belt, that’ll do it.”

Savich pulled off his belt and pulled it tight around his leg. He knew he’d been lucky, the bullet was in and out, torn flesh and muscle, not all that deep. He’d be in big trouble if the bullet had lodged in him. He tried to put weight on the leg and it held up. The pain was bad, throbbing hard. It didn’t matter, he had to move his leg, work it.

“Now let’s get back to Victor. We gotta talk about you. Then I’ll say good-bye to poor Bernie with the two little kids. Then we gotta get our money. I’m thinking Victor and I should head out west, maybe Montana. What do you think?”

“You and Victor don’t have the money with you?”

“Mama hid most of the money in our house in Fort Pessel. When Victor and I went there, cops were all over the house so we couldn’t get to it.” He saw her hand shake from the memory. “Doesn’t matter. After I take care of you, we’ll go back and get it. It won’t be a problem—all those yahoos will be swarming down here looking for us. Then we’ll be set. Do you know how long it takes to drive to Montana?”

“Three, four days.”

She nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. I don’t want to go fast, just sort of see all the tourist sights. Now, step back.”

He did, and his leg held. He put his weight on it, moved it, tensed the muscles.

“Back up six feet.”

He backed up. The movement was good.

He watched Lissy pick up his SIG, shove it into her wide belt with its big turquoise buckle. She waved her gun at him. He walked slowly, carefully, Lissy six feet behind him, not taking any chance he could reach her.

He prayed they wouldn’t run into anyone. He didn’t want to see anyone else die.

He knew Sherlock had to be planning something. He’d been gone too long.

“You’re walking too slow. Move!” He limped faster between the thick trees.

“You know, Bernie’s got a real good body, and he’s old, at least thirty. I’m thinking you’re even better. I was watching you pushing down on the deputy’s shoulder, and I really like your muscles. You look meaner than Bernie does too, like a guy who’s bashed some heads together. I like mean and hot. When I was thirteen, there was this biker dude, he was twenty and he was meaner than a gator, real bad, and so hot all the girls wanted him.” She stopped, frowned at the memory, shook her head. “I had sex with him once, but then he left. Victor was eighteen and I got him instead, took his virginity while I was thinking about my biker dude.

“When I get you all settled down and tied up, I’ll see. Hey, you married? You got a wife who’ll miss you for maybe five minutes? You got little kiddies?”

“No, I’m not married.”

“That redheaded girl, she your partner? You screwing her?”

“Why?”

“I want to talk to her before I blow her head off. I really like what she’s done to her hair. I’m thinking I want to go red, get me some curls like she has.” She fluffed her hair. “Think she’ll tell me how to get what she’s got?”

“Probably not if she realizes you’re going to kill her. I mean, why should she?” Lissy Smiley was crazy and she was sixteen. He limped badly, even managed a big grimace of pain, which wasn’t all that much of a stretch.

“I’ll bet you’re lying to me. You are screwing her, aren’t you?”

“Nah. I don’t even like her much.”

“Well,” Lissy said and laughed, “she a lesbian?”

Savich didn’t say anything; he was listening. He heard something, a footfall. Was it Sherlock? Another deputy? He said quickly, to distract her, “About her hair, I’m thinking maybe she dyes it. But her eyebrows are a sort of dark red-brown, so maybe not.”

Lissy laughed again, high and manic. “I’ll be sure to ask her. Okay, lover boy, move it. We’ve got to get back to Victor. Hey, she any good with a gun?”

“Good enough.” His leg hurt bad, but he had it under control. Could he manage enough of his weight on the left leg and kick out with his right? He didn’t know. He knew if he tried and missed, he’d be dead.

He made his limp impressive.

“Wait, lover boy. Hold up a minute. I think I heard something. Maybe it’s that little redheaded partner of yours. That would be good.”