Rusty Nail

CHAPTER 50

A CALM CAME over me. The same calm I felt when I was in Diane Kork’s bathroom, with the house burning down around me. I stared at Holly, perhaps fifteen yards away from me, a dazzling smile creasing her perfect face, and I knew I was going to die.

Holly was better than me. She played me, and Harry, for fools. What she said about getting to know us to hurt us worse was true.

If I’d just been grabbed by her and killed, it would have been bad enough. But coming from someone who I knew, someone I trusted, and not seeing it coming; that was like a gut punch.

And to add injury to insult, she just killed my best friend, and was going to kill the man I loved, and me, and my cat. And even stupid Harry, whom I found myself developing a soft spot for. A very small soft spot, but a soft spot nonetheless.

I looked at Latham, and mouthed “I’m sorry.” He was crying, which made me feel even worse.

In my head, I said good-bye to Herb, and to my mother.

“Come on, Jack!” Latham yelled. “You can do it!”

But staring at Holly, I knew I couldn’t do it. She would put ten rounds into my chest before I even got a shot off. The woman was better than me at everything. She wouldn’t have set this little scenario up if she didn’t think she’d win.

“Anytime, Jack. Or would you prefer I try this with Latham instead?”

My knees were rubber. My mouth went dry. My hands were shaking worse than Bud’s.

I couldn’t win.

Latham said, “You can do it, Jack! I love you!”

I couldn’t win.

Harry said, “Jackie, just drop the bitch so we can go home.”

I couldn’t win.

Holly said, “Or maybe I could play this game with Mr. Friskers. I don’t think he’d be as scared as you look right now.”

I couldn’t win I couldn’t win I couldn’t win.

But goddammit, I could sure as hell try.

I reached for the Glock, tugging it from the belt, bringing it up and at the same time stepping forward – Holly went for the body shot, and a profile is harder to hit – and my arm fully extended and I watched as Holly’s eyes went wide and she grabbed for her gun and fired first, but I wasn’t going to be duped this time by trying to outdraw her, I was going to make sure my shot counted and I took careful aim and felt the wind as her slugs tore the air in front of me and I squeezed the trigger and fired.

Her head snapped back as if on hinges, and she sprawled out onto the concrete floor, her gun skittering off into the darkness.

Cheering, from Latham and Harry. I walked toward Holly, saw the blood streaming down her face, and then limped over to Phin, digging at his neck, feeling for a pulse.

He surprised me by opening his eyes.

“… buttons…”

The relief I felt was tangible.

“I’m getting an ambulance, Phin. You’re going to be okay.”

“Bullets…” he moaned. Then he said buttons again.

But it wasn’t buttons. It was batons.

Batons were specialty bullets, used by police for crowd control. Made of rubber. Non-lethal.

I looked up at the table, saw Holly’s bullet-making equipment.

She wouldn’t have risked killing me so quickly. She had other plans.

I heard Harry and Latham yell just as Holly kicked me from behind.