That night, Skyler bled.
He said goodbye to Jewell and her daughter reluctantly, having wanted to spend much more time with them. But the Figure waited outside, impatiently gunning the Hummer?s engine.
Tommy drove them to the Old Market District, to an abandoned warehouse in the sketchier part of town. The Figure parked a block away, then he, Gasher, Skyler and Navajo Joe got out of the truck, quietly closing the doors. They approached the structure four abreast. The moon was full and the night was lucid. Skyler felt at one with the darkness, clad all in black, his black gun holstered under his arm, fully loaded.
Gasher picked the padlock of the gated chain-link fence surrounding the warehouse, then pushed the two sides wide open. The four of them skulked across the lawn, Tommy bringing up the rear.
Inside this warehouse was rumored to be a shipment of half-century old wine, a rare and valuable vintage. Tommy wanted it for himself. The stuff apparently sold for two hundred silver crowns a bottle.
Gasher approached the structure?s side door and tried to pick the lock. It was a deadbolt, however, and he had no luck. Tommy stepped forward, his bejeweled fingers glimmering in the lunar light. With seemingly little effort, he kicked the door open with one massive size seventeen boot. The doorframe splintered and the hinges tore away. They all crowded inside.
It was pitch black. Skyler fumbled for the light switch, found a high-voltage circuit breaker instead and pushed it up. Sparks hissed out of the breaker as rows upon rows of florescent lights hummed to life overhead. They all squinted, trying to adjust their eyes to the new brightness. Assorted crates and canisters and kegs covered the place from wall to wall. How the hell were they supposed to find the right stuff?
?There,? said Tommy, pointing out an object covered with a rich green fabric, with an emblem of crossed cutlasses embroidered on it.
They didn?t even make it half way to the crate which held the wine they sought. Men with guns burst from the corridors of crates, firing rapidly at the four of them. The ambushers were professionals. They didn?t announce their arrival with silly war cries or loud footfalls; they simply started firing without warning.
Skyler and Navajo Joe were shot immediately, though the fat Indian got the worst of it. He took a barrage of bullets to the stomach and chest, and was most likely dead before he hit the ground. Skyler caught a bullet in the abdomen. A hole opened up on his belly and began to gush blood, saturating his shirt. As he fell to the ground and dragged himself to the safety of a crate, he returned fire. His revolver only had six shots, and he managed to hit with four of them. But the gunmen easily numbered a dozen.
Gasher was able to debilitate two of them and escape unscathed, a plume of fire shooting from each hand and engulfing the two closest men. After that, the sorcerer simply turned invisible and ran to hide.
Skyler hadn?t seen what became of Tommy, though he?d heard none of the Desert Eagle?s distinctive gunfire. The boy glanced around in desperation, hoping the Figure was still alive. Bullets riddled the crate behind which Skyler hid. Holding his gushing stomach with one hand, he covered his face with the other, wondering if his life would end tonight.
Then, abruptly, the lights in the warehouse flickered out, plunging the building back into blackness. All gunfire ceased, the gunmen calling back and forth to one another in confusion. As their cries tapered off, there was an incredible, vivid, awkward silence, sort of like the silence after a loud, untimely knock at the door during dinner, or after a bad joke had been told and no one laughed.
Out of nowhere, Tommy?s Desert Eagle cut through the silence like a thunderclap in the clear blue sky. The gun crashed in perfect, repetitive intervals, its roar deafening. Skyler glanced toward the source of the gunfire and saw Tommy?s massive figure strobing in and out of view in the small spark of flame that blazed out of the gun?s barrel when it fired. Amazingly, grunts and groans and blood splatters and bodies hitting the floor could be heard between the Desert Eagle?s reports. In the utter blackness, the Figure was somehow hitting his targets. The ambushers returned fire, but Tommy was untouched, as his own weapon?s distinctive explosive crashes persisted.
Finally the gunfire ended. After a long, quiet moment, Tommy?s gravelly baritone lanced through the darkness. ?Gasher, hit the light switch back on!?
Skyler heard the sorcerer?s footsteps scurry over to the breaker. When his eyes adjusted to the bright light again, her saw the bodies of all twelve gunmen laying dead, scattered about the floor in bloody heaps, sporting the telltale gaping holes that Tommy?s Desert Eagle made in its targets. Then he looked down to see himself lying in a quickly spreading pool of his own blood. He actually hadn?t felt too bad until he saw that. Then a slow acceptance came over him, and he lowered his face into the warm crimson liquid. As his long pretty black hair fanned out in the blood, he grew very sleepy . . ..
He said goodbye to Jewell and her daughter reluctantly, having wanted to spend much more time with them. But the Figure waited outside, impatiently gunning the Hummer?s engine.
Tommy drove them to the Old Market District, to an abandoned warehouse in the sketchier part of town. The Figure parked a block away, then he, Gasher, Skyler and Navajo Joe got out of the truck, quietly closing the doors. They approached the structure four abreast. The moon was full and the night was lucid. Skyler felt at one with the darkness, clad all in black, his black gun holstered under his arm, fully loaded.
Gasher picked the padlock of the gated chain-link fence surrounding the warehouse, then pushed the two sides wide open. The four of them skulked across the lawn, Tommy bringing up the rear.
Inside this warehouse was rumored to be a shipment of half-century old wine, a rare and valuable vintage. Tommy wanted it for himself. The stuff apparently sold for two hundred silver crowns a bottle.
Gasher approached the structure?s side door and tried to pick the lock. It was a deadbolt, however, and he had no luck. Tommy stepped forward, his bejeweled fingers glimmering in the lunar light. With seemingly little effort, he kicked the door open with one massive size seventeen boot. The doorframe splintered and the hinges tore away. They all crowded inside.
It was pitch black. Skyler fumbled for the light switch, found a high-voltage circuit breaker instead and pushed it up. Sparks hissed out of the breaker as rows upon rows of florescent lights hummed to life overhead. They all squinted, trying to adjust their eyes to the new brightness. Assorted crates and canisters and kegs covered the place from wall to wall. How the hell were they supposed to find the right stuff?
?There,? said Tommy, pointing out an object covered with a rich green fabric, with an emblem of crossed cutlasses embroidered on it.
They didn?t even make it half way to the crate which held the wine they sought. Men with guns burst from the corridors of crates, firing rapidly at the four of them. The ambushers were professionals. They didn?t announce their arrival with silly war cries or loud footfalls; they simply started firing without warning.
Skyler and Navajo Joe were shot immediately, though the fat Indian got the worst of it. He took a barrage of bullets to the stomach and chest, and was most likely dead before he hit the ground. Skyler caught a bullet in the abdomen. A hole opened up on his belly and began to gush blood, saturating his shirt. As he fell to the ground and dragged himself to the safety of a crate, he returned fire. His revolver only had six shots, and he managed to hit with four of them. But the gunmen easily numbered a dozen.
Gasher was able to debilitate two of them and escape unscathed, a plume of fire shooting from each hand and engulfing the two closest men. After that, the sorcerer simply turned invisible and ran to hide.
Skyler hadn?t seen what became of Tommy, though he?d heard none of the Desert Eagle?s distinctive gunfire. The boy glanced around in desperation, hoping the Figure was still alive. Bullets riddled the crate behind which Skyler hid. Holding his gushing stomach with one hand, he covered his face with the other, wondering if his life would end tonight.
Then, abruptly, the lights in the warehouse flickered out, plunging the building back into blackness. All gunfire ceased, the gunmen calling back and forth to one another in confusion. As their cries tapered off, there was an incredible, vivid, awkward silence, sort of like the silence after a loud, untimely knock at the door during dinner, or after a bad joke had been told and no one laughed.
Out of nowhere, Tommy?s Desert Eagle cut through the silence like a thunderclap in the clear blue sky. The gun crashed in perfect, repetitive intervals, its roar deafening. Skyler glanced toward the source of the gunfire and saw Tommy?s massive figure strobing in and out of view in the small spark of flame that blazed out of the gun?s barrel when it fired. Amazingly, grunts and groans and blood splatters and bodies hitting the floor could be heard between the Desert Eagle?s reports. In the utter blackness, the Figure was somehow hitting his targets. The ambushers returned fire, but Tommy was untouched, as his own weapon?s distinctive explosive crashes persisted.
Finally the gunfire ended. After a long, quiet moment, Tommy?s gravelly baritone lanced through the darkness. ?Gasher, hit the light switch back on!?
Skyler heard the sorcerer?s footsteps scurry over to the breaker. When his eyes adjusted to the bright light again, her saw the bodies of all twelve gunmen laying dead, scattered about the floor in bloody heaps, sporting the telltale gaping holes that Tommy?s Desert Eagle made in its targets. Then he looked down to see himself lying in a quickly spreading pool of his own blood. He actually hadn?t felt too bad until he saw that. Then a slow acceptance came over him, and he lowered his face into the warm crimson liquid. As his long pretty black hair fanned out in the blood, he grew very sleepy . . ..