And Darkness Fell by David Berardelli Page B

live, even went to the bathroom the other day … ya know, to
take a leak? Forgot to pull down the fuckin’ zipper. Ol’ lady thought that was
funny, so I belted her. Know what I mean?”
“No.”
He squinted. “Y’ain’t very friendly, mister.”
“I get that a lot.”
“I got an aunt. She ain’t friendly, neither.”
“Small world.”
“She’s got these horses on her place. Know horses?”
“Not personally.”
He took another step closer but kept his left side out of sight. “One of ’em’s
got this funny thing. She bucks when ya try gettin’ on ’er.”
“Maybe she doesn’t want anyone on her.”
He leaned against the pump. He appeared to be thinking it over. “Ya just
might just have somethin’ there, ya know?” He turned back to his ride. “Yep, ya
just might have somethin’ there.”
While his back was turned, I stepped to my left and peered around the corner
of the pump. His car was one of those cheap rice-burners they’d brought over a
few years ago, when China began its mass export program to help the thirty
percent of the population who couldn’t afford new vehicles.
The passenger’s door was open.
My military training kicked in once again. Before I realized it, I’d taken out
the gun and pointed it at the figure circling the pumps at the far end.
This boy was about the same age but shorter and slightly broader, with a nose
ring, earrings, and lip ring. Like his buddy, his head was shaved. When he saw
my gun, he froze. “Hey, man! What’s with the fucking gun?”
The first guy nearly stumbled off the concrete island. “You got a fuckin’
gun?”
I immediately sensed my dilemma. Since they were at least ten feet apart, I
couldn’t hold the gun on both of them. I stood too close to the pumps and fumes.
Any spark from a ricochet would vaporize the three of us. But this was no time to
show fear.
“Yeah, I guess you could say this is a fucking gun.”
“What’s he’s got a fuckin’ gun for, Eugene?”
“You gonna ... shoot us, mister?”
“Not unless you want me to.”
“Hey, man,” said the second punk. “You shoot us, you’re gonna blow us all
up--ya know?”
That statement alone told me they still had all their faculties.
“Thanks for the advice.”
“He’s gonna shoot us, Eugene.”
“He ain’t gonna shoot us. You ... ain’t, are you, mister?”
“I already said…”
“I’m gonna puke! I’m gonna fucking puke!”
I glared at the second punk. “You turn right around and maybe I won’t use
this gun.”
“I’m gonna be fuckin’ sick!”
A slight metallic sound to my left made me turn sharply. The first punk was
gripping a crowbar and had pulled it overhead to strike.
Just then the loudspeaker came on, crackling all around us.
“Number Nine, you need to come to the office so I can turn on your pump
and complete your transaction! Thank you, and please have a nice day!”
The first punk twisted around toward the building.
I grabbed the hooked end of the crowbar and yanked it toward me. It pulled
him off-balance and he fell back against the pump, hitting the back of his head.
Then I slammed him on top of the head with my revolver.
The second punk rushed toward me, a ball peen hammer held high above his
head. I kneecapped him with the crowbar then pounded him on the back of his
skull as he went down.
I gripped the crowbar with both hands, ready to use it again as Reed emerged
from the building. Neither moved, not even when I dropped the crowbar loudly
onto the slab, inches from where the second punk lay, looking up at me with
glazed eyes.
SEVEN
    My heart thrashed wildly as Reed and I climbed back into the van. Nausea had
caused a heavy throbbing in my gut, and my fists went numb as I gripped the
wheel. I was surprised I hadn’t lost control.
    By the time we had gotten back on the Interstate, my pulse rate slowed and
the gut throbbing eased up. Feeling returned to my hands, and a warm tingling
raced up my arms.
    “That was quick thinking, Reed,” I said, my