Hardware by Linda Barnes Page B

a cab.”
    â€œDid he call it in?”
    â€œYeah.” Gloria did not sound comforted. “Finally did a nine one one, and cops are what I’m trying to avoid here. Good news is that Area B’s swamped. Break-ins in progress, two assaults, a gang bust-up. A ‘maybe, maybe not’ accident sighting’s not gonna be any number one priority tonight.”
    I passed the left turn leading to the zoo and slowed to a crawl. Tire tracks leaving the road on my right. The ground looked muddy enough to hold prints, layers of rotting leaf mulch keeping it warm. It would take good eyesight to catch tracks on a dark street. You had to wonder. Luck. Or possibly the perp himself had called it in. Maybe Marvin, if he was drunk and had totaled the cab.
    â€œHang on, Gloria. I’m gonna park and walk some, then come back, drive on, and try it by foot again. Too easy to miss something this way.”
    â€œOkay. Leave the radio on.”
    â€œWill do. Flashlight in the trunk?”
    â€œNew batteries.”
    â€œThanks.”
    I pulled to the side of the road, killed the lights, locked the doors as I exited, keys in hand. Just my luck to run into a car thief.
    I walked ten feet, decided the car’s headlights would help, went back and flicked them on. Gloria was singing an unsteady hymn on the radio.
    Fifty feet. Nothing. I went back for the car, drove it slowly along the verge.
    â€œHold it. I think I see something,” I said, squealing the brakes.
    Gloria’s singing stopped. Her voice turned cautious. “Babe, maybe you ought to wait for the cops.”
    â€œI thought you didn’t want them.”
    â€œShould I send another cabbie? Two’s better than one.”
    â€œWho’s on?”
    She mentioned a couple names I didn’t recognize. Unknown backup is worse than no backup, I decided.
    â€œGloria, I’m going to leave the radio on. You hear anything that sounds wrong—like gunshots, for instance—dial nine one one, and don’t take no for an answer.” I cranked down the windows and abandoned the cab on the grass, its warning lights flashing. As an afterthought, I grabbed the chunk of lead pipe from under the seat. I like to have options other than my revolver.
    On close inspection I could decipher twin tracks, clear, fresh, with textbook tread. The incline was far steeper than I’d estimated from a quick flashlit sweep. I started down too fast, following a muddy rut, and fell. Sat, cursing silently.
    My next attempt was more cautious. Oblique. I hung close to a scraggly line of trees, trying to dig my heels into the mud. The undergrowth snared my feet. My boots kept slipping in the mire. The second time I fell, twisting my ankle sharply on a hidden root, I made a desperate grab for a sapling, missed, and slid the entire length of the grade. My forehead smacked hard against a thick branch, momentarily stunning me. My nose hit as well. I bit back a scream; a low moan escaped. I seemed to have landed in some sort of prickly shrub.
    I counted to twenty twice, blinking teary eyes, panting. The fallen flashlight shone in my face like a search beacon. I moved, scraping skin against brambles. I inhaled deeply, slowly. No sudden pain. Probably no broken ribs. Good.
    I touched my forehead, winced. Lowered my hand to inspect my nose, probing the soft cartilage with practiced fingers. My nose has been broken three times.
    Not again, I thought. Dammit, not again!
    It hurt like hell, but retained its familiar shape, a lone bump and a slight bend below the bridge. I tasted blood. And me with no handkerchief in my pocket, just a gun.
    I rolled and crawled out of the prickly stuff, inching along, disoriented. When I realized I’d have to stick my arm back into the thorns to grab the flashlight, I almost wept.
    Once in possession of the flashlight, I sucked in a quick breath, snatched a handful of soggy leaves from a branch, and smeared blood off my face.
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