cue stick broke sharply in Ross's hands.
"Stop it, Ross!" one of them yelled. "Yuh want tuh kill 'im?"
Ross looked at the sharp jagged edge of the broken cue in his hand. The flames were leaping all around him. As if in the distance, he heard a door slam. "That's an idea!'* he yelled, breaking from their grip and lunging at Jimmy's face with the stick.
Before he could reach Jimmy, he felt two arms around him, pinning his arms to his waist. He struggled wildly. "Let me go! Let me go!" he screamed. "I'll kill him!"
But the two arms only grew tighter and dragged him back. "Take it easy, Ross," a familiar voice said in his ear. "We don't want no more trouble."
The deep, gentle voice was like a spray of cool waten Ross felt the wild trembling inside him leave and sanity return. He stood very still, his breath rattling deep inside him. At last his control came back and he could speak. "Okay, Mike," he said, without turning around. "You can let me go. Fm all right now.'*
The strong arms released him. Ross didn't look up. He turned and walked toward the door. At the cashier's desk he stopped and dropped a bill on the counter. "That will pay for the mess I made," he said.
The white-faced old man sitting there didn't speak. Ross went out the door. He got into his car and sat there waiting.
A few seconds later he heard footsteps coming toward the car. They stopped outside the door. "Drive me home,
will you please, Mike?" he asked without looking up. "I'm very tired."
The footsteps went around the car. The door on the opposite side opened and his friend got in. A match flared, and a second later he felt a cigarette shoved into his hand. He dragged on it deeply, leaning his head back against the cushion and closing his eyes.
"Good thing I came by just then," he heard his friend's voice say. "I had a hunch I'd better go lookin' for yuh."
A faint smile traced Ross's lips. "Still running interference for me, Mike?" he asked. When they played football together, Mike did the blocking while he carried the ball.
There was a chuckle in Mike's voice. "Why th' hell not? We're buddies, ain't we?" He leaned forward and started the motor. He raced it a moment. "What happened, anyway? Yuh would've killed him if I didn't grab yuh."
"There was this girl—" Ross started to explain.
'That blonde you were creamin' over this afternoon?" Mike interrupted.
"Yes," Ross answered. "She—'*
Again Mike's voice cut in. There was a chiding tone m it. "I gave yuh credit for more sense 'n that, Ross."
Ross turned his head. "What do you mean?"
Mike struck a match and held it to his cigarette. The flame flared golden in his eyes. "I don't understand you at all, Ross. No girl's worth gettin' in trouble over."
Ross stared at his friend. Mike was right about one thing—he didn't understand. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. He felt the car start as Mike put it into gear.
Mike didn't understand. It wasn't Marja at all. A faint
doubt came into him. Or was it? He turned and looked at
Mike.
Mike was driving carefully, concentrating on the street ahead. But, then, Mike did everything carefully. He allowed no margin for error. That was the trouble with Mike. That was why he ran interference instead of carrying the ball. He didn't Uke to take chances. It wasn't that he was afraid, it was just the way he was.
Mike didn't understand. How could he? He didn't know Marja.
Chapter 6
SHE could hear the thin wail of the baby as she entered the downstairs hall and began to climb the stairs. It grew louder as she neared her door. A light came from beneath it. She hesitated a moment before opening it.
She blinked as the ugly white light hit her eyes. The baby's cries tore at her ears. She stepped into the room quickly and closed the door behind her. Footsteps came from the hallway on her left. She turned toward them.
Her stepfather was standing there, his trousers hanging loosely over his wide hips. He wore no shirt; the white tops of his
"Stop it, Ross!" one of them yelled. "Yuh want tuh kill 'im?"
Ross looked at the sharp jagged edge of the broken cue in his hand. The flames were leaping all around him. As if in the distance, he heard a door slam. "That's an idea!'* he yelled, breaking from their grip and lunging at Jimmy's face with the stick.
Before he could reach Jimmy, he felt two arms around him, pinning his arms to his waist. He struggled wildly. "Let me go! Let me go!" he screamed. "I'll kill him!"
But the two arms only grew tighter and dragged him back. "Take it easy, Ross," a familiar voice said in his ear. "We don't want no more trouble."
The deep, gentle voice was like a spray of cool waten Ross felt the wild trembling inside him leave and sanity return. He stood very still, his breath rattling deep inside him. At last his control came back and he could speak. "Okay, Mike," he said, without turning around. "You can let me go. Fm all right now.'*
The strong arms released him. Ross didn't look up. He turned and walked toward the door. At the cashier's desk he stopped and dropped a bill on the counter. "That will pay for the mess I made," he said.
The white-faced old man sitting there didn't speak. Ross went out the door. He got into his car and sat there waiting.
A few seconds later he heard footsteps coming toward the car. They stopped outside the door. "Drive me home,
will you please, Mike?" he asked without looking up. "I'm very tired."
The footsteps went around the car. The door on the opposite side opened and his friend got in. A match flared, and a second later he felt a cigarette shoved into his hand. He dragged on it deeply, leaning his head back against the cushion and closing his eyes.
"Good thing I came by just then," he heard his friend's voice say. "I had a hunch I'd better go lookin' for yuh."
A faint smile traced Ross's lips. "Still running interference for me, Mike?" he asked. When they played football together, Mike did the blocking while he carried the ball.
There was a chuckle in Mike's voice. "Why th' hell not? We're buddies, ain't we?" He leaned forward and started the motor. He raced it a moment. "What happened, anyway? Yuh would've killed him if I didn't grab yuh."
"There was this girl—" Ross started to explain.
'That blonde you were creamin' over this afternoon?" Mike interrupted.
"Yes," Ross answered. "She—'*
Again Mike's voice cut in. There was a chiding tone m it. "I gave yuh credit for more sense 'n that, Ross."
Ross turned his head. "What do you mean?"
Mike struck a match and held it to his cigarette. The flame flared golden in his eyes. "I don't understand you at all, Ross. No girl's worth gettin' in trouble over."
Ross stared at his friend. Mike was right about one thing—he didn't understand. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. He felt the car start as Mike put it into gear.
Mike didn't understand. It wasn't Marja at all. A faint
doubt came into him. Or was it? He turned and looked at
Mike.
Mike was driving carefully, concentrating on the street ahead. But, then, Mike did everything carefully. He allowed no margin for error. That was the trouble with Mike. That was why he ran interference instead of carrying the ball. He didn't Uke to take chances. It wasn't that he was afraid, it was just the way he was.
Mike didn't understand. How could he? He didn't know Marja.
Chapter 6
SHE could hear the thin wail of the baby as she entered the downstairs hall and began to climb the stairs. It grew louder as she neared her door. A light came from beneath it. She hesitated a moment before opening it.
She blinked as the ugly white light hit her eyes. The baby's cries tore at her ears. She stepped into the room quickly and closed the door behind her. Footsteps came from the hallway on her left. She turned toward them.
Her stepfather was standing there, his trousers hanging loosely over his wide hips. He wore no shirt; the white tops of his
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