A Song In The Dark by P. N. Elrod Page A

Just leaving me under a drift of snow would be enough until spring. Scavenging animals would do what they were best at and . . .
    Shut the hell up, it’s not going to happen.
    The star-filled gray sky layered the surrounding landscape in a silvery sheen, turning it to day for me. In that soft dream-glow the electric light sparked brighter than a diamond. So, just how would I take out half a dozen guys armed with something that could actually stop me? One at a time? Sounded good.
    A car horn blared in the distance. The six men all looked back the way we’d come, their attention on the approaching headlights I’d seen. Just how big a party was this?
    Well, since they were distracted . . .
    I vanished and slipped out under the door. A smooth, invisible tearing over open ground to the count of five, then I slowed to wash gently against the very solid side of the tin barn. Jeez, this was perfect. I glided on, keeping the flat surface of the barn’s wall on my left, reaching an opening, and going in. An instant later I was solid again, standing upright in brisk freezing air I barely felt. I was in time to take in the show.
    Hoyle, Ruzzo, and four other guys I knew by sight were less than twenty feet away. The start of a nice little gang.
    The second car was Gordy’s Cadillac. It braked majestically; the motor cut. Strome got out. He didn’t look too good, seemed to carry himself gingerly. Though he wasn’t obviously showing it, I got the impression he was pissed off.
    â€œHoyle,” he said, by way of greeting.
    Along with a baseball bat, Hoyle had a gun ready in his other hand. “What the hell are you doin’ here?”
    Strome would be armed, but made no move for his shoulder holster and the semiauto .45 he kept there. He looked around the yard, probably for me. My broken body was not lying out in the snow. Was he in on this? When Gordy got shot Strome had been more than ready to leave for greener pastures, but I couldn’t think why he’d throw in with Hoyle.
    Hoyle repeated the question. He tossed the bat to one of his men, who caught it neatly and held it ready to use.
    Strome was able to summon some cold-eyed threat to pass around, enough so four of the mugs backed off a few steps. He was still one of Gordy’s lieutenants, after all. “Whatever you’re doing here, you stop.”
    â€œNot doing nothing, Strome. Just a little batting practice.” Hoyle’s smile was ugly. There was nothing specifically wrong with it, and that’s why it made my back hairs rise.
    â€œYou boys pack it up and go back, and I won’t say nothing to the boss.”
    â€œWhich boss? Gordy or Fleming?”
    â€œThe boss what’s in charge. The boss who will see you here next if you cross him.” He nodded toward the group in general.
    Hoyle and some others snorted. “Fleming, then. We don’t take orders from that punk bastard.”
    Strome went patient, reverting to ingrained habit. “Gordy put him in charge. Every one of you knows that. Ain’t for us to argue with Gordy.”
    â€œYeah-yeah. If we can believe that it was Gordy who said so. All we know is what you and Derner let drop, and you guys got plenty reason not to rock the boat.”
    â€œSo do you. You mess up on this—”
    â€œAw, screw it. You wanna run errands for that punk creep, fine, but we got regular business to do, an’ it’s gonnaget done. Gordy’ll agree with me on this, and the hell with Fleming.”
    They’d formed a rough half circle around Strome, but it was ragged, with four of the guys having drifted outward. Their collective attention was on him. I hoped he was deadpan enough to not react as I stepped clear of the barn.
    If he did, I got too busy to notice, swiftly coming up behind the nearest man holding a baseball bat. I pulled it casually from his hand, slammed a left into his jaw as he turned, then swung the bat