Black Diamond by John F. Dobbyn

all of the words I could have used, that one struck home. All of a sudden this lawyer and his deal that was about to bring indictments were the last things he wanted in his office. He saw what I’d hoped – that his safest move was to clean house.
    â€œGet this bum the hell out of here, Scully. Then come back.”
    I took that as an exit line. I walked through the bar and out to the sidewalk. Scully was one pace behind. When I cleared the door, I felt an iron grip on the back collar of my coat. It practically lifted me off the sidewalk and slammed me into the brick wall of the building and held me fast. Scully’s face was an inch from mine. He spit the words through his teeth.
    â€œYou’ve got a death wish, lawyer. I’m going to grant your wish.”
    I could hardly get the words out of my constricted throat, but I knew it might be my last chance to say them.
    â€œIt’ll be the last thing you’ll ever do, Scully. You screwed up, and you know it.”
    That bought me a couple of seconds of silence, but not a loosening of the grip.
    â€œYou saw it. You saw that look. He asked if you knew the name on the card. You denied it without even reading it. You couldn’t have read it from across the room, but you knew who it was. Boyle picked it up. Good luck when you go back in there.”
    I heard a click down around my belt. I felt the grip tighten. Something sharp was penetrating just below my ribs. I realized that his other hand was holding a knife.
    â€œYou going to kill me here? How are you going to explain that toBoyle? Right now you can say you saw the card when I gave it to the bartender. You kill me, and Boyle’s going to want some answers.”
    It was my best shot. I could only hope that Scully was a reasoning animal. During the next five seconds I could feel moisture run from the point of the knife. I knew he was drawing blood. I’d given up hope, when slowly the pain of the steel point lessened.
    I used the moment to try to make sense.
    â€œThere are no police involved, Scully. You or whoever you’re working for can have the ten thousand. I just want to end it.”
    The fist that gripped my collar banged my forehead against the brick wall with a crack. His mouth was next to my ear. “Then get your nose out of places it doesn’t belong.”
    The grip on my collar tightened again. I gagged as I felt my breath cut off at the throat. He finally used the grip to throw me to the sidewalk like a rag doll.
    Scully turned and walked back to the door of the pub. Before he disappeared inside, he looked down at me and made a gun of his fingers. He cocked his thumb and fired an imaginary bullet between my eyes. Imaginary or not, I thought I heard the angel choir.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    By the time I got back to my apartment, the temple bells in my head were putting on a recital. I doubled the usual recipe for Motrin and wolfed down four. Within ten minutes the constant gongs were down to an occasional ding-dong. A butterfly bandage stemmed the trickle still oozing from the puncture below the ribs. A couple of squirts of Bactine soothed concerns about where Scully’s knife might have been previously.
    Before calling it a day, I called Mr. Devlin. I filled him in on my tête-à-tête with Binney O’Toole. That went well. He was less tickled, as was I, with my blundering into Boyle’s den half-cocked.
    â€œWhat in the name of the saints did you think, Michael? That he’d give you a receipt for the ten thousand and take the girl out of the closet?”
    I had to admit that that was pretty much what I’d hoped. I guess I was counting on my boyish frankness to convince Boyle that after the wished-for exchange, I could guarantee no repercussions.
    I decided there was no point in mentioning my little encounter with Scully on the way out. It would be like the kid who gets reamed by the teacher and then gets it again from his father when he gets home.