Sharky's Machine by William Diehl Page A

the bag, drew it away with several grains stuck to it, and tasted it. His jaw tightened from the bitter taste. Good skit.
    A car entered the alley at the far end and rolled slowly towards them.
    ‘What the fuck’s this?’ High Ball growled. Fear and anger flooded his eyes. ‘What the fuck we got here?’
    ‘Cool it, for Chrissakes. It’s just a car.’
    ‘Crank up and move someplace. Too crowded here.’
    The car moved past them.
    ‘Man, you’re on a string,’ Sharky said.
    ‘Fucker’s stoppin’.’
    The car stopped, then backed up, pulling up In front of the Volkswagen and boxing it in. A large figure got out and loomed in the darkness, moving towards Sharky’s side of the car.
    ‘I’m takin’ the train, turkey,’ High Ball snapped. Sharky could feel the tension crackling in the air.
    ‘Stay cool, okay? I’ll handle it.’
    ‘You ain’t holdin’, man. I can’t stand a toss.’
    ‘I said I’ll handle it.’
    The large man appeared at the window on Sharky’s side, a flashlight in his hand. Light flooded the interior of the car.
    ‘Goddamn,’ High Ball snapped.
    ‘What the hell. . .‘ Sharky started to say, then his eyes met those of the fat man at his window.
    Tully! Jesus Christ, that stupid suit!
    Tully’s eyes met Sharky’s.
    ‘Sharky!’ be bellowed, ‘Jesus, I didn’t...’
    ‘Shut up!’ Sharky yelled.
    ‘Motherfucker!’ High Ball screamed. ‘You wired me, you motherfuckin’ goddamn pig!’ The glassine envelope ‘flew out of his hand. White powder billowed like a cloud in the interior of the car. Mary was already going out the door. Sharky grabbed his collar, but the black man twisted away and slid out sideways, landing on the balls of his feet, a small pearl-handled .25 calibre revolver appearing suddenly in his fist. He was hissing like a snake. Hate turned his eyes red.
    Sharky hit the door on his side with his shoulder and shoved hard. It flew open, knocking Tully backward into the street. Sharky rolled out as Mary fired his first shot. The gun popped like a firecracker and the bullet breezed past Sharky’s cheek as he fell, and hit the rim of the door, whining off down the alley.
    Mary was already halfway to the corner when Sharky bounced back on his knees and reached under the front seat, feeling the cold grip of his 9mm Mauser automatic. He pulled it out and laid both arms across the front seat, steadying his gun,
    ‘Freeze, Mary...’
    Too late. The wiry black man slid around the corner, his Borsalino flying off into the gutter. Sharky leaped across the front seat, yelling back at Tully as he did.
    ‘Call it in, call it in. . . you goddamn moron. He’s headed south on Spring towards Harris.’
    Tully struggled to his feet, his face chagrined and confused as Sharky ran to the corner. Sharky stopped for a second and peered around. Mary, halfway to the next corner, slowed, aimed the .25, then realized it wouldn’t carry that far, and cut diagonally across the street. A car slammed to a stop as he raced· in front of it. Sharky went after him, cutting through the traffic. Cars screeched to a stop all around him.
    Jesus, Sharky thought, five-thirty. The middle of rush hour. Neat. Real neat.
    The pusher reached the corner and turned towards Peachtree Street. He fired an off-hand shot across his chest as be ran. The bullet smacked a telephone pole eight feet from Sharky. Sharky kept going, closing the distance on the pusher, who was hampered by his cumbersome shoes.
    Half a block away five-thirty traffic choked the main thoroughfare. Pedestrians crowded the street corners, waiting for buses. Mary was panicky. He had to get lost in the crowd or get some transportation fast. He ran into the thick of it with Sharky closing in. As he started across Peachtree a black Cadillac drove in front of him, so close it brushed him. He jogged in place for a moment, then ran around the rear of the Caddy and dived headlong across the hood of the Buick behind it, sliding up against the