plunged into the gloom of the pump house, fell to his knees, scrabbled at
the base of the pump. Something was wrong. Where there should have been a plate
there was only a gap, and where there should have been his Colt automatic, his
fingers encountered grit and dust.
This what youre looking for?
Wyatt stood and turned to the voice.
He saw his pistol first, the steady hand that held it, then the owner of the
voice. He was tall, his face fleshless and unknowable, like a mask snipped out
of tin.
The man grinned. The name is
Stolle. Rule number one, Wyatt. Never go back.
* * * *
Eleven
A moment later,
stumbling feet sounded outside the pump house. The man called Stolle backed
into the space behind the door again. Finn appeared, hugging the doorframe.
Hate and pain contorted his face and strangled in his throat. He lunged at
Wyatt with the knife, hacking the air to get at him.
Hey, Stolle said. Over here.
Finn halted. He turned to the voice,
and seemed to walk into the Colt as the barrel tip emerged from the darkness of
the shed. Stolle fired. The range was point-blank and Wyatt heard it as a
muffled exhalation in the little shed. Finn jerked back as if hed been
punched, momentum slamming him flat to the opposite wall. Then he folded and
the life went out of him.
Wyatt crouched warily, on his toes,
watching the Colt. It swung around on him. He watched Stolles finger on the
trigger. The man was wearing latex gloves. Wyatt looked for an opening but
there wasnt one.
Stolle grinned. Arent you going to
thank me?
Wyatt said nothing, keeping low to
the ground, tensing his leg muscles.
I tell you what, heres a sign of
good faith, Stolle said. His gun arm relaxed and suddenly the Colt was
reversed in his hand and he tossed it.
Wyatt caught the pistol. What he did
then was automatic. He felt threatened and needed to eliminate the threat. He
slapped the grip into his right hand, a sensation as natural and familiar to
him as breathing, snap-sighted the barrel tip on Stolles stomach and pulled
the trigger.
Nothing.
Stolle grinned. He was a man who
liked to grin. He patted his pocket. I emptied the clip, old son. Except for
one shell in the chamber, now used. One shots generally enough, Ive found.
Wyatt waited. Stolle would explain
himself sooner or later. He continued to hold the gun and edged to the middle
of the floor.
Stolle circled with him, placing
himself next to the door. The grin left his face. Time to talk business.
Someone wants to see you.
You sent those two clowns after me.
That I did, Stolle agreed.
They fucked up.
They found you, Stolle said.
Get to the point.
Come with me now, to Brisbane, and
you get five thousand of the clients money, up front.
Wyatt stared at him. And what else?
Theres more money in it for you,
thats all I know. She says its urgent. Maybe if you dont come now, youll
miss out.
Forget it.
Fine, Stolle said. That does make
a lot of sense. Theres a body here, your hand on the gun. Half the cops in the
country are after you. Theres a price on your head so you cant trust any of
your mates. Fine. You might as well hang out here till they get you.
Stolle delivered this with his lip
curled, as if he thought sarcasm might influence Wyatt. Wyatt ignored the
delivery but he couldnt ignore the content. It was dangerous for him to
stay here. He didnt know who Stolle was and he had no reason to believe the
mans story. Private detectives were slippery, murky; they walked with cops and
they walked on the other side. For all he knew, this was an elaborate ruse by
the Outfit. He lashed out suddenly, smacking Stolle twice with the Colt, in the
stomach and on the back of the head as he went down. Stolle stretched once on
the concrete floor, groaned and seemed to go to sleep.
Wyatt went over to Finn and turned
him over. Finns trunk was blood-soaked, the blood sticky on Wyatts fingers as
he searched Finns pockets. The trousers were empty but for a set of keys for a
Budget
the base of the pump. Something was wrong. Where there should have been a plate
there was only a gap, and where there should have been his Colt automatic, his
fingers encountered grit and dust.
This what youre looking for?
Wyatt stood and turned to the voice.
He saw his pistol first, the steady hand that held it, then the owner of the
voice. He was tall, his face fleshless and unknowable, like a mask snipped out
of tin.
The man grinned. The name is
Stolle. Rule number one, Wyatt. Never go back.
* * * *
Eleven
A moment later,
stumbling feet sounded outside the pump house. The man called Stolle backed
into the space behind the door again. Finn appeared, hugging the doorframe.
Hate and pain contorted his face and strangled in his throat. He lunged at
Wyatt with the knife, hacking the air to get at him.
Hey, Stolle said. Over here.
Finn halted. He turned to the voice,
and seemed to walk into the Colt as the barrel tip emerged from the darkness of
the shed. Stolle fired. The range was point-blank and Wyatt heard it as a
muffled exhalation in the little shed. Finn jerked back as if hed been
punched, momentum slamming him flat to the opposite wall. Then he folded and
the life went out of him.
Wyatt crouched warily, on his toes,
watching the Colt. It swung around on him. He watched Stolles finger on the
trigger. The man was wearing latex gloves. Wyatt looked for an opening but
there wasnt one.
Stolle grinned. Arent you going to
thank me?
Wyatt said nothing, keeping low to
the ground, tensing his leg muscles.
I tell you what, heres a sign of
good faith, Stolle said. His gun arm relaxed and suddenly the Colt was
reversed in his hand and he tossed it.
Wyatt caught the pistol. What he did
then was automatic. He felt threatened and needed to eliminate the threat. He
slapped the grip into his right hand, a sensation as natural and familiar to
him as breathing, snap-sighted the barrel tip on Stolles stomach and pulled
the trigger.
Nothing.
Stolle grinned. He was a man who
liked to grin. He patted his pocket. I emptied the clip, old son. Except for
one shell in the chamber, now used. One shots generally enough, Ive found.
Wyatt waited. Stolle would explain
himself sooner or later. He continued to hold the gun and edged to the middle
of the floor.
Stolle circled with him, placing
himself next to the door. The grin left his face. Time to talk business.
Someone wants to see you.
You sent those two clowns after me.
That I did, Stolle agreed.
They fucked up.
They found you, Stolle said.
Get to the point.
Come with me now, to Brisbane, and
you get five thousand of the clients money, up front.
Wyatt stared at him. And what else?
Theres more money in it for you,
thats all I know. She says its urgent. Maybe if you dont come now, youll
miss out.
Forget it.
Fine, Stolle said. That does make
a lot of sense. Theres a body here, your hand on the gun. Half the cops in the
country are after you. Theres a price on your head so you cant trust any of
your mates. Fine. You might as well hang out here till they get you.
Stolle delivered this with his lip
curled, as if he thought sarcasm might influence Wyatt. Wyatt ignored the
delivery but he couldnt ignore the content. It was dangerous for him to
stay here. He didnt know who Stolle was and he had no reason to believe the
mans story. Private detectives were slippery, murky; they walked with cops and
they walked on the other side. For all he knew, this was an elaborate ruse by
the Outfit. He lashed out suddenly, smacking Stolle twice with the Colt, in the
stomach and on the back of the head as he went down. Stolle stretched once on
the concrete floor, groaned and seemed to go to sleep.
Wyatt went over to Finn and turned
him over. Finns trunk was blood-soaked, the blood sticky on Wyatts fingers as
he searched Finns pockets. The trousers were empty but for a set of keys for a
Budget
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