Эд Макбейн - Guns

Laughing, Colley runs through the woods.

He is happier than he has been since straddling that fence in the Bronx and thumbing his nose at the cops chasing him. Not really thumbing it, of course, but letting them know just what he thought of them by hanging there against the sky and daring them. He is telling Jeanine what he thinks of her now. Big fuckin Amazon scaring him to death with that laugh boiling up from her gut, where’d she get that fuckin laugh? Probably had a hoodoo inside her, made her stab Jocko that way in a million places, broke the fuckin knife on his head, Jesus! Leaves are slapping his face as he runs. There are insects in the woods, and they are biting him, he is not used to this shit. He is a city boy, yessir, born and raised in that city across the river there, and that is where he’s going, back to the city, back to where he will be safe again, never mind Fort Myers. She loves Fort Myers so much, let her go to Fort Myers, this kid’s going to New York, yessir, going to make his fame and fortune there. Maybe go in the pimping trade with Benny, sign on as an apprentice, his job’d be breaking in the new girls.

He laughs again.

He is having a gay old time in these fuckin woods even though the leaves are slapping him and the insects are biting him. He is free of her, he has shaken that blond hoodoo off his back, he has turned her loose in the world where she can stab anybody comes near her, just so long as it’s not him. Stab them all, sister, give it to them. Just stay far away from yours truly, Joe College with the crew cut. He laughs at the idea of wearing a crew cut. He is already planning on dropping in on old Benny, knocking on the door, maybe the Jewgirl opens it, this time she doesn’t recognize him. She’s still wearing the Arab thing, she looks out at him, doesn’t recognize him with the crew cut. Wouldn’t recognize him anyway cause Benny’s got her stoned to the gills, Benny comes to the door, looks out, Colley says, “How you do, sir, I’m working my way through college selling heroin.” Benny busts out laughing cause till that minute he don’t realize the guy with the crew cut is Colley.

He has probably run about three or four blocks through the woods now, he can’t be sure. If back there at the diner they have latched on to Jeanine, they are probably asking her questions about who she is and who the man is held up the place and shot the cook, fuckin dope with his cleaver over his head, and that will give Colley time. Time is what he needs. Time to run the mile or so in these woods and come out someplace further north and then thumb a ride to the city. He keeps running until he is exhausted, and then he drops to the ground and lies there breathing hard. In a little while he sits up and begins pulling bills from his pockets, the money he stole from the diner. There is three hundred and twelve dollars, including the three rolls of quarters. He figures that is not too bad. Counting the sixteen he already had, that makes three twenty-eight.

The woods are very still.

He notices all at once that the woods are very still, and he remembers again the story he read in the men’s magazine. His heart is thudding heavily in his chest, he can hear each separate beat, can feel his own pulse in his ears, and is fearful for a moment that everything will remain forever in this hyped-up, slowed-down state. Everything will be a robbery forever, nothing will ever return to normal, they even will bury him in excruciating detail, a rose will fall into his open grave in twisting slow motion, hanging on the air, hanging, hanging, and finally dropping onto the black coffin top. He can hear his watch ticking noisily in the stillness of the woods, and then he hears the snapping of twigs and sees the leaves parting ahead an instant before the beast comes into the clearing.

The beast is a German shepherd, jowls pulled back over his fangs, growl rumbling up from his gut and into his throat. He runs three feet into the clearing, there is a second and a half of heart-stopping terror during which Colley scrambles to his feet, and then the beast is airborne. He hurls himself at Colley with jaws wide, saliva dripping from his fangs; he is all head and teeth. Colley throws his right arm up, bent at the elbow, the forearm across his chin and throat. The jaws close on his arm. He does not feel pain at first, he is too frightened. He sees only the beast’s black nose dripping snot, and he sees the black-edged jowls and the teeth closing on his arm, joining on his arm, and he sees the sudden gush of blood, but he feels no pain for an instant.

And then the pain strikes.

It is excruciating, dozens of sharp needles penetrating his flesh, each a separate bleeding wound, each blinding in its intensity, he is certain he will faint. He wants to reach for the Walther in his belt, reach into the open two buttons and pull the gun free in a cross-draw, but the beast is fastened onto his right arm, he is going to faint, the fuckin beast will eat him alive in the jungle. He knows he is toppling backward and falling to the ground, and he knows this is the wrong thing to do, knows the beast will go for his throat, bite into his jugular, send his blood spurting up onto the floor of the forest. But he is helpless to stop his backward fall, the beast must weigh at least two hundred pounds, he is the biggest dog Colley has ever seen in his life, and he will not let go of Colley’s arm, he is chewing on it like a fuckin soup bone, and blood is flying in the air as Colley falls to the bright-green ground, flailing his arm, trying to shake the dog loose.

He cannot reach the gun in his right-hand pocket, he cannot reach the .32 Smith & Wesson, which gun he doesn’t like anyway. He fumbles with the bottom of the sports shirt hanging out of his trousers, trying to lift it up over the butt of the Walther, but the dog is kicking at him with his back legs, Colley is going to faint, he feels his life gushing out of him between the beast’s jaws. The butt of the gun is facing in the wrong direction, he grasps nothing but air at first. He has managed to get the shirt up over the butt, and now he tries to twist his left hand so that he can pull the fuckin gun out of his belt, turn it, twist it somehow into firing position before the dog kills him. He knows the dog will kill him. The only thing that can save his life is the gun.

The dog lets go of his arm for a moment, and the pain is instantly eased, and then the dog is snapping at his face and biting at his shoulder, climbing all over him as he rolls over the green floor of the forest, staining the grass and the weeds with blood. The butt of the Walther is in his hand now, his left hand, he says under his breath, “Here, you son of a bitch!” and shoves his hand and the gun into the dog’s open mouth as the dog comes at him again. The dog smells of horror and of death, the dog smells of hair and shit. He squeezes the trigger inside the dog’s mouth just as the jaws clamp shut on his wrist. The explosion takes off the back of the dog’s head, fur and bone and blood flying into the air, sunlight glistening on them. It is like the back of the cop’s head. He watches in fascination. He is afraid the dog will bite his left hand off at the wrist, but there is almost no head left to the dog now, the nine-millimeter slug has taken away half of that fuckin triangular head and the jaws have gone lax and Colley pulls back his hand as the dog slides in slow motion to the forest floor. Colley fires at him again, and then again. He keeps firing. Something warns him that he is wasting ammunition, the cartridges for the Walther and the .32 are still back there in the glove compartment of the Pinto. But he keeps firing into the lifeless body of the beast nonetheless, watching patches of fur and gristle and blood fly into the air. The gun clicks empty. He throws the gun at the dog. He has never even been able to throw a ball straight with his right hand, and this is his left hand and he is throwing a gun, not a ball, and of course he misses. He kicks out at the dog, his foot colliding with the snot-running black snout, the back of the dog’s head gone, he wants to kick out all the dog’s fuckin teeth. He keeps kicking at the head.