David Robbins - Dallas Run

“I’m giving you a chance to get out of this alive,” the man stated.

Blade’s mouth curled upwards. “I’d get out of this alive, with or without your generosity.”

“Tough sucker, huh?”

“Get to the point.”

The man wagged his hands. “Can I lower my arms?”

“No.”

A grin creased the man’s countenance. “Yep. Definitely a tough mother.

Listen, there’s no sense in us getting mad at each other. I’m not here to razz you. My name is Marlon,” he said, and paused, staring at Blade expectantly. When he didn’t receive a reply, he shrugged. “I’m the head of the Chains.”

“Who cares?”

“Geez. Why are you being such a hard-ass?”

“You attacked us without warning and killed two of my team. What do you expect?” Blade retorted.

“Hey, you’re the ones who invaded our turf and jumped my squeeze,” Marlon said angrily.

“Your turf?”

“This part of the city belongs to the Chains, and no one enters our territory without permission,” Marlon declared.

“That’s strange. I was told that the Chains don’t control any turf, that the Chosen rule Dallas.”

“Who was the rotten, lying prick who told you that?”

Blade motioned at the alley. “A woman named Melanie.”

“Is she all right?” Marlon inquired, trying to speak in a level, calm tone, but with a trace of anxiousness tinging his voice.

“She could use a bath,” Blade mentioned.

“Who couldn’t? Don’t be insulting my squeeze, man,” Marlon snapped.

“Is she your wife?”

“Wife, hell. She’s my fox, my woman. She was out with Annie, scrounging for food, when they saw you and your buddies coming. Melanie ducked into the alley and Annie in an old store a few doors down. She saw you go after Melanie and snuck off to tell us,” Marlon detailed. “Why’d you chase her? What did you do to her?”

“She’s fine,” Blade said. “We needed information. That was all.”

Marlon cocked his head, his eyes narrowing. “You didn’t have another reason, like maybe you wanted to get your paws on her body?”

Blade’s features hardened. “How would you like to eat your teeth?”

Surprise registered on Marlon’s face, and he regarded the giant carefully. “No, I guess you don’t seem like the raping type. But how was I to know?”

“You ambushed us because you wanted to rescue Melanie?” Blade asked.

Marlon nodded. “Release her and we’ll let you leave.”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I don’t trust you,” Blade said bluntly.

“But I give you my word,” Marlon stated.

“It’s not enough.”

Forgetting himself for a moment, incensed by the Warrior’s attitude, Marlon placed his hands on his hips. “Listen, jerk-face! When I give my word, I mean it. All I want is Melanie. Let her go and you’re free.”

“I want more than your word,” Blade said.

“Like what?”

“I want you to agree to lead us to the Chosen.”

The request shocked the head of the Chains. He gawked for a full five seconds before composing himself enough to blurt a response. “Say what ?”

“You must know where the Chosen are based.”

“Yeah. Sure. But I’m not about to lead you there.”

“You will if you want us to release Melanie,” Blade said.

“Do you have a death wish or something? Do you know who the Chosen are?” Marlon asked testily.

“Enlighten me.”

“They’re crazies, man. They all have these green spots on their skin, and they run around trying to convert everybody. Their head honcho is a mental case called the Lawgiver,” Marlon said.

“Do they have a headquarters, somewhere they operate from?” Blade probed.

“Yeah.”

“Then take us there.”

Marlon pondered for half a minute, glancing repeatedly at the alley.

“Let me get this straight. I agree to take you to the base of those damn wackos, and you’ll let Melanie go?”

Blade nodded.

“How do I know she’s okay? How do I know you ain’t already offed her?”

“You can see for yourself,” Blade suggested, and stepped aside. “After you.”

The leader of the Chains frowned, torn between his desire to ascertain if the woman he loved was safe and his distrust of the giant. He tilted his head back and raised his voice. “I’m going to check on Melanie! Everything is cool! No one does anything until you hear from me!”

“Are you sure they heard you?” Blade asked.

“They heard me,” Marlon said, and stalked toward the alley.

Blade followed, walking backwards, his eyes roving over the buildings.

He spied a shadowy form in a second-floor window off to the left, but the Chains heeded their top man and not one bullet or arrow was fired.

“So where is she?” Marlon demanded, halting in the entrance and staring suspiciously at Geronimo and Lieutenant Garber.

“Where’s Hickok?” Blade inquired, stopping next to his fellow Warrior.

“We haven’t seen him since he entered the alley with you,” Geronimo said.

“What?” Blade declared, and only then did he realize he hadn’t seen the gunman either, not since they had heard the gunshots.

“I just assumed you told him to stay with her at the back of the alley,” Geronimo remarked.

“He was supposed to bring her out here,” Blade said.

“Knowing that dummy, he probably got lost,” Geronimo joked.

“Even Nathan can’t get lost in an alley,” Blade responded, starting into its depths.

“I wouldn’t put anything past that idiot,” Geronimo said.

“Hold it!” Marlon barked.

The Warriors drew up short.

“What the hell kind of game are you playing with me?” Marlon snapped.

“This isn’t a game,” Blade said.

“I think you’re trying to sucker me back there so you can bump me off,” Marlon said.

“Then stay here,” Blade said, and looked at the officer. “Come with us.”

The three of them hastened toward the rear of the alley.

Marlon watched them cover a dozen yards, then scowled and smacked his right fist into his left palm in frustration. He walked after them.

“Hickok!” Blade called.

“Yo, stupid!” Geronimo added.

Blade couldn’t understand the gunfighter’s absence. Melanie could never have overpowered Hickok, and if the gunman had been attacked by others there would have been the sound of shots. He jogged forward, avoiding the piles of trash, searching the recesses for his friend. “Where can he be?” he asked, an indefinite misgiving gnawing at his consciousness.

“I don’t see him,” Geronimo said apprehensively.

They came to the spot where the woman had slipped and fallen. There, prominently defined in the muck, were her footprints and those of the gunman and Blade.

Geronimo crouched and examined the prints.

“Is this where you left her?” Marlon inquired, catching up to them.

“This is the spot,” Blade said, watching Geronimo examine the ground diligently.

“Then where is she?” Marlon asked.

“You tell us.”

Marlon gazed at the mounds of refuse. “You could have killed her and dumped her body in the garbage.”

Pivoting on his right heel, Blade swung the M60 around and pointed the barrel at Marlon’s chest. “Drop your guns,” he commanded softly.

“What?” Marlon blurted out, flabbergasted.

“You heard me.”

Breath hissed out of Marlon and he clenched his hands until the knuckles paled. “You lying, double-crossing scum!”

“Use your thumb and little finger on each hand, and only your thumb and little finger, and lift out each revolver,” Blade directed, ignoring the insult. “Set the guns down on the ground very, very slowly.”