David Robbins - Memphis Run

“You sound anxious to get back.”

“Lady, you don’t know the half of it.”

“Is there someone there waiting for you?”

Blade nodded and smiled. “My Family.”

“You have a woman?”

“A wife and a son,” Blade said. “Jenny and Gabe.”

Bonnie deliberately glanced to the right so he wouldn’t notice her frown.

“Hickok is married too,” Blade added. “You probably won’t believe this, but he’s a first-class husband and father.”

She looked at the giant, her expression blank. “I believe you. Hickok impresses me as being the kind of man a woman can rely on.”

“Oh?”

“I knew he was reliable when he threatened to—how did he put it?—ventilate my noggin.”

Blade stared at her, clearly puzzled.

“I knew he was serious. I recognized that he’s a man of his word. The honest type.”

“Feminine logic never ceases to amaze me.”

“I feel the same way about men,” Bonnie confessed.

Blade checked to the rear, ensuring no one was pursuing them. “Since we’re being so honest, maybe you would like to tell the truth about something else?”

“Like what?”

“Like the real reason you hate the Hounds?”

“I told you. One of them has the hots for me, and they wouldn’t let Clyde…”

Blade held up his right hand. “Save your breath. I want to hear the truth.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“And don’t insult my intelligence.”

Bonnie gazed at the giant. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“I wasn’t born yesterday. I’ve seen the hatred in your eyes when you mention the Hounds, and I know there must be a deeper reason than you’ve let on.”

Her shoulders slumped and she stared absently at the tall structures marking the downtown Memphis skyline. “Your wife is a lucky woman.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Oh, no deep reason,” Bonnie said, mustering a feeble smile. “You’re right. There is another reason I hate the Hounds.”

“Care to talk about it?”

Hickok and Chastity turned right at the next intersection.

“It’s very personal,” Bonnie said.

“I understand,” Blade responded.

They covered another yard, and had about seven more to go to reach the intersection.

“What do you know about the leader of the Hounds, about the King?”

Bonnie inquired.

“Next to nothing,” Blade admitted.

“Did you know he likes to rape his sexual partners?”

“Do you have this on reliable authority?”

Bonnie snickered. “The best. The son of a bitch raped me.”

Stunned by the revelation. Blade gaped at her, seeing the distress etching her attractive features, feeling his heart go out to her, and comprehending her motivation for wanting to inflict as much damage as she could on the Hounds. “I didn’t know,” he blurted out, and he was still gawking at her as they rounded the corner. He saw her eyes widen in alarm and glanced straight ahead.

There were Hickok and Chastity, standing not ten feet away.

And 20 feet beyond them, strung across the street, armed to the teeth, was a six-man Hound patrol.

General Thayer was in a foul mood when he descended the stairs to the mansion basement. He ignored the salutes of the two guards posted at the base of the stairs and tramped along a tiled corridor until he came to the holding cell containing the prisoner. With a snap of his right wrist, he flicked open the small metal panel covering the barred window in the top portion of the door. He expected to find the stranger pacing the cell, nervously awaiting execution. Instead, the man called Rikki was seated, cross-legged, in the center of the cell, his eyes closed, his chin on his chest, his cupped hands on his knees. “Rikki-Tikki-Tavi?”

Rikki’s eyes slowly opened, his head lifting. “Spartan.”

“I need to talk to you,” General Thayer said.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Rikki stated. “I neglected to thank you for having the guards remove the handcuffs.”

“It was the least I could do,” Thayer responded. “Your last hour on earth should not be spent in cuffs.”

“I’m grateful for your concern.”

“Sergeant Boynton’s body was just carted off for burial,” Thayer disclosed. “As always, I couldn’t find any hint of the cause of his death.”

“And you won’t,” Rikki said.

“Do you have some idea?”

“Perhaps.”

General Thayer pressed his face to the window. “What did you see in there?”

“Very little.”

“Did you see the Dark Lord?”

“I saw—something.”

“Did the Dark Lord speak to you?”

“Someone did.”

General Thayer’s forehead furrowed in perplexity. “Why are you treating me this way?”

“What way?”

“You’re not answering my questions.”

“I’ve answered them.”

Thayer sighed and shook his head. “You’re different from most, you know that?”

“Each of us is unique.”

“How can you be so calm at a time like this? In forty minutes the King will have you killed?”

“Someone will die,” Rikki said.

“Damn you!” Thayer snapped. “I wish I’d never caught you. You’re nothing but trouble.”

Rikki scrutinized the Spartan’s features. “Do I disturb you?”

“Disturb me? There’s the understatement of the year. Yes, you disturb me. You remind me of a time when I held a higher set of values than I do now. You remind me of when I was a real man, and not second in command to a…” Thayer caught himself, then pressed his forehead to the bars.

“Be careful,” Rikki said with a grin. “You don’t want me to turn you against the King.”

General Thayer failed to appreciate the humor. “Life was so much simpler in Sparta. My duty was clear.”

“You were a military man in Sparta?” Rikki prompted, hoping to learn more about the new city-state.

Thayer nodded. “A captain in the royal bodyguard. Three hundred soldiers, the very best in Sparta, are assigned as bodyguards to the kings.”

“Kings?”

“The Spartan constitution requires two rulers.”

“Then your appointment to the royal bodyguard was quite an honor,” Rikki deduced. “You must have been an outstanding soldier.”

Thayer frowned. “I was, once. My name was engraved on the plaque of distinction. Now it’s been removed, and I am prohibited from returning to Sparta forever. I can’t even use my given name.”

“Thayer is not your real name?”

“No. When a Spartan is banished, he is stripped of his Spartan identity. I took the name Thayer from a book.”

“Was your banishment justified?”

General Thayer glanced at the Warrior in sadness. “Yes,” he said softly.

“My crime was heinous. There was a plot to assassinate one of the kings, and I was on duty with thirty men when the traitors struck. There were over forty of them, all from the lower classes. They crept over one of the palace walls and attempted to kill the king while he slept. One of my men sounded the alarm, and we engaged them.” He smirked. “They were no match for Spartan superiority. We slaughtered them. I was guarding the king’s door with several others, one of whom was my eldest son.” He inhaled loudly, his shoulders slumping.

Rikki waited patiently for the Spartan to continue. Half a minute elapsed.

“One of the traitors shot my son,” Thayer said, his tone laced with sorrow. “That’s when I showed my weakness.”

“Weakness?”

“Yes. I turned away from the king’s door and ran to my son, just as another officer arrived with reinforcements. He saw my breach of discipline and reported my violation of regulations.”

“You were banished because you aided your son?” Rikki asked in surprise.