David Robbins - Memphis Run

Nose Ring bristled. “I wouldn’t push it, if I were you.”

“Thank the Spirit you’re not me,” Hickok mocked him. “I wouldn’t want to look that ugly and smell that bad if I could help it.”

“Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“Four medical marvels.”

“What?”

“Four livin’, breathin’ dead men.”

Nose Ring looked at the other hardcases. “We’re not dead yet.”

The nearest pedestrians were discreetly trying to put as much distance as they could between themselves and the altercation.

“You can count the minutes you have left on one hand,” Hickok declared.

Nose Ring scrutinized the guy in the buckskins, noting the pearl-handled revolvers and the M-16 over the guy’s left shoulder. He experienced a fleeting sensation of dread, but shook it off by thinking of all the saps he’d wasted in his travels. No one had ever beaten him, and no one ever would.

“We don’t want any trouble,” said someone to their rear.

The four hardcases looked behind them to find a giant in a black leather vest.

“You don’t want any trouble?” Nose Ring repeated.

“No,” the giant stated, looking at the guy in buckskins. “We don’t want to get in trouble with the Hounds, do we?”

“Did you see what these cow chips did?” Hickok demanded.

“I saw,” Blade said.

“Are you sayin’ I can’t teach them manners?”

“We don’t want to attract the Hounds,” Blade reiterated.

“Nobody treats Chastity that way,” Hickok remarked angrily.

“We don’t want trouble,” Blade said yet again.

“What’s the big deal?” Nose Ring interjected. “So what if the little cunt got knocked on her ass?”

Blade sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Did you eat radioactive waste when you were younger?”

“What kind of dumb-ass question is that?” Nose Ring rejoined.

“I just thought there might be a logical explanation for your suicide complex,” Blade said.

“Suicide?” Nose Ring snorted. “I don’t want to kill myself, you jerk.”

Blade walked to the left, out of the line of fire, and grinned. “You just did, you jerk.”

“I’ll make this fair,” Hickok declared. “You can go for your irons first.”

“Do you think you can take all four of us?” Nose Ring demanded.

“In my sleep.”

Nose Ring gazed at each of the other hardcases, then chuckled. “Let’s show this windbag.”

Pedestrians were now running in every direction.

“Whenever you coyotes get the notion,” Hickok said. “But I don’t have all day for you to get up the nerve.”

“Screw you!” Nose Ring snapped, and went for his gun, his companions doing likewise.

Hickok seemed to be frozen in place. He stayed immobile as their hands streaked to their handguns, and he was motionless as those handguns began to rise and clear leather. Not until Nose Ring was leveling a revolver did the gunfighter move, his draw a literal blur, both Colts blasting.

Nose Ring and the hardcase to his left were struck in the forehead, and both of them rocked on their heels and toppled over. The last two hardcases fared no better. They were struck down before they could bring their revolvers into play, one shot through the left eye, the other the right.

Hickok stared at the four corpses for a moment. “I wonder how they managed to put on their pants without help,” he quipped. Then he started reloading the spent rounds in his Colts.

Blade surveyed the sea of stunned expressions surrounding them. “The Hounds will investigate, won’t they?” he asked Bonnie.

“At the most, we have five minutes,” she replied.

“Let’s get out of here,” Blade said.

“Do you still want to lay low for an hour?” Bonnie queried.

“No,” Blade answered. “Laying low wouldn’t accomplish anything now.

Take us directly to the King’s estate.”

“About time,” Hickok interjected. “I’m tired of this pussy-footin’ around.”

Bonnie headed northward. “Stay close to me.” She smiled at Chastity.

“Are you okay?”

Snug in Bonnie’s arms, Chastity nodded. “My daddy taught them a lesson.”

“I’ve never seen anyone as fast as your daddy,” Bonnie commented.

Chastity beamed. “Yeah. Daddy is real good at shooting people. He shoots them all the time.”

“Remind me to never get your daddy mad at me,” Bonnie said.

“I wouldn’t let him shoot you,” Chastity declared. “I like you.”

“Gee, thanks,” Bonnie responded.

“Unless you got him real mad,” Chastity added. “Then it might be okay for him to shoot you in the foot.”

Bonnie grinned. “I’m beginning to understand why the two of you are so close.”

“Are we two peas in a pod?”

“Yeah. I’d say so. Where did you hear that?”

“Uncle Rikki said so,” Chastity replied.

“I haven’t met your Uncle Rikki yet. Is he nice?”

“Real nice. He teases Daddy a lot.”

“Does Uncle Rikki have a woman?”

“Yep. A lady named Lexine. She lives at their Home.”

“Figures,” Bonnie said wistfully.

The Warriors came abreast of them.

“Do you want me to hold you, princess?” Hickok asked.

“I don’t mind,” Bonnie said.

“I’m fine,” Chastity stated. “You’d better be ready in case more bad men show up.”

“How many people have you shot?” Bonnie inquired.

“I never counted ’em,” Hickok said.

“A few? A lot?”

“What difference does it make?” Hickok retorted.

“I was just curious,” Bonnie explained. “Have you ever shot anyone in the foot?”

“Once or twice. Why?”

“Oh, nothing,” Bonnie commented, and laughed.

The gunman looked at Blade. “Why are women so blamed weird?”

“I never noticed they were,” Blade replied.

“I keep forgettin’. Your missus has the wool pulled over your eyes,” Hickok declared.

“She does not.”

“And you don’t think that womenfolk are a teensy-weensy bit on the strange side?”

“No.”

“I rest my case.”

They hurried along the avenue. The farther they went, the less attention was directed their way. After four blocks no one was gawking at them.

Hickok looked over his right shoulder. “Looks like we hood-winked those varmints.”

“You spoke too soon,” Blade said, nodding to the north.

A Hound patrol was approaching down the middle of the boulevard, pushing through the crowd, the sergeant in the lead barking for everyone to stand aside.

“Quick,” Blade declared, angling to the right-hand curb. He halted at a rickety wooden booth manned by a grizzled proprietor with a toothless smirk, who was wearing a bedraggled wool coat even in the August heat.

“Can I help you?” the man asked. “Honest Ike is my name.”

Blade rested his hands on his knees and pretended to inspect the wares in the stand, casually regarding a collection of rusted pots and pans, dog-eared books, faded clothes, various utensils, and assorted odds and ends.

“Everything is ten percent off today,” Ike informed them. “I’m having a clearance sale.”

“You make a living sellin’ this stuff?” Hickok queried, fingering a glass unicorn with three legs and a broken horn.

“Yep. And don’t touch the merchandise, sonny. You break it, you pay for it.”

“Where do you find this junk?” Hickok asked.

Honest Ike glared at the gunman. “I’ll thank you not to call my quality merchandise junk. Folks come from miles around to trade with me.”

Blade gazed at the avenue, watching the Hound patrol as they hastened to the south.

“What’s that?” Hickok inquired, pointing at a battered paperback in the corner of a shelf. Displayed on the cover was a snarling hound in a gold Egyptian headdress.