David Robbins - Memphis Run

“It’s a book, dummy.”

“I know that,” Hickok said. “Is it any good?”

“Why don’t you read it and find out.”

“How much?”

“For you, I’ll let it go for eight bullets.”

Hickok glanced at the old-timer. “Eight rounds of ammo for a book?”

“We don’t need anything.” Blade said, straightening. The Hound patrol was out of sight.

“Seven bullets,” Ike said.

“Is it a horror book?” Hickok asked.

“It’s a scary one, all right,” Ike confirmed. “Lots of blood and gore. It’s about this plague—”

“No, thanks,” Hickok said.

“Six bullets.”

“No,” Hickok responded, turning away.

“Five.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m partial to Westerns.”

“It has sex in it.”

Hickok halted and stared at the book. “It does?”

“Forget the book,” Blade directed, nudging the gunman’s left shoulder.

“We have important business to attend to. Remember?”

“A little literary culture never hurt anyone,” Hickok remarked.

They resumed their trek in a northerly direction, on the alert for Hounds.

“Say, Daddy?” Chastity spoke up two blocks later.

“What, missy?”

“What did that man mean?”

“About what?”

“That word he used,” Chastity said.

“Which word?”

“Sex. What’s sex?”

Hickok did a double take. “Sex?” he blurted out.

“What is it?” Chastity inquired earnestly.

“Yeah, Daddy. I’d like to hear this myself. What is sex?” Blade queried impishly.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you about sex?” Hickok asked.

“No.”

“She’s only six, for crying out loud,” Blade noted.

“How about the birds and the bees?” Hickok questioned.

“I know about them,” Chastity said. “Birds have feathers and wings and fly. Bees have wings and stingers.”

“You sure know your birds and bees,” Hickok muttered.

“So what’s sex?” Chastity persisted inquisitively.

“Uhhhh,” Hickok stalled, keenly conscious of the amused gazes of Blade and Bonnie. “Sex is what happens when a man’s hormones are all agitated and a woman is feelin’ generous.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Have you ever noticed that men and women are different?”

“Yep,” Chastity responded.

“You have?”

“Women are smarter.”

“Says who?”

“My mom said that all the time.”

“Do you know about kissin’?”

Chastity scrunched her nose. “Kissing is yucky stuff.”

“You’ll like it better when you grow up.”

“Never,” Chastity declared. “I’ve seen people kissing and hugging. Once I saw this guy and girl in the park, and they were kissing and hugging and wrestling all at the same time.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what,” Hickok said. “When you finally decide that kissin’ isn’t yucky, you should ask your new mommy about sex.”

“Will she know?”

“She’s a fair hand at it,” Hickok acknowledged.

“I’ll ask my new mommy when we get to the Home,” Chastity promised.

“And I’ll ask her why she’s fair at it.”

“Uh-oh,” Hickok said.

Laughing quietly, Bonnie looked at Blade. “Does he always stick his foot in his mouth?”

“Only when his mouth is open,” Blade replied.

They traveled another three blocks without incident.

“We take a right,” Bonnie instructed as they neared an intersection.

“How far to the estate?” Blade asked.

“Three miles, give or take,” Bonnie told him.

They bore to the right along a narrow street. Few of the barter booths were in evidence, and the number of pedestrians had dwindled.

“We’ll make better time,” Bonnie said.

Although they were able to increase their speed without arousing any undue glances or suspicion, Blade chafed at the pace. He was eager to locate Rikki and leave Memphis far behind. All he could think of was the stashed jeep and the likelihood of being with his loved ones in another week. After such a prolonged separation, such a reaction was natural.

And costly.

Engrossed in his reflection. Blade was not devoting his full attention to the road and sidewalks. His acute hearing vaguely registered a jumble of subdued noises from a junction ahead, but he was absently wondering if they would be able to rescue Rikki before nightfall.

“Take a left,” Bonnie mentioned.

“Are your arms gettin’ tired?” Hickok inquired.

Bonnie glanced at the gunman and smiled. “No. But thanks. I can carry her for a mile yet.”

They started to round the corner.

“You won’t need to carry the child that far, my dear,” stated someone arrogantly. “We wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

“You!” Bonnie exclaimed in horror.

A lone figure stood in the center of the street 20 feet away, his hands clasped behind his back. He wore a black uniform glittering with gold medals. His hair, mustache, and beard were all black. “Yes, vixen. It is I.”

He raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. “But I didn’t come alone.”

Dozens of Hounds materialized, training their weapons on the Warriors and the woman. They were stationed on the rooftops and positioned at upper-story windows. They poured from doorways, forming two rows across the street behind the man with the medals. A pair of jeeps roared from an alley farther down and raced almost to the two rows before braking. A Hound stood in the rear of each vehicle, manning a swivel-mounted machine gun.

“Have you missed me, Bonnie?” the man said with a sneer.

Bonnie uttered a plaintive groan. “We’re dead!”

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi glided up the stairs with pantherish finesse, reaching the landing door without making a sound, his katana in his right hand. A muted hubbub arose on the far side as he took hold of the doorknob, and he cautiously eased the door open a crack to hear better.

“—every guard except Pierce, Brosnan, and us out front.”

“What’s going on?”

“I heard he’s really pissed off. Something about a platoon being attacked.”

“The platoon the general took out this morning?”

“No. Another platoon.”

“Two platoons in one day? You’re kidding.”

“Hey, I only know what I was told, and I th…”

The voices tapered off as the speakers hurried out of range.

What was this? Were the guards assembling at the front of the mansion? If so, why? And if they were, this might be the opportunity he needed. Rikki widened the opening until he could slip through, pausing in the corridor to orient himself. If he remembered correctly, going to the right would take him in the general direction of the stairs to the second floor and the throne room. He padded stealthily to another hall, taking the right-hand fork, his ears primed to catch the faintest sound.

The next corridor was reached uneventfully.

Where were all the guards? Outside?

Rikki took a left, and he was 20 feet into the hallway when a scarcely audible conversation wafted from up ahead, growing louder with each second.

Hounds!

He spotted a door to his left and raced over. A quick check insured it wasn’t locked, and he was inside, his left ear pressed to the panel, in an instant. He found himself in a storage closet filled with mops, brooms, and cleaning supplies. The light came through a narrow window high on the rear wall.

“—want to be in the general’s shoes when the King gets back.”

“He ordered me to haul my ass down to the holding cells and find out what’s keeping General Thayer. He sounded mad as hell. He said something about showing the general how to do his job. And then he took off with the estate guards and two truckloads from the Complex. Also had a couple of jeeps. Looked like he was ready to start a war.”