David Robbins - Twin Cities Run

Hickok studied his predicament.

Maggot had suspended him in a circular, earthen pit twelve feet in diameter and ten feet deep. At the bottom of the pit, illuminated by two torches imbedded in the ground at the top of the pit, were three black holes. Tunnels. To where? It really didn’t matter. The important point was that rats would be coming out of those tunnels to devour him, a particularly unsavory prospect if ever there was one! The pit was located in a barren room in the basement of the building the Porns used as their headquarters. He hadn’t seen much of it when they hauled him down flights of stairs to his room, still reeling from Maggot’s blow to his gut.

They’d passed other Porns, who scurried out of the way and fearfully minded their own business. Maggot’s rule was predicated on intimidation, a fact Hickok intended to use to his advantage when he escaped from the pit.

When?

Who was he kidding?

If.

Hickok wondered where, exactly, he was being held. How far was it from the SEAL? What had happened to Bertha and the others? Were any of them still alive?

A high-pitched squeak came from below.

Hickok glanced down.

A rat was directly below him, staring up, its whiskers and nose twitching.

“Beat it, hair ball!” Hickok shouted.

The rat scurried into one of the tunnels.

Hickok smiled. Score one for the idiot! Thank the Spirit, he still had his guns! They’d dragged him to the pit, holding him under his armpits, his feet bumping down each and every step as they descended to the basement. Brother, did they smart! Fortunately, the Porns had missed his concealed guns. When they bound his wrists, one of the bodyguards had held him fast at the elbows and another had tied the rope at the edge of his wrists, at the point where they joined the hands. They’d walked him onto the beam and wrapped the other end of the rope around the wood, knotting it securely. Then, Maggot chuckling, they had shoved him from the beam. His shoulders had lanced with agony when he reached the end of the rope, causing him to grit his teeth to suppress a scream. He hadn’t been about to give them the satisfaction! Instead, he had smiled up at Maggot, and detected a dawning reflection of fear in Maggot’s eyes.

More squeals came from underneath his dangling feet.

Hickok looked down again.

Now there were two rats.

“Brought your wife, did you?” Hickok said to the rodents. “Why don’t you go home and get the kids? Make a family night out of it, for crying out loud.”

Two more rats emerged from one of the black holes.

Uh-oh!

Time for Mama Hickok’s little darling to get the hell out of here!

Hickok watched the gathering rodents. Now there were seven. His feet were about two feet above the floor of the pit, within their reach if they jumped high enough. He glanced up at the beam. There were two feet of rope between his hands and the bottom of the beam. Not much to work with, but it would have to do.

One of the rats, hungrier than the rest, leaped, smacking against his right foot and dropping to the ground.

“You can do better than that, gruesome,” he told the rodent.

The same rat tried again, missing.

Determined little fart!

Hickok concentrated, his muscles throbbing, and gripped the rope with his hands. Good. Step one completed.

A rat struck his left foot, clinging for an instant, then falling.

Hickok began moving his legs back and forth in an increasingly wider pendulum motion, his momentum building. He kept at it until his long legs were almost parallel with the beam. Perfect! Tightening his stomach muscles, he swept his legs as high as he could force them, wrapping his calves around the beam and in one fluid motion swinging up and onto the beam, desperately clamping his elbows and thighs against the wood, fearful for an instant he would lose his hold.

He didn’t!

Hickok smiled at his success. Step two completed. He was out of the pit and precariously poised on the wooden beam. So now what? He was still tied to the beam, bound at the wrists. How did he expect to get loose? He gazed down at the gathering rats, an idea occurring. Maybe he could chew through the rope and free his hands. He examined the rope, dismayed. It was at least a half-inch thick and constructed from a sturdy synthetic. Fat chance he could bite through it. Besides, he reflected, there was another reason he wasn’t about to touch his mouth to the rope. Rat’s… watering…

had covered his hands and the knot. He wasn’t about to let his lips come in contact with something Rat had pissed on.

So what to do?

First things first. If Maggot or one of the other Porns suddenly returned, he would be powerless to resist, too exposed on the beam. He needed an edge, but could he do it and still keep his balance? Only one way to find out.

Piece of cake, he told himself.

Slowly, exercising supreme care, Hickok drew his legs up closer to his body until his knees were touching his elbows. His legs now had a firm clasp on the beam, and he laboriously rose to a sitting position.

Hallelujah! He reached his hands down, raised the buckskin covering his left leg to just above his ankle, and unsnapped the catch on the small holster for the C.O.P. .357 Magnum. Grinning, he drew the gun and sat up again.

Now let the bastards come!

As if on cue, the door abruptly opened.

Hickok swiveled, leveling the C.O.P., his finger tightening on the trigger.

Bear, just inside the doorway, threw his hands in the air, holding the Winchester in his left fist.

“Hey!” Bear said hastily. “Don’t shoot, Hickok! I’m here to help you!”

“Close the door!” Hickok commanded harshly.

Bear complied.

“Lay that Winchester on the ground.”

“You got it!” Bear began to bend over.

“Slowly!”

Bear made a show of placing the rifle on the ground, his movements measured, conveying his lack of hostile intent.

“Now stand up and come over here,” Hickok directed, his gun steady in his grip.

Bear walked over to the edge of the pit, smiling.

“What’s so funny?” Hickok wanted to know.

“You, bro. You.” Bear laughed.

“How do you mean?”

“You sure are somethin’,” Bear stated in admiration. “Maggot made a big mistake when he didn’t kill you right off.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m tryin’ to tell you,” Bear said sincerely, looking Hickok in the eyes, “that I think you got a lot of guts. You’re one mean dude, Hickok.”

Hickok smiled. “I already know that.”

“Yes, sir.” Bear nodded his head. “Maybe Maggot’s finally met his match.”

“What are you doing here?” Hickok asked.

“I came to set you free,” Bear explained.

“Like you did Bertha?” Hickok casually remarked.

Bear’s mouth fell. “How’d you know that?”

“It wasn’t too hard to figure out,” Hickok replied. “The question is, why are you helping me?”

“Ain’t it plain?” Bear frowned. “I hate Maggot!” he snapped, venom in his words.

“I take it you’re not the only one?”

“Hell, no!” Bear gestured toward the building above them. “Nearly everybody hates him! He’s the meanest leader the Porns ever had! He’s pure scum!”

“If everyone hates him so much,” Hickok said, broaching a subject he’d mentioned before, “why doesn’t someone simply blow him away?”

“Don’t think some haven’t tried!” Bear glanced at the door. “It just ain’t that easy, is all. Like I told you before, Maggot never lets anyone get close to him with a weapon, ’less they is one of his inner circle, and only they get to pack the rods.”

“You’re one of his trusted lieutenants,” Hickok observed.

“I’m the token.”