Ted Dekker - Sanctuary

“No.”

Pape’s eyes briefly narrowed. “No?”

“I was wrong. You’re right, I could hurt these men.” He glanced at Randell, who looked confused. “I could snap Randell’s neck before he landed one blow.” Slane. “I could break Slane over my knees like he deserves. That might be fair. But fairness has failed the world.”

The hard yard sat in perfect quiet.

“Why did you come?” The warden’s voice was tight.

“I came to kill Randell.”

“Then you will kill him.”

“I was wrong.”

“And so you’ll let them kill you?”

Danny took a deep breath, knowing already what he would do, what he must do. This wasn’t just about him, it was about Renee. He could not die.

“No.”

Marshall Pape looked at Randell, then the other four. “Kill him!” he said.

26

“SEVEN BULLETS LEFT,’’I said, staring at the bloodied tapestry under the judge’s chair. He was being stubborn and I’d felt compelled to put a second bullet through his other foot, into the subfloor beneath the thick green carpet. They were hard jackets and passed through cleanly without making too much of a mess.

But none of that lessened the judge’s pain.

Keith gave up trying to break the door down after the second shot, when I’d taken a moment to explain what I was doing.

I sat in the chair, unable to steady my trembling hands. “The nice thing about losing toes is that you can cover them up with good shoes. With good therapy no one but you will even know someone shot them off. But I hear it’s hard to walk if you lose too many, especially the big toes.”

He was sweating and his face was flushed. Tears of pain leaked down his cheeks.

“You’re done,” he growled through clenched teeth.

“Not really. Because if I still can’t get you to talk, I’m going for the biggest toe.” I gave his crotch a significant glance. “I really don’t want to do that, but I hope you understand now that I can’t control myself. This is something I have to do.”

“You can’t get away with this.”

“But you did, didn’t you? You put your son back on the street, and he went back and killed that poor boy. You don’t have to confess that. I just want to know how you’re connected to Basal. That’s all. Think about it. I’m not going to incriminate you. I’d go to prison if what I’ve done here ever came out. I’d have to spill all the beans and there’d be a full investigation into both of us. We’re in the same boat, so we have to keep this all private—me and my crazy DNA and you with your secret. Just tell me and we’ll leave. I’m not going to kill you, even though that’s what we were sent to do. I’m not a violent person.”

He was looking at me as if I was a complete nut, and that was fine by me. The crazier he thought I was, the better.

I kept telling myself it was okay. That I had to do this, that I’d already gone too far to turn back, that this man did hold the key to Danny’s life, that in some ways Danny was in prison because this man had pushed Danny beyond the brink when he’d cut his son loose. But I didn’t really know if any of that was true, and I was feeling nauseated.

The judge sat in his chair, chest rising and falling as he tried to control his agony.

“So I have to use another bullet?” I asked.

“This is absurd.” The last word was a snarl.

“Is that a yes or a no?”

He only glared at me. So I stood up, leaned over, and pressed the gun to the tip of his right shoe. I was just starting to squeeze the trigger when he spit in my hair. Dirty germy spit.

My crazed DNA reasserted itself. I jerked the gun up and shoved it into his crotch.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” I said. “I know what your son did. You think Danny killed him and now you’re after Danny. Tell me what you know about Basal or I’m going to pull this trigger.”

He swore.

“You don’t think I’ll do it? Like son, like father.”

His jowls were trembling, and for a moment I felt sorry for the man. What if I was wrong about him?

“You have three seconds. Two. One…”

“Okay,” he blurted. “I’ll tell you!”

“Tell me!”

27

“KILL HIM!’’ THEwarden’s order echoed through the hard yard.

The first to come wasn’t Randell. The big man had heard something that made him hesitate. The first was one of the heavily tattooed men behind Danny, and he came like a bull, rushing at full speed as if this were a street fight and he could simply overwhelm Danny by force.

Without turning, Danny waited, using the sound of the man’s feet slapping on the concrete to judge his distance. The other tattooed member joined the rush, to the right and slightly behind the first man.

By not turning, Danny offered his attacker the false perception that victory was imminent, that if he only moved faster and reached Danny before he could turn, he would be able to break his back from behind. This belief drew the man into a final headlong rush.

Slane was now on the move as well. That made three coming in, no contact.

Danny spun to his right when the tattooed man was only one step away. Hooked his arm behind the man’s back, and shoved hard. The off-balance attacker flew forward and collided head-on with Slane.

A bone snapped. They both crashed to the ground with Slane beneath, screaming in pain.

But now the other tattooed man arrived, swinging his fist at Danny’s head like a club. Danny shifted and blocked the blow down and away with his forearm. In any other circumstance he would have caught the arm and wrenched it back for either a break or a dislocation.

As it was, he helped the man find the ground with a kick at his ankles and quick shove at his back. Arm deflected and twisting, the man landed on his shoulder with a grunt.

Slane was moaning. He’d been struck with a head to his arm, now broken. The first attacker was back on his feet, facing him like an ape. But Danny had disrupted their circle and he now backed away from the three standing men, hands lifted in partial surrender.

“I don’t want to fight, but I’ll defend myself. Please, this isn’t necessary.”

“Fight!” the warden roared.

All but Slane found their feet and came together, screaming bloody murder. Four grown men unfamiliar with tactics any more strategic than brawling with fists or backstabbing with shanks. Without a dark corner from which to spring, without an element of surprise, with only their fists and muscles, they were at a hopeless disadvantage.

They came fast, sure that four abreast could overwhelm one man. But all four had two legs, and all eight of those legs were propelling them forward.

Danny feinted back one step into a half crouch, but instead of retreating he surged toward them and threw himself down, perpendicular to their path.

He hit the ground at their feet and crashed through them.

The two on the ends had time to jump, but still he caught one of them by the foot. The two in the center—Randell and one of the tattooed men—took the full weight of Danny’s body on their ankles. Their forward momentum carried their bodies where their feet could not go.

Another bone snapped. Three of the men sprawled headlong onto the concrete. Two rolled and came up, panting. The tattooed man lay on the floor near Slane, twisting with the pain of a broken ankle.

Danny had missed the skinny one entirely, and now the man twisted back to take a vicious kick at Danny’s head.

There was no way to avoid the contact. Danny arched his back and took a glancing blow on his temple.

The man left his legs exposed, and Danny could have struck the side of his knee, perhaps disabling him with one kick. But doing so stood a good chance of putting the man out of commission for more than a single fight.