“White Meat! Wait for me!”
“Uh-oh,” Hickok said under his breath. He grinned at the men with him. “Why don’t you go on ahead. I’ll be with you in a sec. Keep your eyes out for anything unusual.”
Several of the men nodded their comprehension and they all walked toward the road.
Hickok took a deep breath and turned.
Bertha was only feet away, smiling, watching him uncertainly as she approached. An M-16 was slung over her right shoulder.
“Howdy, Black Beauty,” Hickok greeted her, using his pet name for her.
“I figured we needed to do some heavy talkin’,” she said bluntly. “Now’s a good a time as any.”
“Blade wanted me to stand guard on the highway,” Hickok stated lamely.
“It can’t wait.” Bertha paused, locking her eyes on his. “I need to get something straight in my head. It’s drivin’ me nuts!”
“What is it?” the gunman questioned.
“You know damn well what it is!” Bertha exclaimed bitterly. “You’ve been avoiding me like the plague! Why? We don’t see each other for months, and I don’t even rate a hug when we finally do meet up. Why?”
“I…” Hickok began, before she cut him off.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think,” Bertha said. “I’ve thought about the last time we saw each other, and how you were actin’ so cold. A real fish. Remember?”
“Yes, but…”
“After I talked with Bear I figured out why. You thought he and me was in tight. Am I right?”
“Yes, but…”
“Bear don’t mean nothin’ to me!” Bertha said, her tone softening. “He’s a good friend, but that’s it. Yeah, I know he’s got the hots for me, but it ain’t a two-way street. Do you see where I’m comin’ from?”
“I think so, but…”
“But now that I’ve seen you again,” Bertha said interrupting one more time, “I think Bear ain’t the reason you’re actin’ so strange. What is it, White Meat? Don’t be afraid to tell me the truth. I’ve been dumped on before. It’s the story of my life. So? What is it? I got to know!”
Hickok placed his right arm around her shoulders, his sad blue eyes reflecting his inner emotional turmoil. “I’m sorry I avoided you,” he said softly. “You know me. It isn’t my style to run from anything in this world, but I didn’t know how to tell you and not hurt your feelings.”
“I knew it!” Bertha said sorrowfully. “I just knew it! You don’t care about me the way I care about you! Am I right?”
“That’s part of it,” Hickok admitted. “I do care for you, Black Beauty, but as a real close friend.”
“I don’t believe it!” Bertha exclaimed. “You feel about me the same way I feel about Bear! I guess the joke’s on me!” She gazed tenderly into his eyes. “But it ain’t the end of the world! It means I still have a chance!
Somewhere down the road you and I could still be an item! Right?”
“Wrong,” Hickok blurted out, and then he mentally berated his stupidity.
“Wrong? Why wrong?” Bertha demanded.
“I’ve only told you part of the reason we can only be good friends,” Hickok elaborated, secretly wishing he could turn invisible and get the heck out of there.
“There’s more?” Bertha took a step back, her hands on her hips. “What are you holdin’ back? Did you find a girlfriend while you were away?” she asked angrily.
“Not exactly.”
“What, then? And old flame show up and wrap you around her little pinkie?”
“Not quite.”
“Then what the hell could have happened in two short months that’s stoppin’ us from show in’ the whole world what true love is like? What!”
she cried.
“I got hitched,” Hickok said sheepishly.
“You what?”
“I was hitched proper.”
“Hitched?” Bertha repeated, sounding dazed.
“Hitched. Tied the knot. You know. I got married.”
“You… got… married?”
“Sure did,” Hickok beamed. “The prettiest filly you’d ever want to…”
Bertha abruptly grabbed the gunman by the front of his buckskin shirt.
“Your standin’ there and tellin’ me you got married? You took yourself a wife?”
Hickok, at a loss for words, simply nodded.
“A wife!” Bertha released the Warrior, her arms falling limply at her sides. “A wife!”
“I hope you won’t take it too hard,” Hickok offered in the way of condolences.
Bertha stared at him, her eyes narrowing. Before he could stop her, she unslung the M-16 and pointed the barrel at his head.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Yama was helpless to intervene, relegated to standing on the sidelines and observing one of the most spectacular fights he’d ever witnessed. The flow of combat was so swift, with the two G.R.D.’s shifting positions so rapidly, there was no way he could squeeze off a shot without running the risk of striking Lynx.
The two opponents were instinctual enemies, one the result of a human embryo genetically altered to produce a hybrid canine, the other a living embodiment of feline fury.
Shep was the larger by far, and ostensibly the stronger. He slammed Lynx to the cement walk and lunged, the claws on his right hand flicking at Lynx’s, eyes.
Lynx rolled to the left, his left arm slashing sideways as he did, his own claws raking Shep’s shins and eliciting a howl of commingled pain and rage. Lynx leaped to his feet as Shep backed off several steps.
It was the first chance Yama had to fire, but the pair closed again before he could snap off a round.
Lynx and Shep went down in a thrashing, snarling, ripping, and tearing ball of fur, rolling this way and that, neither one gaining a decided advantage but both inflicting numerous severe cuts and gashes on each other.
Yama took his gaze from the conflict long enough to scan the area. This section of the parking lot was evidently deserted and the nearest major artery was the crowded pedestrian sidewalk almost seventy-five yards to the west. A hedge and a small stand of trees provided cover between the pedestrians and the battle royal. Yama concentrated on the fight.
The combatants had rolled into the parking lot, still embroiled in their intense life-or-death struggle.
Neither one seemed to have an edge. The fur and hair, not to mention the sweat and blood, were flying fast and furious.
Yama began to wonder how long the fight would take. Every moment they wasted increased the likelihood of discovery and apprehension.
Suddenly, Shep appeared to be getting the better of his opponent. He was obviously pressing Lynx, who sported a nasty wound on his right temple. In a blur of arms and legs, Shep managed to come out on top, astride Lynx’s narrow chest, his legs pinning Lynx’s arms underneath them.
“Now!” Shep hissed, and clamped his claws around Lynx’s neck.
Yama, ready, brought up the Wilkinson, even as Lynx shifted. Lynx’s hands were hidden from view under Shep’s thighs, and Yama could only imagine what transpired as Shep unexpectedly straightened, his currish features distorted in unmitigated agony. He grunted and clutched at his loincloth, doubling over.
Lynx heaved, hurling his adversary to the pavement. In a flash, Lynx pounced, burying his pointed teeth in Shep’s throat and then jerking backwards, rending the neck wide open. Lynx moved to one side, spitting blood and hair from his mouth.
Shep was experiencing convulsions, his left hand over his groin, his right hand pressed against his ruined throat. His mouth moved soundlessly until, with a final shudder and a quivering of his eyelids, he expired.
“So long, ol’ Shep,” Lynx said softly, more to himself than to Yama. His own breathing was ragged, the strain taking its toll. “You were tough. The toughest I’ve ever fought. Chalk up another one I owe the Doc for.”