He hadn’t screamed. Instead, his lungs flattened themselves in his chest, and for the next ten minutes he could only make little panting sounds. Blood and flesh, dried to the cloth, had stripped the length of his leg, sending the pain into realms he had not known existed. When he could think again, the still running thought, connected with the memory of that so much lesser pain, seemed silly.
He dropped his hand from the rail and thought about this (and for some reason the name of the man on whose bunk he’d lain with his bleeding calf) and tried to recall his reaction to Frank’s criticisms of ten minutes ago.
He could not fit both into anything like a single picture. (They took it so lightly!) He blinked at the empty path.
I wrote…?
Kid’s eyes stung; he wandered from the bridge. Raising his hand to rub his face, he saw blurred brass and stopped the motion.
One foot hit something on the path and he stepped ahead unsteadily.
I remember re-writing them!
I remember changing lines, to make them more like something…mine?
Kid blinked; and his rough fingers were circled with scrolled blades. Did the first terror precede the scream?
…someone—Dollar? Dollar, beyond the hedge, screamed.
Kid flung back his hands and ran—toward the sound. Because what was behind him was too frightening.
As he sprinted into the garden, a low branch struck his face.
He grasped away leaves with his bladed hand, came up short, and heard (though he could not see) Dollar scream again, thinking: My God, the rest of them are so quiet!
Black and brown arms waved and spun (and among them was Tarzan’s yellow hair and dough-colored shoulder), caught against someone buried in the brawl. Somebody grunted.
Thelma, watching, sucked in her breath, rasping the silence.
From out the fray: “Hey, watch it…! Watch it…! Watch out for the…Unh!”
Their scrabbling boots were louder than their caught breaths and voices.
Kid lunged, grabbed, pulled, and only just remembered to get his orchid up out of the way.
“Hey, what you—”
Cathedral hit him as he pulled Thruppence off.
Priest’s head struck his flank hard enough to hurt.
Kid swung his hand out and around, and Spider didn’t shriek but hissed: “Ehhhhhhhhhhhhh…God-damn motherfucker!” A filament of blood widened on Spider’s belly.
“GET OFF HIM!” Kid pulled the Ripper back. “God-damn it, get off him!”
Raven, Tarzan, then Lady of Spain, still pummeling, got yanked back.
As they recognized him, one by one they fell away among the guests who ringed the garden. More were edging in.
Siam, in the central tussle, looked up, then ducked under Kid’s arm; Kid stumbled forward, lunged between the last two (Angel and Jack the Ripper) who sprinted aside; he grabbed the back of Dollar’s vest, his orchid still high.
Dollar screamed once more, and then went into fetal collapse on the flags. “Don’t kill me, please don’t kill me! Don’t kill me, Kid, please don’t kill me! I’m sorry, Kid! Don’t kill me!” Dollar’s right cheek was bruised and bleeding; his left eye was puffy, and his mouth looked like it had dandruff. Trying to get him up, Kid almost slipped. Swiveling his head, he saw his blades flash; leaves like green scales of the night fell from his opening fingers. He saw the ring of scorpions and guests—
Ernestine Throckmorton had jabbed both fists beneath her chin. Lanya, Nightmare, Denny, and Dragon Lady crowded the garden entrance. Baby and Adam pushed around them. Captain Kamp, on the other side of the fountain—water dribbled a rust-rimmed stain down a marble breast and across a cornucopia—looked angry and was about to step up. The southern colonel (with the ring of white hair) at his side was about to restrain him.
“I didn’t do nothing! I really didn’t mean to do nothing. I didn’t mean nothing by it, I swear, Kid! I swear I didn’t do it!”
Kid looked down. “WILL YOU GET THE FUCK UP!” He lowered his orchid.
Dollar ducked his head.
“Get on up, will you?” He jerked the back of Dollar’s vest again.
Glass grabbed Dollar under one arm and helped Kid pull him to his feet. Kid and Glass exchanged frustrated looks.
“You okay?” Glass asked. “Can you stand up?”
“Is it all right…now?” Ernestine Throckmorton asked.
Kid turned to tell her just to go away—
But she was ten feet off, and talking to Nightmare, who said: “Yeah, it’s okay. Just forget it, huh? Yeah, it’s all right.”
And other people were walking.
Kid’s senses had grown amphetamine bright. Listening, however, words blurred back to normal incoherence.
“I didn’t do—!” shrieked in his ear again as Dollar tried to wedge between Kid and Glass.
Tarzan said: “Oh, man, I’m not gonna hurt you!” He looked at Kid. “But if he’s gonna go around callin’ people ‘nigger’ he’s gonna get his head broke.”
“Yeah!” from the hirsute Raven, behind Tarzan’s left shoulder.
“Huh?” Kid asked.
And, “Yeah, I’m gonna break his fuckin’ head!” from the Ripper, behind his right.
“I didn’t do nothin’!” Dollar pulled on Kid’s arm and stumbled back against Glass who caught him up. “You all do it all the time! You all say it, why can’t I say it!”
“Aw, come on, man!” Kid said. “You all must be putting me on!”
“He’s gonna call the wrong nigger ‘nigger’ and he’s gonna have to pick his head up off the ground and screw it back on!” D-t said.
“All right,” Kid told Dollar. “Who you calling names?”
“Me, God-damn it!” Tarzan said. “And if that psycho little bastard’s gonna—”
“Aw, shit!” D-t said. “What he gonna call you ‘nigger’ for? He was bad-mouthin’ the Ripper, and the Ripper don’t like it. I don’t like it either.”
“Oh,” Tarzan said. “I thought he was talking to me…He was looking at me when he said it.”
D-t grunted. “God-damn, nigger, the Ripper was standing just behind your shoulder!” He pointed across the garden.
Several people stepped aside from the line his finger projected over the lawn.
Tarzan said, “Oh.”
“I told him to say he was sorry,” the Ripper said. “I didn’t want to start no trouble, here at the God-damn party. If he’d a’ said he was sorry, I wouldn’t of done nothing.”
“Okay,” Kid told Dollar. “Tell him you’re sorry.”
“No!” Dollar lurched in Glass’ grip. Glass’ vinyl vest swung back from the crossed scar poking over his belt, then flapped to again.
“You say you’re sorry.” Kid held the back of Dollar’s neck with one hand and put the orchid points against the lower right quadrant of his belly; the dirty flesh jerked. Dollar’s chains jingled. “Say you’re sorry, or I’ll take your appendix out, right here, and we’ll spread everything you got all over the God-damn ground—”
“Nooooo!” Dollar whined and twisted. “Please don’t kill me!”
Talk had stopped again.
“Say you’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Okay.” Kid let his bladed hand drop and looked at the Ripper. “He’s said he’s sorry. Okay?”
“He didn’t have to say it.” The Ripper looked sullenly around the circle. “I already got my licks in.”
But other guests had begun to talk once more.
“Okay,” Kid said. “Then let’s break it up. WILL YOU PLEASE BREAK IT UP GOD-DAMN IT!” He pushed Dollar forward by the head. Glass came with them.