By then, Shannon had the fifteen-year-old gangster king by the collar, was holding him in front of himself, holding the nine up under the punk's chin.
"Better tell them how it is, son," he said.
"No guns. Put the guns down," said Super-Pred quickly.
"Drop 'em," said Shannon.
Teresa had rolled off the table. She had fallen to her knees on the floor. She braced herself on the floor with one hand and clutched at herself with the other, clutched at the shreds of her clothing, trying to cover her nakedness. Blood and snot and tears were dripping from her. She was crying with a wild rage.
Shannon paid no attention to her. He was already filled with her and looking for a chance-hoping for an excuse-to kill every one of these little shits, every single one.
Super-Pred knew it and a note of hysteria entered his voice as he shouted, "Put the pieces down, motherfuckers!"
One thug dropped his gun, but the other hesitated and Shannon killed him. He shot him quick in the chest and by the time the kid went down dead, he had the pistol under Super-Pred's chin again. It felt good to kill the kid, and Shannon hoped some of the others would try something. Even if they riddled him with bullets, he would kill them all. Even if they shot him dead, he would come back from hell and kill them.
"Move through the door," Shannon said.
The banger who was still living had his hands in the air. His whole body was quaking. His eyes were wide because his friend was suddenly dead and he saw what Shannon was now, he saw what Super-Pred saw. He didn't need the gangster king to repeat Shannon's order. He nearly leapt to the dining room door.
"Tell them to drop 'em!" Super-Pred shouted after him, his voice cracking.
The other three bangers in there had heard the gunshot, but it didn't occur to them it wasn't one of theirs. They figured Pred had shot the bitch, that's all. One of them was even moving to the door to get an eyeful of the bloodshed. But just then, his pal came through, babbling, "Put the guns down, man, put all the pieces down!"
The gangsters saw Super-Pred hustled into the room, Shannon holding him and holding the nine-a to his chin.
"Put the pieces down!" Super-Pred was shouting, and the other thug kept babbling, "Put 'em down, man, he's serious!"
Two of the gangsters dropped their guns. The third one gave it a second's thought, but dropped his, too, before Shannon got the chance to kill him.
Shannon shot a quick glance over at the old man on the floor. The old man was crawling to the boy. Now the old man cradled the boy in his arms, blood dripping from his mouth onto the back of the boy's head. The whole place stank of gasoline. Antic cartoon music filtered in from the back room pathetically. Shannon wanted to kill every g he saw.
The gangsters could see the murder in his eyes, and one of them said stupidly, "Man, we didn't mean nothing."
Shannon shot him in the leg just for that. The punk went down howling.
"Shut up! All of you, shut up!" said Super-Pred, his voice cracking.
"Get out," Shannon ordered quietly. He saw they would do whatever he said now. He was half sorry about that, sorry to have no excuse to kill them. He shoved the gun up under Pred's chin hard. "Get out, I said. Drive away. Look back and I blow this fucker's head off. Then I come after the rest of you. Get out and drive away."
The bangers crowded to the door so fast, Shannon had to shout after them. "Take this one! Take this one with you!"
They came back for the one he'd shot in the leg. The wounded punk was blubbering like a child in pain as they draped his arms over their shoulders and hustled him to the door.
When they were gone, when it was just Shannon holding Super-Pred at gunpoint, he looked down at the old man. "Applebee," he said. "Can you stand up?"
The old man nodded painfully, holding the boy. "Yeah."
"The boy okay?"
"You're okay, aren't you, son?"
"I think so," said the boy.
"Go upstairs and get some clothes for your daughter," said Shannon.
"I'll get them." It was Teresa in the doorway. Clutching the shreds of her clothes to her, her bloodied face still, her cheeks tear-stained, her eyes luminous with fury.
Shannon nodded at her. She went unsteadily to the stairs.
"Mommy!" the boy called after her.
"I'll be right there, sweetie," she mumbled. "Stay with Grandpa."
She went up the stairs quickly.
Shannon heard the bangers' cars start up outside. He heard them roar off into the night. He moved away from the old man and the boy. He yanked the punk gangster to the door and kicked it shut. Now it was quieter inside and they could all hear the cartoon music filtering in from the back room.
"You know what I'm thinking," Shannon said in Super-Pred's ear.
"Come on, daddy," said the boy.
"I'm thinking of killing you. It'd be good."
The punk trembled in his grip. "Come on, man."
"Come on?"
"Yeah, daddy. What the hell, you know?"
"Yeah, well… maybe this wasn't your idea."
"It wasn't. I swear."
"I know it wasn't. Fact, I know whose idea it was."
"So you know. So don't kill me, man. What the hell, right? It's like I had no choice."
Shannon shoved the gun in his chin even harder. He spoke in his ear through gritted teeth. "You had a choice."
"Don't… don't…"
"I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you say the name. If it's the right name, I might let you live. If you lie to me, you'll be dead a second later."
Super-Pred couldn't think that fast. He tried to weigh the dangers. He stalled for time. "She your girl, is that it?"
"Shut up. Mention her again, I'll blow your balls off. Tell me the name."
"Ramsey," said Super-Pred. He could hear his own death in every word Shannon spoke. He could feel his feet hanging over the pit of death. "The cop. The lieutenant. The Brick they call him. He big. It's like he say it, you gotta do it, man. You gotta."
"He told you to come here, do this."
"Yeah, man, swear."
"He say why?"
"Just said do 'em, daddy, didn't give no reason."
The stair creaked and Shannon glanced over to see Teresa coming down. She had pulled on a pair of jeans and a gray army sweat-shirt. Her cheek was swollen and bloody. Shannon wanted to hold Super-Pred up in front of her so she could watch while he pulled the trigger.
Teresa went to her father and her son. The old man had gotten hold of a chair arm. He had pulled himself to his feet. Now he was bent over, helping the boy up, too. "Come on, son, come on." The boy rose slowly, clutching his stomach.
Teresa reached them. She put her arms around the boy and murmured to him.
Shannon turned his attention back to Super-Pred, breathing hard. "If I let you live," he said, "can you get a message to Ramsey?"
"Yeah, daddy, yeah. Sure, I can get a message to him easy. Tell him anything you want."
"Tell him we can deal. Him and me. You understand? Tell him I have what he wants and we can deal for it. I get my payoff, I leave town, he'll never see me again."
"Yeah. Yeah. I can tell him that, sure," said Super-Pred.
Shannon glanced over at Teresa. She was standing with the boy clutched against her. Her father leaned on her shoulder for support, wiping blood from his face with his hand.
Shannon gestured with his head toward the dining room. "Take them into the kitchen and wait for me," he told her.
Teresa shepherded the boy to the door. The old man went with them, his hand on her shoulder.
Shannon waited until they left the room. Then he said to Super-Pred, "You tell him what I said. Tell Ramsey I'll be in touch and we can deal."
"Okay, okay, I'll…"
Before Super-Pred could finish, Shannon drew back his arm and stabbed the butt of the pistol into the punk's temple. The kid collapsed in his grip, unconscious. Shannon let his collar go and dropped him to the floor.
That was that. Shannon stood, looking around the place, breathing hard. The smell of gasoline was nauseating. The comical cartoon music tinkled and banged in the next room-pathetic. The punk lay still at his feet for only a second. Then he began to stir and groan. Shannon sneered down at him. The image of Teresa struggling on the dining room table flashed in his mind. He had stopped himself from thinking about it before, but now it came to him. He forced himself to stop thinking again. He needed Super-Pred alive to deliver his message.