Just in time to save his life.
Perched on top of the garbage to his right, a knife held ready in the left hand, was a male Wack. Even as Geronimo saw him, he screeched and launched himself straight down.
Geronimo already had the Browning tilted up at an angle. He shifted, pulling the trigger, the blast catching the Wack in the chest and deflecting his leap to one side. The Wack crashed into the pile of debris, his head and shoulder disappearing from view.
The girl screamed and ran.
“Wait!” Geronimo called after her. “Don’t go!” He loped in pursuit, surprised when she abruptly wheeled, laughing again, laughing and pointing at the ground at his feet. What in the world…
His feet gave out from under him, and he was dropping down into a hole in the ground. He tried to grab the edge of the hole, gripping the metal rim with his right hand, his left hand still holding the Browning and pinned between his body and the opening. For the moment, he was caught, unable to climb out and slowly slipping down.
Someone was standing over him, cackling.
Geronimo tried to strengthen his hold and failed, the effort costing him several inches. He was now dangling up to his chest.
“Dummy! Dummy! Dummy!” the girl taunted him.
“Help me! Please!” He tried to find something to support his suspended feet, but nothing was in reach.
“Dummy! Dummy! Dummy!”
He was continuing to slip.
“Say hi to Teeth,” the girl said, smiling.
Teeth?
Geronimo was in to his shoulders and the Browning was loose in his hand. He had one chance. If he could grab the edge with his left hand, he would be able to pull himself up. But, to do that, he had to let go of the Browning. There wasn’t any choice.
The girl leaned over and patted him on the head. “Bye-bye.”
He released the Browning and brought his left hand up, managing to get a hold on the rim before he could plummet into the depths below.
Without the Browning between his body and the rim, he would fall like a stone. His swinging feet touched a surface, a ledge or something similar he could use for support, and he braced himself for the heave to the surface.
“Not nice,” the girl said gravely. “Not nice.”
What the hell was she babbling about?
“Not nice,” she repeated, stepping closer, drawing her right foot back.
“Wait…” he tried to protest.
She kicked him in the head, above his right ear.
Reeling, Geronimo frantically tried to clamber out of the manhole.
She kicked him again.
His hold was fading.
And again.
He couldn’t seem to concentrate and his legs were sagging.
Again.
Geronimo felt his hands release their grip, and he plunged out of sight.
The girl waved at the black hole.
“Bye-bye!”
Chapter Fourteen
He had the impression his entire universe was comprised of sheer pain, and he didn’t want to open his eyes to face a cosmos bent on torturing him. Memories filtered through his brain. The trip to the Twin Cities.
Bertha. The Wacks. The Wacks! He remembered their attack, and the one with the hammer, and he flinched and opened his eyes, wishing he hadn’t as waves of agony rippled along his nervous system.
Blast!
“Well, well, well,” said a deep voice. “Look who’s finally woke up!”
“I was sure he wasn’t gonna make it,” snapped a squeaky voice.
“Pay up.”
“I ain’t got it.”
“You best have it.”
Hickok rose on his elbows. He was lying on a cot in a small room, sunlight streaming in through a shattered window. Two men were in the room with him, one standing on either side of the only door.
“I’ll get it,” said the small man on the right, a man with tiny eyes and a small nose, wearing faded jeans and a torn blue shirt.
“A bet is a bet,” said the big man to the left of the door. “You bet six rounds he wasn’t gonna come out of it, and you were wrong. I’d best have my ammo by the end of the week.” This one wore only jeans, his torso bare and bulging with power, his black skin blending with the shadows in his corner. He was holding a Winchester in his left hand, a 30-30.
“You’ll get it, Bear,” reiterated the other. “I always make good.” He had a revolver strapped around his waist, a Taurus Model 86 in the holster on his left hip.
“I know you do, Rat.”
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Hickok blithely interrupted. “Could I bother you for a drink? My throat is awful dry.”
“Is it, now?” Rat grinned. “You’ll get a drink when we’re damn ready to give you one and not before.”
“You know, ugly,” Hickok said coldly, “if I was feeling any stronger, I’d get up out of this cot and stuff your face up your ass. Who knows? The view might improve your disposition.”
Hat clenched his fists and came at Hickok.
“Cool it, Rat,” the one called Bear warned.
“You heard what he said to me!” Rat exploded, stopping.
“I heard.” Bear laughed.
Rat reddened. “No one talks like that to me and lives!”
“Our orders are to keep him alive,” Bear said.
Rat glared at Hickok, his fists opening and closing. “I’ll get my chance,” he stated. “Sooner or later.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this scared in my life,” Hickok grinned.
Rat reluctantly backed to the door.
“You believe in living dangerously, don’t you?” Bear asked Hickok.
“Is there any other way?”
Bear walked over to the cot. “How you feeling?”
“Plumb tuckered out,” Hickok admitted. “I take it I’m your prisoner?”
“You got that right.”
“And who are you guys? Horns?”
This time it was Rat who laughed. “Did you hear that? He thinks we’re Horns? What an idiot!”
“Which proves that Maggot was right, as usual,” Bear said. “This one ain’t from the Twins.”
“Where you from?” Rat demanded.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Hickok retorted.
“We’ll find out,” Rat promised. “Sooner or later.”
Hickok took stock of his weapons. The Henry and the Pythons were gone, but he could feel the Derringer on his right wrist and the C.O.P. .357
Magnum strapped to his left leg, above the ankle. Both guns were hidden by his buckskins. Good. He wasn’t defenseless.
“How’d I get here?” Hickok asked them.
“We sent a patrol out after hearing a lot of shooting the night before last,” Bear answered. “They found you out cold.”
Hickok sat up. “You mean I’ve been here a day and a half?” he asked incredulously.
“Sure have. The patrol was checkin’ bodies on University Avenue when they found you still alive. Had a nasty bump on the head. They couldn’t figure out what you were. You sure weren’t no Wack, and you weren’t dressed like a Horn, and you ain’t one of us. They decided to bring you back to Maggot.”
“Who’s Maggot?”
Rat snickered. “You’ll meet him soon enough.”
“Maggot’s our main man,” Bear replied.
“Your boss?”
“Yeah. He calls the shots.”
Hickok had noticed a trend. “You’re called Bear,” he said to the black, “and ugly over there is called Rat, and now you tell me your leader is someone called Maggot. What’s with the names? Why are they all animal or insect names?”
“Sharp one, ain’t you?” Bear complimented him. “The names are Maggot’s idea. He’s got this book all about wild creatures, and he gets a kick out of namin’ us according to the book. He says he tries to pick a name that fits the person.”