Black Friday Read Free Page A

from a bad case of some skin disease. The skater was getting ready to hit Hart again.
Hart looked at the man with silver hair and said, "Revolver or no revolver, if he tags me again he gets a busted pelvis."
The skater smiled very wide and said, "Well, whaddya know--he's a kicker."
The man with silver hair looked at the skater and said, "Choke him--we've made enough noise with bullets."
"Sure," Hart said, "go ahead and choke me." He extended his head and lifted his chin obligingly. The skater put up two large hands and showed the fingers to Hart, then walked in to put the fingers around Hart's throat. Hart stood where he was, stood quietly until the fingers were fastened on his throat, and then he brought up his left leg and his knee caught the skater between the legs and the skater let out a tremendous screech and went backward. Hart went along with him, grabbed him and threw him at the man with silver hair. The skater screeched again, colliding with the man with silver hair, and Hart heard the gun go off. The skater and the man with silver hair were on the ground and the skater was making weird noises and the man with silver hair was trying to aim the gun.
Hart was undecided. If he ran now he would have his back turned to the gun, and he wasn't sure he would be able to run fast enough. And if he stood here he was going to get shot. The only thing he felt right now was a definite regret that he had selected Germantown.
Now the gun was aimed and the man with silver hair was getting to his feet. The skater was on the ground, squirming and moaning. Hart raised his arms and smiled foolishly.
The man with silver hair was saying, "You're too much trouble."
Hart said, "I don't know about you, but I don't like to be choked."
"Do you think I like to shoot people?"
"No," Hart said. "You're a nice guy. You're a swell guy. You wouldn't shoot anybody."
"Unless I had a reason."
"And would it have to be a good reason?"
"Sure," said the man with silver hair. "I don't like to shoot people. I don't get any special kick out of it."
"That's fine," Hart said. "That means you won't shoot me."
"That means I will shoot you."
"You think you've got a reason?"
"A good reason."
"Oh, all right," Hart said. "You want the wallet? I'll give you the wallet."
He took the wallet out of his pocket.
"Toss it," said the man with silver hair. "If it comes toward my eyes I'll shoot you in the stomach."
Hart tossed the wallet. The wallet was caught and pocketed. The man with silver hair was looking at Hart's face and saying, "We don't have too much time, Paul. See if you can stand up."
The skater was sobbing now. The skater said, "I'm ruptured. I'm all smashed down there."
"Take a look at it, Paul," said the man with silver hair.
"I'm afraid to look at it," the skater said.
"Go on, Paul. Look at it," said the man with silver hair.
Paul sobbed loudly. Paul said, "I'm afraid, Charley. I feel bad enough as it is. If I look at it I'll feel worse."
"What are we going to do?" Hart said. "Stand here?"
"I don't know," said the man with silver hair. "There's not much sense just standing here, is there?"
"I guess not," Hart said. He reasoned he could just about put two yardsticks between his chest and the revolver.
"It hurts something fierce," Paul said. "Charley, do something for me. I can't stand it."
Charley twisted his lips and bit at the inside of his mouth. He was thinking. He seemed to be looking past Hart's shoulder as he said, "Let's get him out of here."
They heard a police whistle. It was short, then it was long, then it was short twice. Then it was very long and then there were more whistles.
Charley bit hard at the inside of his mouth. "All right," he said, "let's get out of here fast. You take his legs. I'll have one hand on his wrist and one hand on the revolver. Turn your back to me and pick up his legs."
Hart obeyed. Paul groaned and was bringing it up to a yell when Charley said, "Now you cut that out, Paul."
Paul sobbed again. They were carrying him down