Dead Men's Dust Read Free

turned down. Still, the thud-thud rhythm sounded like the heartbeat of a predator coiling for the death lunge. Thick tires whistled on tarmac. The engine growled. Even without looking, I’d have known they were coming.
    It was like patrolling in-country all over again. Only then I was an inexperienced rookie, immortal in my battle fatigues and holding a submachine gun. Unprepared for what happened, I hadn’t even realized I’d been shot until I surfaced through a morphine haze the following day and blinked up at my nurse.
    You don’t hear the bullet that kills you. Which meant the two bullets Shank fired at me missed their mark. Good job I’d leaped forward at the right time. The sidewalk was a little unforgiving, but a scraped elbow and knee were the least of my worries.
    The BMW was a sleek black shark, as dangerous as the .38 Shank aimed at me. It made sense that the driver swung the BMW onto the sidewalk. A half-ton of metal on my head would finish me as quickly as a slug in the heart.
    “Get that son of a bitch!”
    Even as I rolled away from the car, I had to smile at Shank’s determination.
    The BMW bumped down off the curb, knocking value off the alloys. I rose up behind them. From beneath my shirttails, I drew my own gun, a SIG-Sauer P226. Unlike these cretins, I had a full load. In addition, I knew how to shoot. One round into a rear tire, two into the trunk, and one through the back windshield for good measure. More than the deflated tire, panic spun the car across the road and drove it into my parked car.
    In this part of town, gunfire would ensure that witnesses kept their heads down. On the other hand, a good old-fashioned car wreck would bring the ghouls running.
    “Out of the car,” I shouted. “Now!”
    The driver was slumped over the steering wheel, blood frothing from both nostrils. Sound asleep for the second time that evening. Shank wasn’t in much better shape. Half out the window when the car collided with my Ford, he was now on the road, crying like a baby andcradling a busted elbow. His gun had slid harmlessly beneath my car. Only the third guy, the big baldy, posed any threat.
    “I said, Out of the damn car .”
    Staring down the barrel of a SIG is enough to motivate most men. He was surprisingly sprightly when offered the correct form of stimulation. His hands went up. “Okay! Easy, man, easy.”
    His gloves were gone. Heavy gold rings made a rich man’s brass knuckles on his right hand. Fancied himself a pugilist.
    “Pick Shank up,” I told him.
    Conditioned to taking commands, he didn’t object. He quickly stooped down and lifted Shank to his feet.
    “Up the alley.”
    Opposite us was a narrow alleyway between a vacant lot and a video rental store that was closed for the night. Maybe the store had closed for many nights, judging by the faded posters.
    I knew what was going through the big guy’s mind. He thought the ignominious alley was where he was going to end his days. Give him his due; I think he was braver than he was stupid.
    “You aren’t taking us up there to shoot us.”
    “I’m not?”
    “If you’re going to do it, do it now. Out here in the open.”
    “Okay,” I said.
    Not so keen, Shank whimpered.
    Baldy gave his boss a look that suggested there were going to be changes in their arrangement—if they managed to get out of this alive. Shank was left swaying as the big man stepped away from him.
    “Go on,” he challenged. “I don’t think you’ve got what it takes.”
    I gave him my saddest smile.
    The big man took that as a sign of weakness. He snatched at a gun tucked into his waistband.
    I caressed the trigger and his right kneecap disintegrated.
    He collapsed to the floor, and despite his bravado he screamed.
    “What about you, Shank? Do you think I haven’t got it in me to do you?” I aimed the SIG at a point directly between his eyes. “After you tried to shoot me?”
    Think of an air-raid siren and you’ll imagine the sound that Shank