Delta Stevens 2: Storm Shelter Read Free

Underneath the huge arm of one of the arm wrestlers was a butterfly knife, so named because it looks like a butterfly when it is properly opened. They were popular knives among the biker crowd because they were easy to conceal. They were also as illegal as hell. She knew more cops who had been cut by butterflies than by any other blade.
    “Come on, Hank, don’t make a big issue of it. Just confiscate it and leave him alone,” Delta said, hoping to divert an unnecessary confrontation. “We don’t need to start what we came here to prevent.”
    Hank turned and smiled at Delta. He was a towering monster of a man and used every inch of his stature to intimidate others. Delta, however, didn’t intimidate easily. Brown sneered, “Watch a real pro, Stevens.”
    Before Delta could stop him, Downtown sauntered over to the two large men, pulled out his baton and slammed it down hard on the table. Everyone in the bar stared at Brown and the two arm wrestlers. Glancing over at Jan, Delta shrugged. He had initiated contact with the men; there was no turning back now.
    Slowly, the two arm wrestlers released each other’s hand. “You ain’t got no beef with us,” the wrestler with the ZZ Top beard growled. Delta took a step closer to the scene and wondered why Highbaugh wasn’t joining him.
    “Del?” came Jan’s small voice from behind her.
    Turning back to Jan, Delta shook her head. “We can’t just walk away, Jan. Someone needs to save him from himself.” Delta spotted Highbaugh across the room, but he only shrugged.
    “Then,” Jan replied, “End it here, so we don’t wind up carting half these people to the hospital.”
    Nodding, Delta turned from Jan and moved slowly toward the table. If she moved in too quickly, the arm wrestlers might feel outnumbered and become aggressive. She cursed Brown for putting her and everyone else in this precarious position. With the knife still on the table, and everyone waiting for someone to make a move, Delta’s muscles tensed.
    “You guys know you’re not supposed to be carrying these knives,” Brown said, as he placed his foot on the chair and leaned on his knee. “Says so right in the parole booklet.” Brown touched the knife with the tip of his baton and grinned.
    Maneuvering to the opposite side of the gathering crowd, Delta did not take her eyes from the knife. Why in the hell was he just letting it sit there? Pick the damn thing up!
    As if reading her mind, the hairier biker lunged for the knife just as Brown sent his baton crashing onto the biker’s knuckles. As the bear of a man let out a cry of pain, he swiped the knife off the table with his other hand, while pushing Brown’s baton out of the way with the damaged hand.
    One second faster, three beers earlier, and he might have reached Downtown’s throat. Instead, the biker pitched forward, surprised by the baton blow Jan had struck against his back and kidney area. Still clutching the knife, the biker went down on one knee and grabbed his lower back with his free hand. Still huffing and puffing, he rose to his feet and reeled around, only to find himself staring down the barrel of Delta’s .357 magnum.
    “Drop it!” Delta ordered, pressing her finger lightly on the trigger.
    Dropping the knife with a clatter on the hardwood floor, the biker fell back to one knee and grabbed his back again, finally experiencing the full force of Jan’s blow through his beer-soaked nervous system.
    Suddenly, the instigator of this commotion found his voice again. “I oughtta bust open your stupid skull, you fucking dumbshit!” Brown yelled, raising his baton.
    With very little movement, but enough so everyone in the bar could see it, Delta turned her revolver at Brown, who stopped his baton in mid-air.
    “Don’t,” Delta threatened, glaring at him.
    The bar was now ten degrees warmer and filled with emotional electricity.
    “Put your baton away and go back to work,” Delta ordered, keeping an eye on the downed biker.