Wild Ones Read Free Page A

until I heard his breathing become deep and regular. I
stood up then and dressed in my sweaty running clothes and went
into the kitchen for a glass of water. I rummaged through a few
drawers until I found a wickedly sharp filleting knife, which I
tucked into my right hand, lying the blade along my forearm. I
climbed back into the bed. I could tell from his breathing that my
exploration of his kitchen had woken him.
    "I can smell
the knife," he said in the dark.
    "Just
keeping you honest, buddy," I told him, wondering how the hell
anyone could smell a knife .
He'd probably deduced its presence, and was trying to be a
smartass, I thought darkly.
    Eventually his
breathing slowed again. I waited about ten minutes until I heard a
couple of gentle snores, and then I sat up and looked at his
outline under the covers and plunged the knife deep into where I
judged his belly to be.
    He shouted with
pain as I scuttled backwards off the bed and out of the bedroom. I
grabbed a coat I found hanging on a rack and picked up a set of
keys lying on a handy shelf, and I was out of that door and running
for the pickup parked in front of the house. I dove into the
drivers seat and shoved a key in the ignition and twisted it, and
the vehicle coughed once before the engine started. I flicked the
lights on and put it in reverse, and as I pulled away, I saw the
dark haired man leaning against the doorway, clutching his abdomen
and watching me steal his car. I opened the window and gave him a
cheery wave, and roared off into the night.
     
IV
     
    It was
pretty rough going over much of the track back up to Brown's Creek
Road, almost as if a grader had never seen this place. Fucking
hillbillies, I thought, even though I knew the man I had just
stabbed was no such thing. Too big, too pretty, too well spoken and
too well dressed. It was a late model Ford I drove with
concentration through the ruts of the dirt track and it was tidy
inside, and smelled clean. I reached the track where the bikers had
been ambushed and was surprised to see no evidence of their
existence anywhere. The bikes and the, uh, remains had disappeared.
Oh, well, I hadn't been planning on reporting any of this to the
authorities, especially as I had just added assault with a deadly
weapon and grand theft auto to my repertoire. I saw the gate with
the no trespassers sign up ahead and gunned the engine, adding
further charges of malicious damage of property and reckless
driving. I laughed out loud as the gate slammed open, and the
pickup lunged through and swung around onto the dirt road. My whole
being felt vibrant, enraged and triumphant and alive . I drove down into town, slowing as I
approached the perimeter.
    I parked the
pickup a couple of blocks from my flat and used the sleeve of the
jacket I wore to wipe down all the surfaces I had touched. Then I
climbed out, locked the car, and walked barefoot back to my flat. I
glanced around at the sparse furnishings, and decided there and
then that I would be leaving for a few weeks, maybe even months. I
wasn't sure if the man I'd stabbed would live, and if he didn't I
could be in a heap of trouble. I had left that knife with all my
fingerprints buried to the hilt in his belly. Talk about your
smoking gun. I also didn't feel like explaining the extenuating
circumstances to the local police who would probably get some cheap
vicarious thrills and assume that I had been asking for it.
    On the other
hand, if he survived, he was very likely going to be pissed off
with me, and he was a big scary guy, so making myself scarce seemed
to be my only viable option right now. I showered hastily,
scrubbing my skin, and dressed in jeans, t-shirt, trainers and an
olive green duffel coat. I packed an overnight bag with spare
undies, hair brush, toothbrush and toothpaste, a few more t-
shirts, and a spare pair of jeans. My eyes fell on the discarded
coat I had stolen during my escape, and I went through the pockets
and found a worn leather wallet with a