Bitter Legacy: A Matt Royal Mystery (Matt Royal Mysteries) by Griffin H. Terrell

Author:Griffin, H. Terrell [Griffin, H. Terrell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Midpoint Trade Books
Published: 2010-12-20T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

I looked at the man holding the gun. He was the one who had been on the barstool next to B.J. in the Swamp Rat. I was sitting in the corner of the backseat, scrunched against the right side door, hoping for an opening. I didn’t think I’d get one. The man rested against the opposite door, behind the driver, a large pistol leveled at me. He was left handed, or at least that was the hand that held the gun. I glanced out of the windshield. We were coming up to the next corner, still accelerating. I saw a man standing in the middle of the street, a pistol pointed at the car. A flash from the muzzle, and a hole appeared in the windshield. The driver slumped over against the center console. The car veered sharply to the right, sideswiped a telephone pole and came to rest against a cinder block building that according to the faded sign painted on its side had once housed a drycleaning establishment.

We had not gained much speed before the driver lost control, but it was enough that the sudden stop pushed the gunman into the back of the front seat. At the same moment, I dove for him, grabbed his left wrist with my right hand, and slammed the heel of my left hand into his nose. I felt the cartilage go as a scream tore from his throat. I hit him again and at the same time banged his left wrist into the back of the seat. I could feel his grip loosening, the pain taking over his reflexes. I twisted the pistol from his fingers and slashed it across his face, drawing more blood. I pulled it back, intending to bring it down again into his face. The door opened and the man fell backward onto the pavement.

“Whoa, buddy,” said Logan, leaning into the car. “You okay?”

I took a deep breath, the bloodlust draining out of my system. Sometimes, not often, and only when greatly provoked, I lose a bit of control. A red film fills my eyes and I become a man possessed by demons. I want to kill the object of my intense anger. So it was on that night. I think it was a reaction to the anticipation of my own death, and the relief that I was not going to die that day. Maybe it was the effrontery of a stranger who would put a hole in my precious hide or maybe it was just that I was stupid enough to let somebody get an advantage on me, somebody who was intent on causing my death. I am not proud of that part of me, but I live with it and usually control it.

“I’m okay. How about Jock?”

Jock leaned into the car. “Right here, podner.”

“That was some kind of high noon crap,” I said.

“I thought it had the right touch.”

“I owe you, buddy. I don’t think this asshole had my best interests at heart. How

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