Blaze! Hatchet Men by Michael Newton

Author:Michael Newton [Newton, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rough Edges Press
Published: 2015-09-07T04:00:00+00:00

* * *

J.D. was almost there, thinking of anything he could that might distract him and prolong the moment. Kate was riding him into the home stretch, but he didn't want to beat her to the finish line, hoping she would enjoy one more explosion yet, before he rolled her over and took charge.

The ache in J.D.'s loins was swiftly mounting toward the detonation point. To head it off, he though of Chinamen and shops with horrid objects hanging in their windows, pushy coppers with bad attitudes, a gang of bigots who blamed yellow men for every problem in their daily lives—and none of it was helping him at all. The sight of Kate above him, lush breasts swaying, head thrown back in ecstasy, hair spilling down across her naked shoulders, only made J.D.'s release seem that much more imperative.

In self-defense, he closed his eyes, thinking, Not yet. Hold on. Just—

When the window shattered, J.D.'s eyes snapped open, startled by the sound and something wet that hit his forehead. Kate was spilling over to her left, his right, and tumbling off the bed, a slash of crimson on her forehead, at the hairline.

"Kate!"

J.D. dived after her, snagging his pistol from the nearby bedpost as he rolled and dropped to cover her. Despite the shock, his ardor hadn't altogether wilted yet, and Kate peered up at him, blood trickling down her face, and said, "Not now, J.D.!"

Before he had a chance to answer back, more bullets finished taking out the window, punching holes around the suite, through walls and furniture, blasting its full-length mirror into razor-edged shrapnel. J.D. hunched over Kate, his passion now forgotten, as he did his best to shield her from the storm.

He lost count of the shots at eight or nine, but knew the sound of a repeating rifle when he heard one, almost certainly a .44. When the firing stopped at last, he didn't move, afraid raising his head above the mattress would invite another fusillade.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Kate daubed her scalp wound with a fingertip, grimaced, and told him, "Flying glass."

"All right. That fire came from across the street, somebody with a vantage point, so take it easy now."

"First thing, we need some clothes," she said, "before the manager shows up."

"First thing, we need to stay alive," J.D. amended.

"Right. But dressed."

Their clothes were scattered on the floor beside the bed. Kate started shaking broken glass from hers and dressing while she stayed down on the floor. J.D., still nude, scrambled around the bed and risked a quick glance through the empty window frame.

The last shot made him flinch, duck back again, but it was different. A slightly smaller caliber, for one thing, and its sound was muffled somehow, as if fired into a pillow.

What the hell?

He raised his head again, saw nothing, drew no fire. Standing, he scanned the rooftops and the open windows opposite, then swept the length of Market Street with narrowed eyes. Pedestrians down there had scattered when the shooting started, but they were returning to the sidewalks now, all peering upward.

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