Slocum and the Undertakers by Jake Logan

Author:Jake Logan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group

12

Slocum reached deep down inside himself and grabbed a handful of courage and wits. He had the sense enough to push away from the wall, stay low and twist his body away from the pummeling fists. He shook off the effects of the pounding and regained his senses long enough to seek out the nearest target.

One of the men grunted. The other swore in a husky growl, and Slocum rammed a fist into the latter’s groin, or where he thought his groin should be and he hit soft flesh that made him think he had struck home.

The man he had struck let out a painful yelp and Slocum danced away and went after the other man who was reaching out for him. Slocum warded off a swinging arm and brought an uppercut to the man’s jaw. He felt a sharp pain in his knuckles, heard the smack of his fist striking bone and saw the shadowy hulk reel backwards, off balance.

“You sonofabitch,” the first man snarled and came out of his crouch, both arms pumping fists at Slocum. He moved his head and avoided the blows, quickly sidestepping and then bringing his socked foot up, striking the man square in the balls for the second time. This time, the man doubled over, grabbing at his genitals and moaning in pain.

The second man charged in again, fists flailing, backing Slocum against the wall. Slocum ducked and felt the tray leaning against the wall. He picked it up and swung it like a huge discus, the edge slamming into the man’s neck with a horrible thunk. Then Slocum grabbed the tray with both hands and raised his arms. He brought the heavy tray down on the man’s head with great force and the man crumpled to his knees. The sound was like a muffled gong. Slocum slung the tray at the other man and saw it carom off his head like a giant pie plate, again making a sound like a struck Chinese gong.

“Shoot him,” the man on the floor yelled at the other.

But the other man was staggering around, addled, and limping from the pain in his groin.

“I’m getting the hell out of here,” the man on the floor said, and crabbed down the hall until he regained his feet. Then he started running toward the stairs.

In the faint light spilling through his open doorway, Slocum could see the other man starting to draw his pistol. Slocum stalked toward him, a fist cocked high and hauled off with a haymaker right. His fist smashed the man in the left ear and the man screamed in pain. Slocum grabbed his right wrist and twisted it until he felt a bone snap. The man’s pistol stayed in its holster as he screamed in agony.

As the man staggered away, Slocum kicked him in the butt and sent him careening down the corridor like someone running downhill, out of control.

“I ought to kill you,” Slocum said, but the man ran to the stairs and disappeared. Slocum heard clumping for several moments as both men took the stairs, four steps at a time.

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