The Pull Out Method by Lucky Stevens

Author:Lucky Stevens
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mill City Press

TWENTY-SEVEN

IT WOULD TAKE A while for my heart to stop banging away. I imagine it was the same for the other two guys. Bobby had stopped screaming from the pain of having the cage door rammed into his hand, and no one said anything at all, at least for a second.

"Looks like we're back to the natural order of things, Bobby." It was Wes. He was holding a gun.

Bobby was crouching down, and his fingers were still clamped between the vault's cage door and its jamb. He didn't just look at Wes's gun, he seemed to study it. Or it could have just been the pained look on his face. Then he glanced back at the floor, trying to make sense of it all. I think he was looking to see if his own gun was still there. It was. Underneath Wes's shoe.

And then the strangest thing happened. We all started moving at the same time. We didn't need any direction. We all seemed to know our roles, at least for the moment.

I eased up on my forward pull, which released Bobby's throbbing hand. Wes kept his gun aimed at Bobby while carefully bending down and freeing the gun from under his foot. He then shoved his own gun into the back of his pants, where it had been stashed only moments before.

I began to move slowly backward, toward my former position, swinging the cage door with me, until I was as far into the vault as I could go. Only this time, I remained standing.

"Fuck!" Bobby suddenly blurted out. It took me off guard, but I was actually surprised it took him this long to say something. He stamped his foot on the floor hard and he shook his clipped hand, trying to get relief. I'm sure in reality though, his own ego was damaged a lot worse than his hand was. He sighed hard and looked down at the floor. He was breathing hard, and his eyes were glistening, moist. I would have felt sorry for the guy if only it wasn't for one small detail: He was a fuckin' piece of shit.

"Temper, temper," said Wes.

Bobby shook his head. His mouth looked tight, and when he talked, it almost seemed to come out of his nose. "Double-crossing son of a bitch."

Wes had swerved around the swinging door, the gun still aimed at Bobby.

Wes smiled. "Well, let's just say you're not my type either."

Wes's voice and his choice of words always made me laugh and always cheered me up. But not this time. I was focused on something Bobby had said. Double-crossing. It wasn't the first time Bobby had used that term. What did he mean by it? A traitor to the white race, maybe? It could be. This was Bobby we're talking about.

Bobby glared at Wes and shook his head. He was muttering under his breath, and it occurred to me all of a sudden that Bobby seemed more pissed at Wes than at me.

Wes shrugged. "Well, I guess there won't be that second date I was hoping for.

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