To the Devil, My Regards: A Novella by Victor Gischler & Anthony Neil Smith

Author:Victor Gischler & Anthony Neil Smith [Gischler, Victor & Smith, Anthony Neil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Mystery, Hard-Boiled, Thrillers & Suspense, Two Hours or More (65-100 Pages), Literature & Fiction, Thrillers
Amazon: B004LZ55HI
Published: 2011-02-02T08:00:00+00:00

EIGHT

I ran for it.

Nose Ring’s grip on me had eased up when Pfieffer had started in on Nania, and I decided I could twist out of his grip and away from his knife if I didn’t hesitate. It took a second for them to realize what I was doing. It was like they couldn’t believe it, the hero making a break for it while the woman got the crap kicked out of her. Nose Ring watched me run, the knife dangling from his hand like a wilted tulip.

Pfieffer froze in mid kick. He looked at Nose Ring and shouted, “Get after him!”

Nose Ring sprung into action, chased me off of the lot, his knife gleaming ahead of him like Ahab’s harpoon.

A brief pang of guilt kicked around in my gut, tried to climb up my throat. I swallowed it back. I couldn’t stomach watching Nania take that kind of abuse, but I didn’t see how I could help her without taking some lumps myself, and I’d had enough of that for a lifetime.

I rounded a corner into direct sunlight. The summer days were long, and it was bright into early evening. I was behind the hotel where they kept the marina. Boaters were busily preparing for fun on the waves, casting off lines, loading ice chests and deck chairs. I clomped loudly down the dock, casting a glance over my shoulder. Nose Ring was catching up, and he looked pissed.

I poured on the speed, realizing in some vague way that I was going to run out of dock soon, so I prepared to give the Gulf of Mexico a big wet hello. I noticed a big motor yacht was just swinging out of its berth, chugging backwards and trying to get a clear shot at the channel. The way it was turning, the bow would swing within about two feet of the dock.

I veered toward the boat, timed my jump and launched myself.

I hit the deck hard, tumbled forward and slammed to a halt, a crumpled ball of detective up against a bulkhead. I elbowed my way up to a sitting position, looked back at the dock.

Nose Ring glared at me across the water. I gave him a little wave as the motor yacht started forward into the channel.

“Sheldon, it’s some man. Some guy just jumped on the boat.”

I twisted my head to look at the girl. With one hand she held a wide straw hat to her head. The other held an umbrella drink in a curvy glass. She wore big movie-star sunglasses, tall, a reddish-new tan. White bikini bottoms. No top. Just boobies.

“Uh . . . hi.”

“Hi,” she said.

Then there was this shirtless fat guy at her side. He didn’t have a top either, but his boobies were harrier. He was hot pink with sun burn, wore a new moustache like a smear of brown crayon. His ball cap said Kiss the Captain.

They didn’t look like a match to me. He must’ve been paying her.

“Who the hell are you, pal?” Thick New York accent.

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