Unassigned Territory by Nunn Kem

Author:Nunn Kem [Kem Nunn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dover Publications
Published: 2017-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

Obadiah had intended to walk back to the motel, but when he left the bookstore he turned instead toward the Corner Pocket. He believed it had something to do with the covers of the detective magazines.

The sun was straight up and the shadows had fled the street. His shirt stuck to his back and the layers of heated air did funny things with the horizons. Ahead of him, where the road curved, he could see the theater and a piece of the lot but he had to make the curve before seeing the bar itself and when he did he was aware of an acute sinking sensation in his chest. Delandra and the three men, all considerably more intoxicated than when Obadiah had left them, had moved outside, where they now stood shouting obscenities at one another beneath a colorless sun. Mainly it was Delandra and the guy in the white jacket who were doing most of the yelling. At one point, as Obadiah moved up the grade toward the lot, he saw the man lurch forward and grab at Delandra’s arm. Delandra responded by kicking the man in the knee. When he took a step backward she followed with a roundhouse right to the solar plexus. Obadiah paused briefly in his ascent, halted by some combination of disbelief and horror. The other spectators seemed to find the action quite amusing. By the time Obadiah had gained level ground, the others were clinging for support to the side of the white pickup and laughing hysterically. Meanwhile, the man in the jacket, obviously now in some pain, was standing red-faced about five feet in front of Delandra, wagging a finger in her face.

At Obadiah’s approach, Delandra turned to look at him and the man took the opportunity of moving forward to grab at her hair. He succeeded in getting a fistful of it. Delandra shrieked and lowered her head. Her boots fought for traction in the gravel lot, looking, it appeared, for something like ramming speed. Which in fact she managed—at least enough to get her head into the pit of the man’s stomach and knock him over, ass first, into the lot. The man still had hold of her hair and Delandra followed, sprawling on top of him, her legs still kicking. “Hang on to her, Bob,” one of the men yelled. “Don’t let go.”

Obadiah approached the pile of humanity. He had in mind pulling Delandra to her feet. “You keep your ass out of it,” one of the men yelled. “It’s one on one.” The other man laughed.

Delandra had her head turned now, one side of her face mashed against the guy’s chest. She was trying to see Obadiah. “The gun,” she said. “The gun.”

“Whoa,” one of the men said.

“Whoa yourself, shithead,” Delandra yelled from the ground.

For a moment Obadiah stood looking at the men. The men looked back at him. It was a moment in which time stood still. And then they were moving toward him, to the left and right of where Delandra lay struggling with the man, and Obadiah began to run.

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