Easy Death by Daniel Boyd

Author:Daniel Boyd
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Titan

Chapter 27

Four Hours and Thirty Minutes After the Robbery

December 20, 1951

1:30 PM

Officer Drapp

That gave me till maybe 2:10. I looked over at Callie sitting there in the snow, but she was just staring off into space like she was trying to think about something besides the feel of carrying around a bullet in her. Then I twisted myself up, took a quick look up at the tower and got right back down again.

No shooting. I wondered was it maybe whoever was up there had run out of bullets, and I thought about trying to rush the tower, but again, this hadn’t been such a good day that I should try my luck like that. So I looked around a little more.

A hundred yards or so of open empty behind me, the jeep in front of me, the tower beyond that, and off to my left that snow-covered car I’d been following, there at the bottom of that steep slope….

And then it come at me all at once: that wrecked car in the ditch down below was my ride out of here.

I turned to Callie sitting in the snow. “Don’t go away,” I said.

I jumped over to the Jeep door, flung it open, and grabbed the coiled rope from under the seat.

And then I was running, falling, sliding down the slope toward that car.

It took him by surprise—the guy in the tower, I mean. He wasn’t expecting it, and I was damn near down to the car before I heard the first shot, which didn’t hit me and I don’t figure it come close even, because it ain’t easy to hit a moving target when you’re firing down an angle like that in the blowing snow. Not that I was about to stop and check. I just slid fast as I could, and when I slowed down I got up and ran a few steps, then flung down on my belly and slid some more till I was all the way down and safe on the driver’s side, with the car between me and the tower.

Whoever was up there must have got kind of upset by that, because I heard a few more shots, and one of them ping’d off the car trunk, but I paid it no mind. The driver’s door of the car wasn’t bent any, just half-buried, so I kicked away the snow and pulled it open.

There was a hole in the windshield, small and round and a little bigger than a bullet. And there was a man in there, facing that hole in the windshield, and his eyes they were wide open, but he wasn’t seeing anything.

I stopped there a quick lifetime, just looking at the big black face with the purple knot on its forehead. His face was getting a thin coat of something shiny and grey—frost, maybe—and it looked awful big and empty.

Couldn’t say, really, how it made me feel, but it wasn’t good. I knew I didn’t have time to squat there and look at him, but I just didn’t feel like I could do anything else.

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