Noble Beginnings: A Jack Noble Thriller by L.T. Ryan

Author:L.T. Ryan [Ryan, L.T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery & Thrillers
Published: 2013-12-21T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Mike stood at the back of the truck, seven or eight feet away from me. His eyes were wide, his body slightly hunched over. He clenched and unclenched his fists a dozen times. A wide smile spread over his face. The man with the gun was to his left, on the shoulder of the road. The other two men moved toward the field. I expected one to stop when even with me and the other to continue behind me. Of course, these guys were amateurs, which meant anything was possible.

I stood my ground. I wouldn’t make the first move unless forced to. Something told me that wouldn’t be an issue, though.

The gunman shifted side to side. He was jumpy and sweat beaded on his forehead even though a nice breeze blew cool air into his face. Was this his first time pointing a gun at someone? Or the first time he did so with the intention of pulling the trigger? Either way, it concerned me. I had to take him out first.

The heft of my Beretta pressing against my side felt reassuring. I preferred to not use it, though. Not for those guys. I only had twelve bullets left and the way this day was going, I was sure I’d need them before the sun came up.

“Well?” Mike said.

I said nothing, keeping my focus on him and the gunman.

“Aw, c’mon, Jarhead,” Mike said. “Ain’t you got nothing funny to say?”

“No,” I said. “You just said it for me.”

“Huh?”

His smile faded and he squinted at me. It looked like he struggled to make sense of what I said.

The gunman didn’t. A wry smile formed on his face and his eyes shifted between me and Mike.

“By the time you figure it out, you’ll be unconscious. So it might benefit you to concentrate on the task at hand.”

The gunman threw his head back and laughed.

At least one of them had a sense of humor, or maybe he had smoked enough pot that I could say anything and he would laugh. I thought about testing this theory out by throwing some nonsense at him, but it made more sense to throw a shoulder into his gut. I had two seconds, maybe three, before his senses would return and he’d take aim. Another second at the most between him aiming and pulling the trigger. Unless he really was stoned, in which case, double those times.

The width of the truck separated Mike and the gunman. Mike stood slightly behind the bumper and the gunman near the corner.

I lunged at the gunman. One hand aimed at this throat, the other at the barrel of the gun. I needed to disable and disarm him at the same time. I took two steps before he opened his eyes. My left fist crashed into the soft spot of his throat about the same time recognition flashed in his eyes. I grabbed the barrel of the gun and twisted it so that his wrist bent unnaturally backward.

The gunman gasped and gargled for air.

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