“It isn’t too late … yet. You can always go with me to the company.”
“You stupid fool, I’m not going to turn myself in.”
“You should, because it’s only a matter of days now, or hours.”
The gun barrel jarred against my ribs and peeled hide. “Shut up!” His voice lifted. “Shut up or I’ll kill you now!”
Bitterly, I stared at the thickening fog. All my talking had been useless. I was through. I might fight now, but with that gun in my ribs I’d small chance.
Suddenly I saw a filling station. Two cars were parked there and people were laughing and talking. I was not going to die! I was … I casually put the car in neutral, aimed for an empty phone booth beside the road, and jerking up on the door handle, lunged from the car. The gun went off, its bullet burning my ribs, the muzzle blast tearing at my clothes. I went over and over on the pavement, the surface of the road tearing my shoulder, my knees, my hands. There was a crash of metal, the sound of breaking glass, and then silence. I rolled over, turning toward the wreck. The people at the gas station stared, frozen.
Then the car door popped open and after a moment a figure moved, trying to get out of the car, trying to escape. The hand clutching the gun banged on the roof as Marmer tried to lever himself up. The dark form took one step and cried out, his left leg collapsed under him, and he fell to the ground. He rolled on his side, the gun moved in the darkness. There was a shot.
My hands were shaking and my lips trembled. I picked myself up off the road and staggered toward the car.
Richard Marmer’s head was back and there was blood on the gravel. He must have put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger a moment after he discovered that his leg was broken … a moment after he had finally realized he was trapped.
Slowly, my legs shaking, I turned and started down the road toward the filling station.
I was alive … alive …
The fog drifted like a cool, caressing hand across my cheek. Somebody dropped a tire iron and people were moving toward me.
Off the Mangrove Coast (Ss) (2000) Page 20
