2012-11-Killing Time
Page 4
His size and strength gave him the advantage. We fought with knees and elbows, which gave it back to me. I bloodied his hip with a spur. He pulled a razor from his belt and damned near drew me a new smile.
“Stupid son of a bitch, I wasn’t going to kill you,” I growled.
“You think you’re the first? I’m sick of it. Once I’m done with you, I’m going to kill that whore.”
I pushed away the hand with the razor in it. Then I let it come back, only this time I turned my head and opened wide. I’m not proud to be a biter, but you got to go with your strengths.
He lost the razor along with most of the use of that hand.
“I’ll kill her slow,” he gasped. “Believe it.”
Before I could answer, he smashed my nose with a head-butt. The pain blinded me. He pushed me away. We got to our feet, blinking and reeling. Somebody kicked the lantern, sending the world spinning under the docks. I closed my eyes and listened for his breath. I charged, catching him right in the breadbasket.
We fell into the surf. His head hit something hard, but not hard enough to knock him out. He fought for his life, because that’s what we were fighting for now. I got his ear in one hand, a hank of hair in the other. I shoved his head under the water.
His fingers found my throat. For a second I faltered. His head came up. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with! You’ll never get out of Absalom ali—”
I put his head back under and counted. At thirteen I let him up again. He sputtered, “I’ll pay you!”
That got my attention. “What about Iolanda?”
“You can buy out her contract. She gambles it all away anyway. You can win it back like I did.”
He beat me. Those had been her words. I’d just assumed she meant the other thing.
Which was what she’d been betting on.
This guy was her pimp, not a bad customer. Iolanda knew he wouldn’t let things go if I just beat him. If he went back to kill her, it was her own damned fault.
Still.
“Tell me you won’t lay a hand on her,” I said. “Make me believe it.”
“I swear.”
His eyes flicked down as he said it.
“Sorry, pal.” I put his head back under. “I believed you the first time.”
∗∗∗
It was just after dawn when I hopped out of the carriage in front of the boss’s little clubhouse. Smoke rose from a blackened building. The boss stood beside a scorched semicircle in the lawn, standing straight while a couple of Pathfinder mucky-mucks chewed him out. Arnisant caught my eye like he wanted to escape, so I called him over and scratched his jaw.
When the shouting was done, the boss came over with a fire-crippled servant carrying his satchel. The boss stopped when he saw the cab. “I have been too long without the Red Carriage,” he said. “Back to the inn. We shall collect our things and take the first ship to Greengold.”
That was fine by me. I’d be glad if we never saw this damned town again.
Arnisant followed the boss into the cab, and the burned servant offered me the boss’s bag.
I said, “You want to help with the luggage?”
He hesitated, glancing back at the smoldering building. I could tell he wanted an excuse to leave but needed a little incentive. I held up the purse I’d taken from Iolanda’s pimp. “I’ll make it worth your while.”