Blunt Darts

Blakey tracing my steps fast eroded my appetite.
    There was nothing I could see in the room that would help me get free. No sharp edges, no drawers I could reach. All the broken glass from the windows had been swept up by Stephen’s cover-up. Which left the broken windows themselves.
    I rolled onto my back and tried to stretch my legs. They were pretty numb, but even if they hadn’t been, the rope connecting my hands and feet prevented me from stretching my legs high enough to reach the lowest of the broken windows.
    I rolled back to a sitting position and tried to stand. No good. Feet and legs too numb. I squirmed and flexed until I could feel the pins and needles signaling the return of blood to my legs. Then I got a cramp ij my left calf that left me munching on wool gag again. Finally, I edged my way up into a stooped position. I leaned back into the open window, but my hands behind me were still a good six inches from the silljl didn’t like the possible consequences of trying to assume a sitting position on the window shelf itself.
    Then I heard the first footstep on the ladder.
    I had never heard Stephen climbing the steps. But I was pretty sure he didn’t weigh enough to make the room above shake the way it was.
    A cross-piece gave way, and a muffled curse filtered up through the closed hatch. A minute later the hatch flew back and slammed as it hit the floor behind. The barrel of a .357 Magnum appeared, followed by the beefy hand holding it and the beefier face directing it. Blakey looked surprised when he saw me. Then he smiled. He came up one more step, sweeping the Magnum around the room. Then he pulled himself up, leaving the hatch open. He was dressed in now-dusty dark slacks and a light green shirt.
    “Christ,” he said, “am I glad to see you, asshole. Where’s the kid?”
    I did not dignify him with a reply.
    “Aw, what’s the matter? Kitty-cat got your tongue?” He holstered his gun and reached into his pocket as he came toward me. “Maybe this’ll loosen things up a little.”
    He produced and opened a pocket knife. He cut the piece of rope around my head that was keeping the gag in place. Then he fished in my mouth with the blade and drew out the gag. A very damp gray sock. I could feel the wool hairs in my mouth but decided it would be impolite to spit. I swiveled my head and worked my jaws.
    “Now,” he said, “where’s the kid?”
    “He went out for Eggs McMuffin.”
    Blakey backhanded me on the left side of my face. I rolled awkwardly down the sill and banged my elbow hitting the floor. Blakey then kicked me hard in the back of my left thigh.
    “I figure it’s about sixty feet to the ground, wise-ass. A fall like that’d cover a lot of bruises.”
    My leg wouldn’t work. “I don’t know where he is, Blakey.”
    “I thought maybe he was gonna burn you at the stake, like a babysitter on TV.”
    I decided to try a smile. “He may yet.”
    Blakey smiled and crossed his arms, coplike. “You know, he’s a fuckin’ crazy kid. You know that.“
    “Then why do you want him back?” I asked, then clenched, fearing I’d unintentionally hit close to a nerve.
    “What would I want him for?” he said warily. “It’s the judge who wants him back. Back in the nuthouse where he belongs.”
    I unclenched and pursued the matter a little. “Then why all the cloak-and-dagger stuff? Why didn’t the judge just let me help you find him?”
    The smile passed. “None of your fuckin’ business.”
    “Wouldn’t have anything to do with a midnight swim four years back, would it?”
    The lips curled back into a smile I didn’t like. “The judge told you to stay out of this. The judge and me both. I warned you.” His smile grew wider. “Remember?” he said huskily.
    “I meant to tell you, you’ve got a sweet phone voice, pal.”
    Blakey stopped smiling. “This time the kid takes the blame. This time some local cop and I find you at the bottom of the ladder, with six slugs from the kid’s twenty-two in you. Then I bring the kid to the nuthouse and call the judge. The judge takes it from there.”
    “Why not just kill the kid?” I asked, to gain some time.
    Blakey laughed. “Boy, you are a cold-hearted bastard. I’ll tell you why. It makes it tougher to explain why you’re dead. And once I figured, sittin’ by that broken-ass shed all night, that you’d spotted me, you had to get dead.”
    I thought I should argue that point. “What about the clerk in the hardware