Gin Palace 01 - The Poisoned Rose

face. I slipped it by fractions of an inch. I could hear the blade moving through the air as it passed my eyes. Before he could take a backhand slice at me, I lunged toward him and hugged him around the waist, trapping his knife hand between us. I lunged forward, knocking him back. He landed hard and grunted. I landed on top of him and scrambled to grab hold of his knife hand. I wrenched his wrist till he cried out and dropped the knife. Then I grabbed a handful of his hair and struck his nose three times with my open palm. My heart was bursting in my chest. After the palm strikes I grabbed the flashlight and stood up fast. It was a Maglite, three feet long and heavy as pipe, as much club as flashlight. I swung it into his ribs like I was chopping wood, reloaded my swing, and swung it down across his right knee.
    Then I turned to where the second man, the one with the gun, had fallen. It felt as if too much blood was pumping through my veins. I felt lightheaded with fear and fury and rushed to the second man as he tried to stand. The gun was in his hand still. I wasted no time and swung downward like an executioner with the Maglite and smashed his hand with it. He cried out as the gun flew from his grip. I kicked it away and swung with the exact same trajectory a second time and clipped the man’s collarbone. But he was still trying to stand, grabbing at me for support, so I laid the Maglite across the side of his head. He was dazed but still grabbing at me, so I laid it again, this time across his face. He dropped then, and I stood over him and rained down blows on his legs. I couldn’t stop. My heart was pounding beats ahead of me, and my mind raced. The more anger I felt, the less fear I felt, and somehow each strike I landed on this man made me more angry. I hit him a half dozen times after he had stopped fighting back, but it wasn’t till I sensed someone behind me that I stopped and turned.
    I was face to face with Augie, bloodied and covered with mud. I froze. He could barely stand and looked at me as if he had never seen me before. I lowered my hand, and he reached out and eased the Maglite from it, then dropped it to the ground.
    He just looked at me. The blood that washed from his face by the rain was replaced almost immediately by even more blood. I looked at him, conscious of my rapid breathing, and listened to the hiss of the rain around us.
    It took me a while to come back. He gave me the time I needed. It was a few moments before my heart became anything less than a riot of fear and hate.
    Finally I was able to speak. “You need to see a doctor,” I said.
    He nodded toward the right side of my head. “You, too.”
    I didn’t know what he meant at first. Finally, I touched that part of my head and brought away blood.
    “You must have knocked your head when we hit the tree.”
    I looked at the blood on my fingertips. It looked as black as oil in the dark. It shimmered. Without realizing it, I muttered, “So much for the easy night, huh?”
    Augie took a quick look around us, at his wrecked truck and the two men sprawled out on the ground.
    “We’d better find a phone and call the cops.”
    “They’re not all that fond of me. I’ve had run-ins with them before.”
    “It’ll be all right, son,” he said. “You’re with me.”

Chapter Two

    An ambulance arrived not long after the police. I watched the red and blue lights play hide-and-seek in the tree tops. Eventually a few of the town cops recognized me, but Augie stuck to his word and told them I was with him. He showed them something in his wallet and mentioned that we were working for Frank Gannon. They didn’t give me trouble then. Augie and I rode away from the scene in an ambulance. I felt light-headed and my limbs were weak. I said nothing about my ribs or shoulder. Augie sat across from me and just stared at me the whole way. The paramedics tended to our cuts and took our stats. Then we were asked our names.
    “Hartsell, Augie.”
    One of the paramedics nodded and wrote Augie’s name on a form attached to a clipboard. Then she looked at me.
    “Declan MacManus,” I said.
    She wrote that down. As she did, Augie said, “You’re last name is MacManus?”
    He seemed surprised by this. He seemed, too, a little concerned.
    “Yeah,” I said. “Mac is short for MacManus. Why?”
    He shook his head but didn’t say anything.
    It was only a five-minute ride to Southampton from North Sea. We spent it in silence. Once we reached