Doctor Who_ Warlock - Andrew Cartmel [70]
The other IDEA guy was halfway down the stairs but the woman was standing just outside on the porch, holding a gun on Creed in case he tried to make a break for it. That was the last thing Creed had in mind.
Because Christine was stepping slowly sideways as she watched him. Her foot was hovering over the dried leaf Creed had noticed earlier. He saw his opportunity and seized it.
‘Watch out for the dog turd.’
Everybody’s eyes went to the glistening brown shape as Christine’s boot descended on it. She winced.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Creed. ‘I’ll make it disappear.’
Everyone went quiet. They were looking at Creed. Then they looked at Christine. She slowly lifted her boot up. There was nothing under it. The dried leaf had simply crumbled to dust. There was nothing remarkable about it but there was no way the others could know that. They looked at Creed again, silent and scared. As far as they were concerned, he had just performed an act of magic.
They got into the car in silence, Christine Bowman at the wheel and her husband beside her. As they pulled away, Artie looked nervously around at the cop sitting beside him. There was a deep blue bruise forming on Creed’s forehead. He was staring straight ahead, watching the streets pass, expressionless. No one said anything and finally Artie began to relax.
They were about halfway to the King Building when Creed suddenly leaned forward. ‘So, Christine,’ he said in a quiet, conversational tone, ‘what was the lie you told about your father?’
Christine Bowman’s body jerked as though she had received an electric shock. The steering wheel twisted in her hands and the car slewed across the road in a fast, dangerous diagonal. An approaching taxi hit its brakes and horn simultaneously, skidding to a screaming halt just before it collided with them. Artie saw the face of the driver convulsing with shouted obscenities. Another car in the opposite lane swung around the stalled taxi, saw them too late and clipped their car on the right rear corner with a sound like a gunshot. Everything was moving in slow motion for Artie. He saw the the entire street pivot around them as they went into a lazy spin.
Raymond Bowman was frantically wrestling with his wife for control of the wheel. One of them managed to stomp on the brakes and rubber screeched in scorching protest. They’d just about managed to kill their speed as they bounced up onto the sidewalk and slammed into a street lamp with sickening abruptness.
Christine was sobbing at the wheel. Beside her Raymond was struggling alternately with his seat‐belt and his door. There was the clicking sound of a seat‐belt release and Artie thought he must have managed it, before he realized that the sound was Creed’s belt. Before Artie could move Creed had opened his door and was out of the car. He was on the same side as Raymond Bowman and as Raymond finally opened his own door Creed was ready for him.
While Bowman was still half in and half out of the car Creed simply let himself go limp and fell against the door with the full weight of his body. The car door took a huge crunching bite at Bowman’s arm and shoulder. He screamed with pain.
‘I don’t like people pointing guns at me,’ said Creed, getting back up on his feet. As the door swung back open on the rebound Bowman toppled out onto the sidewalk, hugging his ribcage. But by now Creed had gone around the other side and was reaching in for Christine. Artie dragged himself out of the car, reaching for his gun, but Creed merely pulled the woman out and dropped her on her backside in the gutter. ‘And I really don’t like being hit,’ he said. Christine wouldn’t look at him. She just sat, sobbing like a child among the discarded soft drink cans and filth. Creed turned away and looked at Artie.
‘I guess you’d better drive,’ he said.
* * *
Benny was standing looking out of the window when the car