Endurance - Jack Kilborn [50]
Without provocation, the Sheriff kicked Felix in the side, so hard he actually saw red.
“Now don’t you move none, or I’ll make it worse for you,” he told Felix. Then he lumbered off.
My gun. It’s in the sink.
Felix pressed his head into the sopping carpet, then pulled his knees up under him. He got to his feet, unsteady, feeling like puking again, and staggered into the bathroom. The Beretta was still there. He backed up against the sink, reaching his cuffed hands behind him, seeking the gun.
The sink was deep, the bowl curved, and every time he touched it, the weapon slid away from him. His fingers, wrapped in bandages, had no feeling in them, and he couldn’t see what he was doing over his shoulder.
He felt fresh sweat break out on his forehead, stinging his scalp wound.
Slow and easy, Felix. You can do it.
Nudge.
Miss.
Nudge.
Miss.
He eyed the door, expecting the Sheriff to come in any second.
Wait… I’ve got handcuff keys in my front pocket…
He’d put them there after cuffing John on the highway. Felix tried to bring his hands around, but he couldn’t even get a finger in his pocket, let along reach for the keys.
No time. Go for the gun.
He backed up to the sink again, stretching his arms.
Concentrate. Reach your hands in deeper.
Felix blinked back tears, held his breath, and locked his right hand around the butt of the gun.
Now what?
He tried to bring the gun around, and shoot forward from the hip, but there wasn’t enough play in the cuffs. The best he could aim was sideways. Felix wasn’t a very good shot in ideal conditions. He doubted, with the stance, he could even hit the wall while standing up against it.
“Now, what do we have here?”
Startled, Felix spun around, pressing the trigger.
The shot missed the Sheriff by a good five feet.
However, it didn’t miss John. The hunter’s head jerked back, and the back of his skull popped off. Brains spilled out like a dropped bowl of oatmeal.
The Sheriff was on Felix in three steps, punching him in the jaw, stepping on his neck when he fell and yanking the gun from his hand.
“Looks like you just went from assault to homicide, boy.”
“Sheriff, you have to listen. John has my fiancé. He and his brothers have her someplace.”
The Sheriff didn’t seem to be paying attention. He got on one knee next to John, and closed the man’s staring eyes.
“Styptic won’t fix this one, hoss.” He blew out a breath. “Look at all that blood.”
“Sheriff… listen to me!”
The Sheriff’s eyes centered on Felix. Felix saw no mercy there.
“No, you listen to me. You’re going to get into my car and not speak one more peep, or I’m going to shoot out both your knees. You got that, boy?”
Felix nodded.
The Sheriff manhandled Felix to his feet, and roughly pulled him out the front door. The squad car was there, and there were several motel guests with their doors open.
“Everyone back inside,” the Sheriff ordered. “The situation has been taken care of.”
The Sheriff opened the rear door of his car and shoved Felix into the back seat, next to Cam. Cam’s nose was bleeding freely, and his face was the epitome of sullen. He had his hands behind his back; apparently handcuffed like Felix.
“Asshole snuck up on me. Probably gonna take me back to the nuthouse. You find out where they’re keeping Maria?”
Felix gave his head one quick, brief shake. “John’s dead.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard to find out where he lives.”
“What does it matter, Cam? We’re fucked.”
The car bounced on its shocks as the Sheriff climbed in. He adjusted his rear-view mirror, looked Felix square in the eyes, and started the car.
When he pulled out onto the road, Felix was confused. He whispered to Cam, “This isn’t the way to the police station.”
“What are you two hens cluckin’ about?” the Sheriff demanded.
Felix slunk back in his seat. “Town. It’s the other direction.”
“I ain’t takin’ you to town.” The Sheriff grinned, showing his crooked brown teeth, and Felix felt his mouth go dry. “I got other plans for you boys.”
The machine whirs and clicks, spins and pumps. The IV drains blood out of Maria’s right arm, passing