Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [79]
No doubt at all where Savage was, then. Should Park shoot him? Hell, no. Park's only slight concern was the sword. But Savage was exhausted and had a gammy arm. If Park couldn't handle him in that condition, he deserved what was coming to him.
Park kicked the door hard. Dived into the room. Rolled over twice. Spun around to face Savage behind the door, gun pointed at his forehead.
But Savage wasn't there.
Park heard a noise behind him, turned to see Savage, all dirt-streaked and skinny and naked under the flapped-open blanket, swinging at him with the sword. Rolled out of the way just in time.
Sneaky bastard had been under the bed.
The blade stuck in the floor. Savage tried to pull it out one-handed, getting some healthier pink in his otherwise grey cheeks as he watched Park point the gun at him.
Used up all his strength in the blow. But, no, there he was putting in an extra bit of effort.
Wrenched it free.
"Well fucking done," Park said.
Savage was only a couple of feet away. Cock dangling practically in Park's face. Didn't seem to be so shy any more.
"Pull your blanket over it," Park said.
Savage raised the sword.
Park said, "Drop that or I'll shoot."
"Why should I care?"
"Think about Jordan."
"Nothing I can do."
"There is. Get to Fraser's in time. Save him. Be a hero. Should be easy for a man like you."
"You fucker." You could tell he was struggling to keep from swinging the sword at Park again.
Park said, "So much as twitch and I'll pull the trigger. So drop the fucking sword."
"Did you kill those policemen?"
"What do you think I was doing? Firing shots at the ceiling, hoping they'd run off and keep their mouths shut?"
"You won't get away with it."
"That's for me to worry about. Now lose the sword."
"They'll send someone to look for them."
"Yep. They'll take a while, though. I saw to that. Look, we can remain like this as long as you like. But every second you waste here is a second of what remains of Jordan's life."
Sweat dripped off Savage's forehead. Ran down his nose. He looked like he'd collapse any second.
Park said, "You don't have the strength to kill me, so put the sword down."
"No?" Savage yelled and swung the blade.
Park swivelled out of the way. The blade hit the gun barrel. Almost smacked it out of his hand. Savage stumbled. Fell over. Bumped his face off Park's knee. Lucky he didn't skewer himself on the sword. Park stood on the flat of the blade and placed the muzzle of the gun against Savage's ear.
"Nearly took my fingers off," Park said.
Savage didn't say anything. Just lay face down, making snuffling noises.
"You hear me? Nearly sliced my fucking fingers off." Park pressed the gun harder against Savage's ear. And watched as a trickle of red appeared beneath Savage's face. "Blood? Oh, you fucker."
Yeah, Savage was bleeding.
If ever there was a time when Park was desperate to overcome his disability it was now. The nausea built rapidly and his limbs grew heavy and he thought of his mother lying with her head in a pool of blood in the kitchen. He lowered his head, tried to breathe. His vision was clouding. Fuck, no. Couldn't pass out. Not now. He couldn't. Had to stay …
***
TOMMY ASSUMED SMITH was playing games with him.
He'd banged his nose on the fucker's knee, hard enough to get a nosebleed for his trouble. Probably on account of him being weak and half-starved. But when Smith keeled over, Tommy had thought it was an act.
So Tommy got to his feet and started kicking him. And even considering he couldn't kick him all that enthusiastically with his bare feet, the fucker wasn't flinching.
Smith was out for the count.
Tommy grabbed the sword, was inches from going ahead, sticking it right through the fucker's belly, when he recalled what Smith had said. Blood? Oh, you fucker. Like that was a problem or something. The last thing he'd said before he toppled over.
And it clicked. Why Smith hadn't watched the screen. Why he'd had to get his daughter and her boyfriend to cut up Phil and Fraser. Why he'd asked if anyone was eating