TRUSTED LIKE THE FOX

professional gunman- 2

"Sol ...?"

The man in the white tie's voice was an alert whisper.

I took two silent steps sideways that brought me to the back door. I was no gunman. The heavy gun felt awkward in my hand, but it gave me a lot of comfort.

The light went out in the lunch room. I heard a board creak.

"You there, Sol?"

I put my hand on the door handle and gently eased the door open. I would stand a better chance, I told myself, in the open.

I heard Sol stir and then groan. He must have had a head like concrete. I had reckoned he would have remained out of action long enough for me to take care of Eddy, but it looked as if I would have to work fast or I would have the two of them after me.

The back door was open now. Only a couple of days before, I had oiled the hinges, and it opened silently.

I felt the hot air strike my face as I edged backward, holding the gun stiffly, pointing at the kitchen door.

The bang and flash of a gun and the deadly zip of a slug that almost brushed my hair sent my heart racing and brought sweat pouring down my face.

I jumped down the three steps and crouched in the darkness. That kind of shooting was a little too good.

I waited, listening, but hearing only the thud-thud-thud of my heart beats. I looked quickly up the white road, picked out by the moonlight, but there were no headlights coming. I was alone. If I was going to get out of this jam, I would have to rely on myself.

Around the lunch room and the repair shed, there was heavy darkness. The house was also in darkness, but to get there, I would have to cross the patch of moonlight.

Moving step by step, keeping just by the wall of the lunch room, I edged backward.

A soft voice called out of the darkness: "Hey, bright boy, drop the rod and come back here with your hands in the air. Come on! Drop the rod!"

That insinuating, confident voice nearly persuaded me to fire in its direction,
but I just stopped in time. I realised the flash of my gun would pinpoint me.

That was what he wanted. I would miss him, but I was pretty sure he wouldn't miss me.

Crouching in the darkness, I remained motionless, straining my eyes in the direction of the voice, but I couldn't see him.

"Come on, bright boy," the voice went on. "Drop the rod. You won't get hurt if you come with your hands in the air. I just want your money. Come on."

Was the voice closer? It seemed to me it was. I was pretty scared. I knew if he caught sight of me, if he spotted where I was, he would kill me.

Very slowly, I eased myself to the ground. As I did so, my hand touched a stone. My fingers closed over it. I picked it up and tossed it into the darkness,

away from me. It rattled against the wall of the lunch room on the other side of the steps.

The bang of the gun sounded violently loud, and the flash was blinding. A slug zipped over my head. If I hadn't been flat on the ground, he would have nailed me. He hadn't shot away from me: he had shot at me, and that showed if nothing else could, just how professional he was.

The flash came from the top of the steps, but from the sudden flurry of sound, I knew he had jumped off the steps and was crouching behind them, facing me.

I began to edge backward, expecting any moment to hear I bang from his gun and feel a slug rip into me.

Then I saw him.