God Save the Child

I leaned forward a little and spit in his face. He flushed red and the pearl-handled General Patton .45 came out. “All right, smart guy. If you don’t want coin, maybe there’s another way.” He wiped my saliva away with the back of his hand. His sun-bleached blond eyebrows looked white against his red face. “You come in here, tried to spring Croft, pulled a gun, I shot you in self-defense, and Croft sees it’s no use hoping anymore and hangs himself.”

I laughed. “Oh, good, even though the state cop who put him here told you to hold Croft for me. Even though I’m here five minutes after a Boston dick named Quirk tells me about your request for info on Croft six years ago. What a mammoth intellect you are, Trask. How the hell did you figure out this hustle by yourself anyway?”

Trask said, “Yeah, you think you’re so goddamned smart; you’ll be dead and I’ll be gone and we’ll see who’s so goddamned smart then.”

I threw the cup of coffee in his face and kicked the gun out of his hand. It went over the counter and skidded along the floor. Trask started to get up, and I was on my feet in front of him. “Go for it,” I said. “Get up and try and get by me and go for the gun, you piece of garbage.” He half rose from the chair and then sat down. “I’m not moving,” he said.

I turned and walked away from him. At the door I picked up his gun. A Colt, single-action, six-inch barrel. I threw it through the glass front window.

“I’ll be in touch with Healy,” I said. “And he’ll be in touch with you. Start running, you sonova bitch.”

I walked out and left the door open behind me.