Free Dead Mann Running (9781101596494) by Stefan Petrucha Page A

seemed to rememberit was somehow fragile. Using both hands, he gently tugged it free. One foot against the tree trunk, he balanced it on his bent leg and clicked the latches. The headlight caught the vials, giving his smiling face a blue glow that proved me right about the whole clown thing.
    Satisfied, he closed it, then he took his sweet time walking back to the car. Maybe it was to annoy me, or maybe he was daring whatever he’d imagined might be in the dark to do something.
    I opened the window. “Come on already.”
    “Shut up and pop the trunk.”
    Stupid. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I could practically hear his feet drag as he went around to the back of the car. I bent down and pulled the latch. A few minutes and we’d be back in the motel. Hang in there, Misty.
    After what seemed forever, I heard him put the case in the trunk, then saw the lid slam through the rearview mirror.
    Instead of getting back in, like he had all the time in the world, the bastard flipped open his cell and hit a number. There’s always a bit of sadist in a hired goon, but the real pros were better at hiding it than this idiot. As he waited for an answer, he leaned a hand against the car and stretched his back, putting his neck forward to the dark.
    “Got it. No troubles. He’s playing it smart. Boss said he wouldn’t be a problem, didn’t he? The girl? Just cut her…”
    Shit. I twisted around for a better look. Cut her what? Cut her free? Cut her throat? I’d never find out.
    The next sound he made was a wet gurgle. Head down, he dropped the cell phone and grabbed at hisneck. His clowny hands tried to cover a long gash in his throat. Without my even seeing, someone had cut him a second smile. Blood spurt from the wound into the darkness.
    Now I saw the figure, and thought I recognized it from the webcam. It moved as fast as it did in the office, all but flying toward me in the car. I threw the transmission into reverse and floored it. The tires spun helplessly in the sand as the figure grabbed the door handle. When the tires found purchase, the car lurched, but the ninja didn’t let go. Instead, it flipped itself onto the hood.
    I could see through the windshield, it was cloaked, hooded, but not in black. The cloth was a deep red, just bright enough to make me wonder how the hell it’d hidden in the dark. As I turned the wheel trying to shake it off, it rolled with the changes in momentum, moving too fast for me to get a good look at the face. If I had to guess, I’d say it was a mask.
    It was still holding on as I spun onto the street. Still in reverse I gunned the engine, fighting to keep the car on the road as it went backward. At about forty, I slammed on the brakes. The car squealed, twisting right. The figure hurtled over the roof. Through the mirror, I saw it hit the ground and spin along the yellow double line.
    I didn’t wait to see more. I put the car in drive and raced for the motel. Chuckles had been killed in mid–phone conversation, leaving Flat-face to improvise. Even money he’d figure I’d betrayed them. The question was, would he kill Misty outright, or do the smart thing and keep her alive to use as leverage? He didn’t strike me as smart.
    I nearly crashed the car into the building, but therewas no one around to see. I bolted into the lobby, thinking I’d tell the manager to call the cops, but he’d been stuffed behind the front counter, looking like he’d fallen asleep in a funny position, two bullet holes in the center of his shirt.
    And yeah, when I got back to the room, it was empty.

9
    A cell phone’s beveled rectangle stood out on the cushion like the monolith among the apes in
2001
. I snapped it up and nearly went berserk trying to find the redial. It wasn’t fancy, but it was more complicated than the freebies they issued chakz, lots more buttons. When I finally got it, someone answered: “How smart a chak are you?”
    The voice was ocean-deep, modified electronically, the sharper