Free A Last Act of Charity (Killing Sisters Book 1) by Frank Westworth Page B

assailant had nowhere to go but down. And down is where he went. Hard. His skull announced its arrival on planet earth with a sharp and surprisingly loud crack.
    Stoner carried on walking. He was unhappy to entrust his balance to Leatherjacket’s left instep, so he let go the guitar case handle with his right hand, letting it fall while keeping his grip with his left hand, and swung right, dropping his left foot and its excellent Caterpillar boot onto Leatherjacket’s right knee, and bouncing all his weight through both of his feet. This left him unbalanced, and had Leatherjacket and Gumchew been working as a fighting team he could have been in some trouble, but they were not, so he was not.
    The new imbalance snapped many of the several small and slow-to-repair bones in Leatherjacket’s right foot. He stifled a scream, which cannot have been easy, but he could not retain this admirable quiet when Stoner pivoted again, this time on his left foot – the one on the recumbent unfortunate’s knee, andlifted his right foot from the crackling ankle, stamping down as hard as he could on the big man’s groin. Leatherjacket was flat on his back with his left ankle smashed and with his right leg in the air. There was nothing he could do to deflect Stoner’s punishing foot, with its excellent Caterpillar boot landing with all Stoner’s weight upon his genitals. No man on the planet could remain silent through this. A scream, a curious mixture of wail, sob and screech, split the quiet night.
    Stoner stepped from his loud human footstool and accelerated towards Gumchew, swinging the guitar case back up and catching its handle with his right hand. Maybe a minute had passed since Leatherjacket had made the cardinal, life-changing decision to attack Stoner. Maybe it was less. These things are important when one man is facing more than one attacker. It is too common for the second assailant to prepare and deliver a crushing attack while the solo fighter is unbalanced and while his attention is elsewhere. Stoner knew this. He knew it very well.
    But Gumchew appeared to be ignorant. In fact he appeared to be in shock. He was also and quite suddenly short of breath when Stoner swung up the guitar case and used it as a ram, driving it into his abdomen just below the ribs, and slamming him up against the wall.
    All stopped. Gumchew had lost his chewing gum. He had probably swallowed it. This is a better alternative than trying to inhale it, although Stoner judged that the time was not right to discuss this.
    Gumchew was also looking likely to throw up, which is a common consequence of having the narrower end of a guitar case rammed hard into your abdomen by a very strong man who cares little for your future wellbeing.
    ‘Handy fucking Mandy? Are you out of your head, you senseless little shit? Do you believe me now when I tell you that I don’t know anyone called Handy fucking Mandy?’
    Stoner was not angry. Stoner wasn’t even short of breath. Stoner enjoyed the physical release of an act of violence. Stoner appreciated his own ability to plan a fight and to execute that plan swiftly and effectively. Stoner was, if anything, in a good mood. He stepped away from the unchewing Gumchew, and looked back at Leatherjacket, who was rather optimistically, but with full marks for grit and determination, attempting to rise. Unhappily, the result was more screaming and a further collapse.
    Stoner turned back to Gumchew.
    ‘I can’t stand this racket. All manner of idiots are going to be here in a moment, and they’ll be here quicker if he carries on bleating and wailing. Nothing personal . . .’ And he kicked Leatherjacket hard in the side of his head, landing a clean and accurate shot with his excellent Caterpillar boot and cutting the unfortunate recumbent off in mid-sob.
    Gumchew was still and silent. A neat example of role-reversal. His role was as half of a double act; take away the fallen guy and he was confused. A less sensible soul