Free Darkman by Randall Boyll Page B

jarful of wasps. He stood up and went to Durant.
    “Hear that?”
    “Sure. So what?”
    “What kind of mad scientist is this guy?”
    “Who cares? He played with me, so I’m playing with him. Gentleman’s rules. He knows what the scoop is.”
    Smiley went back to watching Peyton being drowned and fried at the same time. There was a huge blue flash, a bullet charge, and suddenly the pink stuff was boiling, boiling. A chunk of blackened skin floated to the top, and then another. Hair surfaced in a single dark blot, then was dissolved by the heat. Smiley decided that enough was enough. Rick was dry-heaving over in the corner. Smiley jerked Peyton out and let him crumple to the floor.
    “Chicken?” Durant asked casually.
    “Enough’s enough. He’s dead. Let’s go.”
    Durant shook his head. “Evidence, Smiley. When are you going to learn?” He went to the tank marked ACETYLENE and turned the knob. It began to hiss. He opened the other one, the one marked OXYGEN . Another hiss.
    Rick, done with his stomach, watched all this with growing alarm. “Boss,” he squeaked after a minute, “won’t those things blow us sky-high along with the doc? Won’t they?”
    Durant smiled, shaking his head. “Not to worry at all. We will be long gone before any explosion occurs.” He pulled his fancy electronic lighter out of a pocket, and moved the water dish from the toy bird, and put his lighter there instead. He positioned it, frowning with concentration. When his interior voice signaled bingo, he gave the bird a tiny flick with one finger. The bird began to bob in tiny little jerks. The acidic smell of the acetylene was getting thick. Durant got his cigar trimmer out and handed it to Martinez. “Get me one of the Jap’s fingers,” he said, and Martinez did. By the time he handed the trimmer back, everybody was coughing.
    “Exit stage left,” Durant said, and they went out.
    The bird bobbed, its plastic beak dropping lower each time, aimed perfectly at the ignition button, thanks to Durant’s diligence. Peyton was on the floor, stunned by so much pain so fast. He tried to stagger to his feet, but the world tilted out of control and he landed hard on the floor. He began to crawl, gagging on fumes, dimly knowing what was about to happen. In the corner of his vision he could see the bird, pretty little bird, a gift from Julie many years ago, about to touch off a spark and ruin everything for which he had worked for so long.
    He made it to the table. He tried to grapple his way up, but his mangled fingers only slid across the polished steel. The bird bobbed. Peyton gave in to a sudden urge, and passed out.
    After that there was only noise and fire.

8
    Peyton
    T HE FORCE OF the explosion shot Peyton and most of his equipment skyward. The equipment, test tubes, glass beakers, petri dishes, a discarded pizza box, as well as the dead Yakky, were hurled nearly forty yards. The equipment chattered down on the foul-smelling river, sinking instantly. The pizza box became a distant kite, blowing in the breeze. Fire belched out of the laboratory, a giant mushroom made of orange and red.
    Peyton landed in the river, just beyond the pier. So did Yakky, and a remarkable amount of glass and metal.
    Yakky sank immediately. Peyton performed one of the world’s biggest belly flops, smashing hard onto the brown surface of the river, tearing his clothes to shreds. He floated facedown, nearly dead, riding with the current. He came awake long enough to raise his head. There was not much to see: a burning building with no roof, a decaying pier, a tremendous fireball.
    He groaned, then sank deep into the water.

9
    Julie
    P EYTON WAS OFFICIALY buried three days later, on an autumn afternoon. Multicolored leaves swirled down and a brisk breeze hinted at the winter to come. He was nestled inside the world’s smallest coffin; all they could find was an ear. It was a bit ragged around the edges, but the coroner’s report confirmed that yes, it had