Free The Scarred Man by Basil Heatter Page B

won't."
        I shrugged. "Suit yourself."
        The moment had passed. Tiny's impulse toward murder had been dissipated. Moore groaned and tried to sit up. I gave him a hand.
        Tiny regarded us both with disgust and then said, "Ah, fuck it."
        "Can you drive?" I asked Moore.
        "I… guess so."
        "Then I'd advise you to get into that truck and clear out of here."
        Holding his side he limped over and managed to squeeze behind the wheel. The truck disappeared down the winding track.
        I went back to my bike. A conference was taking place among the leaders. The mood of the riders was growing increasingly ugly.
        I unrolled my poncho and lay down on the muddy ground. I was sick to death of the whole crew. But I could not leave until I had done what I had come for.
        While they cursed and gabbled among themselves, I lay back with my eyes closed.
        "I swear I never knew his real name," Stud had said. "We called him Soldier. He must have been from somewhere up north because he was all the time talking about the rally at Kildare. He had Satan's Slaves colors, but I think he was mostly an independent. When he split, he didn't even say goodbye. Like one day he was here, and the next he was gone."
        "What color were his eyes?"
        "Are you kidding? I wasn't making love to the bastard. How would I know the color of his fucking eyes?"
        "Tattoos?"
        "Maybe he had them, maybe he didn't. Look, there's maybe a couple hundred guys come and go down here in the season. Unless they get out of line, I don't pay no particular attention to them."
        "You're lying," I had said raising the .38.
        "Wait! Now, wait! Be reasonable. Why would I risk my ass to protect some mother I don't even know?"
        "You know what he looks like."
        "Sure."
        "Tell me."
        "He looks like a million other guys. Nothing special."
        "Big or small?"
        "About my build."
        "Light or dark?"
        "You mean his hair?"
        "Yes."
        "Blond last time I saw him."
        "What does that mean?"
        "It means it could be almost any color now. A lot of the guys dye their hair."
        "You'd better start remembering something else pretty fast."
        "Wait! Listen, there was one thing…"
        "What?"
        "He'd done time."'
        "How do you know?"
        "Because I've been in the joint myself, and an ex-con can always spot another."
        "What prison?"
        "I think he said Arkansas. Tucker Farm or Cummings or one of those. I know he was in the flat top there because he was all the time talking about it. You know what I mean by flat top?"
        "No."
        "Solitary, man. Now come on, put away the piece." He was attempting a smile although the fear still stank on him like dried sweat. "What's a piece of ginch more or less? You want ass, man, I'll get you mammas will blow your mind. No snatch is worth killing a guy for. So we pronged her. She'll get over it. She…"
        His eyes widened and his voice dried up with fear as he saw my finger tighten on the trigger. He lunged towards me. The bullet took him in mid-air and threw him back into the dark water.
        A shadow passed across my face and I looked up. Tiny's chick, the teenager in the net shirt, stood over me.
        I closed my eyes again, thinking she might go away.
        "Sleepin'?"
        "No," I said.
        "What's your name?"
        "Shaw."
        "Mine's Pearly."
        "Hi, Pearly."
        She sat down beside me on the poncho and offered me a drag from her joint. Her eyes had the slightly bombed look of the habitual head. Her rounded young buttocks were encased in faded jeans that fit like a second skin. Her blond hair, unlike that of many of the other mammas, appeared to be her own. I found it difficult not to stare at her firm young breasts, naked under the net.
        She grinned and