Free King of the Corner by Loren D. Estleman Page A

open palm struck the glass, flattening out like a ham and shooting hairline cracks in four directions. Doc’s foot slipped off the brake pedal, and the Coachmen lurched forward. Taber, still off-balance from his own blow, lost his grip on the mirror post and dropped below the window.
    Doc braked again a few feet ahead and opened the door to look back. Taber was sitting on the pavement. He hadn’t put on shoes before leaving the apartment and the soles of his socks were filthy. After a few seconds he pushed himself to his knees, rested, and started to get up, cursing loudly the whole time. For a moment Doc was indecisive. Then he yanked the door shut and accelerated. His last view of Taber as he pulled out into Livernois was a flash in the right side mirror of a man running after him, mouth working silently.
    Driving along, one hour into his new job, Doc wondered if five hundred a week was going to be enough.

Chapter 9
    S TANDING IN THE DIRT lot behind the office, Maynard Ance scowled at the cracked window, crushed another half-smoked cigarette under his toe, and spat after it as if to make sure it was out. “Lucky I got glass insurance. What’d he use?”
    “His hand.” Doc played with the keys.
    “Hope he didn’t bust it like last time.”
    “He’s done this before?”
    “No. Tried to punch a hole in a block wall. Taber’s one mean drunk. He isn’t anybody’s Mother Theresa sober, but when he gets a snootful he’s worse’n the bleeding shits. You’re lucky it was just the window.” He brightened; or at least became less dour. “So how do you like the bus? I had it customized.”
    “I didn’t think it came with the cell.”
    “Oh, that. That came later. I used handcuffs until this Robbery Armed we were bringing back from Chicago snapped the chain and brained Taber with a jack handle. Taber was driving and we ran up a bank and turned over. I busted my collarbone. The scroat was a pro wrestler, the Mad Sheik or the Hindu Warrior, some crap like that. About a thousand cops tied him down in Evanston ten days later and I was out eighty grand plus the hospital bill and five hundred bucks deductible on the bus. That’s when I ordered the bars. They’re made of the same kind of steel they use on the space shuttle. The torch hasn’t been made that can cut through them.”
    “Ever use them?”
    “Wilson McCoy was going to be the first one, but Taber and me missed connections. Well, that’s why you’re here. Let’s go to Redford.” He walked around to the passenger’s side.
    Doc got in and started the engine. “Quite an arsenal back there.”
    “Checked it out, did you?” The bail bondsman cut him a quick glance from the other seat. “The tommy gun’s just for looks. You’d be surprised how fast they come around when you slam one into the breech. One thing these scroats know is their Eddie Robinson flicks.”
    They had been on the road several minutes when Ance spoke again, his eyes on the scenery. “Don’t worry, it’s legal. A motor home isn’t a vehicle behind the front seats. We could be hauling around a loaded howitzer.”
    “Which we’re not.”
    “Too hard to get shells.”
    They arrived at the address in Redford a few minutes ahead of the appointed time. There was just room enough to park the Coachmen in the driveway of a red brick house with an attached garage and a picture window in front. A small white-haired woman in a gray wool dress and orange beads answered the door.
    “Mrs. Wizotsky? I’m Maynard Ance. This is my associate Kevin Miller.” It was a manner Doc had not previously seen in the bail bondsman.
    She grasped her beads. The creases from her nose to the corners of her mouth were as deep as gashes and there were pink swellings like welts under her eyes. Doc noted with a start that she was at least ten years younger than his first estimate; fifty at most. She said something welcoming and got out of their way. The living room was small, neat, the furniture fairly new but