The Devil's Right Hand (28 page)

“
You ain’t gonna be able to make much
use of that gun, trussed up like you are,” Raymond said. He was
standing a few yards away, next to the curb. The gun in his hand
was trained on Keller.

“
Don’t worry, man,” DeWayne said
through chattering teeth. “I wasn’t...”

“
Shut up, asshole,” Raymond said. “I
wasn’t talking to you.”

“
At least your brother had a chance,
Raymond,” Keller said. “At least I didn’t shoot an unarmed
man.”

“
He didn’t know what he was doin’,”
Raymond said. “He’s never done nothin’ like that
before.”

“
Then you shouldn’t have put him there
with a gun in his hand,” Keller said. “If he hadn’t pointed it at
me, I wouldn’t have shot him.”

“
Come on, man,” someone yelled from
inside the pickup. “Do ‘em and let’s get outta here.”

“
I had to do it, Raymond,” Keller said.
“It was self-defense.”

“
I don’t care,” Raymond said. He raised
the pistol.

“
Police
officer
!” a voice shouted. “Put the gun on the
ground!”

Keller turned his head. Marie Jones’ Honda
had pulled up across the street in the far opposite travel lane.
She was standing just outside the passenger side, the body of the
car between her and the bloody tableau in the middle of the street.
She had her service automatic out, extended in a two-handed grip
over the roof of the car.

Keller turned back. Raymond had turned
slightly to bring his gun to bear on the new threat. Keller took a
step forward with his left leg. He brought his right knee up almost
to his chest, pivoted on his left leg, and drove his right foot out
in a vicious kick to Raymond’s side. Raymond screamed in agony and
rage and fell backwards, the gun dropping from his nerveless
fingers. He screamed again hoarsely as he landed on his back, where
he lay unmoving.

Bam-bam-bam.
Bam-bam-bam
.

Keller saw a Hispanic man in dark slacks and
a black silk shirt emerging from the passenger side of the pickup.
He was holding a submachine gun. As Keller watched, he raised the
gun and squeezed off another burst. The man obviously knew what he
was doing with the weapon; he squeezed off perfect three-round
bursts, rather than wasting ammunition with full automatic fire. He
fired another burst over the bed of the pickup at Marie’s car. Huge
rents appeared in the metal and the glass exploded from the side
windows. Marie went down behind the car. When the man turned back
towards Keller, however, she popped back up and squeezed off a
shot. The man screamed something in Spanish and fired again.

“
Come on, come on goddamnit, where is
it...”The voice seemed to come from near Keller’s feet. He looked
down. DeWayne was on his knees beside the body of the slain guard.
His bound hands were busy at the man’s belt. He was looking for the
keys, Keller realized. He saw DeWayne locate the key ring snapped
to the dead man’s belt. He gave a hysterical giggle of triumph and
yanked the ring free.

Keller dropped to his knees beside DeWayne.
He heard another shot from Marie’s side of the street, followed by
an answering rattle of machine-gun fire.

“
Unlock my cuffs, DeWayne,” Keller
said.

“
No way, man,” DeWayne said. He fumbled
through the keys with his bound hands, searching for the right
sized key. Finally he found it. He held it up triumphantly, clasped
between his thumb and forefinger. “If anyone gets outta here, it’s
gonna be me.”

“
DeWayne,” Keller said. “You can’t
reach the lock on your own cuffs. Unlock mine first and I’ll unlock
yours.”

DeWayne actually tried it for a second, but
could not bring his wrists holding the key around far enough to
reach the lock. There was a wail of far-off sirens, coming
nearer.

“
We haven’t got time for this,” Keller
said through clenched teeth. He held out his hands. “Come on. Do
it.”

“
Okay, man,” DeWayne said, fumbling the
key into the lock. “But you’d better...” he didn’t have time to
finish. As the cuff came off Keller’s right hand, he grabbed
DeWayne by the throat. He used the momentum to drive the smaller
man backwards into the side of the patrol car, slamming his head
into the metal hard enough to leave a dent. DeWayne’s eyes
unfocused and his body relaxed. Keller rose to a crouch, grabbed
DeWayne’s belt with his free hand, and tossed him into the back
seat of the patrol car. He ran around to the driver’s side and
yanked it open. The ripped and torn body of the driver lolled
halfway out of the door. Keller gave a yank on the man’s shirt and
the body spilled bonelessly into the roadway, shattered pieces of
safety glass spilling around him like diamonds. Keller slid behind
the wheel. The glass of the windshield was a spider web of cracks,
but still mostly intact. Keller could see the man with the machine
gun. He was still fixated on Marie, who kept up her intermittent
fire from her side of the street.

The sirens were getting closer. Marie
checked her dwindling supply of ammo and hoped they would make it
in time. She wiped the sweat from her eyes with the sleeve of her
suit jacket. The silk sleeve came away stained. She was surprised
to see a light streak of blood mixed with the sweat.
Must have caught some flying glass
,
she thought.
Fuck it.  I hate this
court suit anyway
.

She had been on her way to the courthouse to
testify at Keller’s arraignment. She came to the intersection and
glanced off to her left. For a moment, her eyes had not registered
the bizarre scene in the street–the sheriff’s patrol car stopped
with its windows blown out, the big black pickup parked in front.
Then she had looked closer and her blood went cold. There was blood
all over the patrol car. Keller and Puryear were standing behind
and slightly to one side of it, their hands shackled. A
curly-haired man with a gun was standing in front of them. Marie’s
hand went instinctively to where the radio would be if she was in
her patrol car. She cursed when she realized that there was no way
to call for backup. At first she thought that someone was trying to
break Keller and Puryear out. When the man began to raise the gun,
however, she realized that this wasn’t an escape attempt. It was an
execution. She whipped her little car through a screaming left turn
over the sunken tracks that ran through middle of the intersection.
She slammed to a stop in the far opposite facing lane from the
sheriff’s car and reached for her weapon on the passenger seat.

Now, she was wondering if she had done the
right thing. The man with the machine gun had caught her totally by
surprise. She was lucky he hadn’t killed her with the initial
burst. Now, she just had to keep him interested long enough for the
cavalry to arrive. She straightened up to try to pop off another
couple of rounds. The pistol fired once, then jammed. She swore
again as she slid down to the ground behind the car. She worked the
action frantically, cursing under her breath as she tried to clear
the jam.

 
Keller could see the
machine-gunner grimacing in frustration. He paused to slam another
long clip into his weapon, then began firing longer bursts, as long
as he dared without melting the gun barrel into slag. Marie was
pinned down by the steadier rate of fire. The man grinned like a
death’s head and began advancing towards the Honda. He had his
quarry pined down and he was coming to kill her. His path took him
between the back of the pickup and the front of the patrol car.
Keller gripped the blood-slicked wheel in both hands and floored
the gas pedal.

The roar of the big police engine was still
not enough to drown out the sickening crunch of flesh and bone or
the man’s scream as he was caught between the rear bumper of the
pickup and the front grille of the patrol car. He seemed to fold
sideways across the hood of the car. The machine gun clattered onto
the hood, then slid forward as Keller jammed the car into reverse
gear. Man and gun disappeared between the vehicles.

“
Come on,” Marie muttered, frantically
trying to work the slide on the pistol. She heard the rate of fire
pick up, heard the
zip-zip-zip
of bullets over her head. She resisted the urge to curl into
a ball and whimper. She realized that the sound of the machine gun
was coming closer.

Suddenly the sound of the ruined patrol car’s
motor rose from a rumble to a full-throated bellow. The sound was
followed by an inhuman shriek of raw agony and a horrific snapping
like branches cracking under the weight of ice. It sounded as if
some enormous predator was dismembering its quarry alive. She
peeped over the hood of her car.

The man with the machine gun was falling to
the ground like a broken doll. He came to rest with his torso
turned at almost a ninety degree angle to his hips. Incredibly, he
was still screaming. The car roared again and shot backwards. Marie
saw Keller behind the wheel. He turned toward her for a moment. She
expected to see rage, elation, even fear; but his face and eyes
were totally calm, the eyes of a hunter.

Keller stomped the pedal again and whipped
the car around in reverse 180 degrees until he was beside the
pickup. He automatically scanned the scene for more threats. He
spotted Marie crouched behind her car. He yanked the gearshift into
Drive. She looked panicky for a second, as if she thought he was
about to run over her. He punched the gas and ran the car over the
tracks, across two lanes and up onto the sidewalk beside her.

“
Get in,” he yelled over the
engine.

“
You’re out of your mind!” she yelled
back.

Keller didn’t answer. He pointed over Marie’s
head. She looked back.

Raymond Oxendine was slowly getting to his
feet. There was blood staining the right side of his shirt. He
staggered slightly as he walked over to where the dark-skinned man
was still thrashing and screaming. He walked past the man as if he
wasn’t there and bent down to pick up the machine gun.

Marie leaped for the door of the patrol car
and yanked it open. She landed almost on top of the prone body of
DeWayne Puryear. She sorted out the tangle as the car began moving.
The door flopped crazily for a moment against her feet as they
thudded off the curb. She struggled upright and yanked it closed
just as they slammed over the railroad tracks again hard enough
that she bit her tongue. The first police cars were screaming up,
lights flashing.

Marie leaned forward, banging her hands
futilely against the metal grate. “Keller!” she shouted. “Get on
the radio! You’ve got to warn them!”

“
I’m kind of busy right now,” Keller
muttered, but he picked up the handset and keyed the mike. “All
units,” he barked, “Heads up, you’ve got a man behind that black
pickup with an automatic weapon, repeat, an automatic weapon. Two
officers and an accomplice are down.” He released the mike
button.

The reply came back immediately. “Who is
this? Who’s on this channel? Get off immediate--” the voice was cut
of in a scream as Raymond opened fire. The windshield of the lead
car blew in and it slewed crazily across the street into their
lane. Keller spun the wheel to avoid the out-of-control police car
as he jammed the accelerator to the floorboard. The patrol car
rocketed away.

The pain in Raymond’s side cut through
the fog of the pills like a laser, pulsing bright red and clear. He
could feel the lower part of his shirt stuck to his skin with
blood. The foul smell of the wound let him know that there were
other, less wholesome fluids leaking from him as well. The pain
filled his awareness, taking over his mind until he had no more
rational mind than a wounded bull in a ring. The howl of the sirens
as the first patrol car pulled up pricked at him like the
picador
’s spear. He raised the
machine gun to his shoulder and fired. The recoil of the gun jarred
him and he almost screamed with the renewed pain. But the agony was
replaced with a feeling of exultation filling him as the siren
abruptly cut off and the police cruiser slammed into the curb. The
following cars also slammed on brakes and went sideways. Raymond
dimly registered the sound of Geronimo screaming in agony. He
walked over behind the pickup and looked down.

Geronimo’s shattered body lay in the street.
One leg was bent at a bizarre angle. The other showed a splintered
stub of bone protruding through the blood-soaked pants leg.
Geronimo stopped screaming long enough to look at Raymond. His
breath came in long, bubbling moans.

“
Get me up, man,” he rasped. “Get me
outta here.”

“
I cain’t carry you,” Raymond said.
“An’ you know where I live. I cain’t let the cops ask you
questions.” Geronimo’s eyes widened as Raymond raised the gun. Then
those eyes disappeared in a red cloud beneath the hammer of
bullets.

He stepped over the body. “It don’t matter
anyway,” he said to the still figure. “It all ends today.” He waded
through the blood and shattered glass in the street and got into
the truck. He saw the sheriff’s car getting away and gritted his
teeth in frustration. He punched the gas and took off after
them.

“
Man,” DeWayne whined as he sat up
awkwardly in the back seat. “What the fuck’d you hit me
for?”

“
Shut up, DeWayne,” Keller and Marie
said at the same time. DeWayne muttered something and slipped down
lower in the seat. The radio crackled with shouted questions and
orders.