He shuffled forward and uncorked his not-so-secret weapon: an uppercut Barbie avoided by the simple expedient of cocking his head slightly to one side. Barbie countered with a straight jab to the solar plexus. Frankie went down with a stunned expression on his face.
'We don't have to - ' Barbie began, and that was when Junior Rennie hit him from behind, in the kidneys, probably with his hands laced together to make one big fist. Barbie stumbled forward. Carter Thibodeau was there to meet him, stepping from between two parked cars and throwing a roundhouse. It might have broken Barbie's jaw if it had connected, but Barbie got his arm up in time. That accounted for the worst of his bruises, still an unlovely yellow when he tried to leave town on Dome Day.
He twisted to one side, understanding this had been a planned ambush, knowing he had to get out before someone was really hurt. Not necessarily him. He was willing to run; he wasn't proud. He got three steps before Melvin Searles tripped him up. Barbie sprawled in the gravel on his belly and the kicking started. He covered his head, but a squall of bootleather pounded his legs, ass, and arms. One caught him high in the rib cage just before he managed to knee-scramble behind Stubby Norman's used-furniture panel truck.
His good sense left him then, and he stopped thinking about running away. He got up, faced them, then held out his hands to them, palms up and fingers wiggling. Beckoning. The slot he was standing in was narrow. They'd have to come one by one.
Junior tried first; his enthusiasm was rewarded with a kick in the belly. Barbie was wearing Nikes rather than boots, but it was a hard kick and Junior folded up beside the panel truck, woofing for breath. Frankie scrambled over him and Barbie popped him twice in the face - stinging shots, but not quite hard enough to break anything. Good sense had begun to reassert itself.
Gravel crunched. He turned in time to catch incoming from Thibodeau, who had cut behind him. The blow connected with his temple. Barbie saw stars. ('Or maybe one was a comet,' he told Brenda, opening the valve on the new gas canister.) Thibodeau moved in. Barbie pistoned a hard kick to his ankle, and Thibodeau s grin turned to a grimace. He dropped to one knee, looking like a football player holding the ball for a field goal attempt. Except ball-holders usually don't clutch their ankles.
Absurdly, Carter Thibodeau cried:'Fuckin dirty-fighter!'
'Look who's ta - ' Barbie got that far before Melvin Searles locked an elbow around his throat. Barbie drove his own elbow back into Searles s midsection and heard the grunt of escaping air. Smelled it, too: beer, cigarettes, Slim Jims. He was turning, knowing that Thibodeau would probably be on him again before he could fight his way entirely clear of the aisle between vehicles into which he had retreated, no longer caring. His face was throbbing, his ribs were throbbing, and he suddenly decided - it seemed quite reasonable - that he was going to put all four of them in the hospital. They could discuss what constituted dirty fighting and what did not as they signed each other's casts.
That was when Chief Perkins - called by either Tommy or Willow Anderson, the roadhouse proprietors - drove into the parking lot with his jackpots lit and his headlights winking back and forth. The combatants were illuminated like actors on a stage.
Perkins hit the siren once; it blipped half a whoop and died. Then he got out, hitching his belt up over his considerable girth.
'Little early in the week for this, isn't it, fellas?'
To which Junior Rennie replied
11
Brenda didn't need Barbie to tell her that; she'd heard it from Howie, and hadn't been surprised. Even as a child, Big Jim's boy had been a fluent confabulator, especially when his self-interest was at stake.
'To which he replied, "The cook started it." Am I right?'
'Yep.' Barbie pushed the gennie's start button and it roared into life. He smiled at her, although he could feel a flush warming his cheeks. What he'd just told was not his favorite story. Although he supposed he'd pick it over the one of the gym in Fallujah any day. 'There you go - lights, camera, action.'
'Thank you. How long will it last?'
'Only a couple of days, but this may be over by then.'
'Or not. I suppose you know what saved you from a trip to the county lockup that night?'
'Sure,' Barbie said.'Your husband saw it happening. Four-on-one. It was kind of hard to miss.'
'Any other cop might not have seen it, even if it was right in front of his eyes. And it was just luck Howie was on that night; George Frederick was supposed to have the duty, but he called in with stomach flu.' She paused. 'You might call it providence instead of luck.'
'So I might,' Barbie agreed.
'Would you like to come inside, Mr Barbara?'
'Why don't we sit out here? If you don't mind. It's pleasant.'
'Fine by me. The weather will turn cold soon enough. Or will it?'
Barbie said he didn't know.
'When Howie got you all to the station, DeLesseps told Howie that you raped Angie McCain. Isn't that how it went?'