“I tailed the sister from the school this afternoon. She came to this bar and met that guy. They seemed to know each other real well.”
“And this guy’s going to tell us the new hospital where the witness is?”
The first bodyguard shook his head. “We have a new problem. Just got briefed. Looks like the kid’s sent some people after us.”
“Who’d have ever thought he had muscle behind him?”
“They even threatened the Eel on his own phone.”
“Jesus, the balls.”
“And I thought it was just a big coincidence.”
“What? All the guys in the crew we’ve lost lately?… You’re saying someone’s on a revenge spree?”
“Starting to look that way.”
“Even the Homestead stash house?”
“Especially the Homestead stash house. And we could be next.”
“Let’s make our move.” He looked down the bar again. “Guy’s alone. Perfect chance.”
“Why’s it perfect?”
“He’s stewed.”
Coleman slipped off his stool and clawed vainly for the edge of the bar before he went down.
Large hands grabbed him from behind-“Easy there, fella”-and propped Coleman back onto his seat.
“Gee, thanks.”
The bodyguards took a stool on each side. “What are you drinking?”
“Whiskey.”
A muscular arm went up. “Bartender, double Jack over here for our new friend …”
“So,” said the thug on the other side. “What brings you to town?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you.”
Drink up.”
A half hour later: “… Then we started tracking this band of hotel robbers who beat the hell out of this kid.”
“Sounds like an interesting job. Is the girl working with you?”
Coleman shook his head. “Completely in the dark.”
One goon looked at the other. “Think he’s lying about the chick?”
“He’s too drunk to lie.” Then, back to Coleman: “What do you think of this hotel?”
“Great place. Free liquor.”
“We’re not that happy with our room.”
“You’re kidding,” said Coleman. “Ours is great!”
“Sometimes the quality differs floor to floor,” said the thug on the other side. “What room are you in?”
“Three-twelve.”
The larger of the goons got off his stool and glanced back at the other. “Stay here with our new friend and make sure he doesn’t come up. I don’t want to be disturbed.”
Serge opened the motel room door. “Coleman, I’m home!” No answer.
“Coleman?” He checked the bathroom. Then looked across the suite. “That’s funny. Could have sworn I turned the TV off.” He walked toward it.
Someone jumped from the shadows, looping a strong, thin cord around Serge’s neck from behind.
Serge heard him at the last second, but only enough time to get two fingers up under the cord. It wouldn’t be enough. The assailant possessed brute force, and the ligature was like a razor. Serge’s fingers began to bleed as he choked and gasped for breath. He twisted and jumped. They slammed into one wall, then another, crashing into the television cabinet. The much stronger assailant easily maintained his grip. Even laughed.
Serge gave it everything he had, and, with a primordial grunt, tried to double forward and flip the man over his back. They barely moved, telling Serge he was dealing with at least three hundred pounds. So back to slamming into walls, each failed attempt sapping energy from Serge’s body. The man laughed again and whispered in his ear: “The Eel says,‘Hi.’”
Serge’s face turned bright red. He strained with all his might, pulling the attacker forward, and they both fell onto the bed. The hit man jerked Serge back up by the cord, his feet briefly leaving the floor.
Toying time over. Another whisper: “You’re really beginning to piss me off.” The goon had a wooden dowel through the ends of the cord, which he twisted over and over, tightening the strangle hold. Blood ran down Serge’s left arm from where his fingers were sliced clean to the knuckles. His right arm flew out desperately, swatting a lamp off the dresser. The light bulb shattered and the room went dark. Serge’s arm quivered by his side. His tongue hung out, eyes rolling back in his head.
A final whisper: “Goodnight.” Then the death pull on the cord. Serge’s feet left the ground again. His twitching right hand found the top of a hip pocket. Out came something the attacker didn’t recognize. But so what? Just a harmless piece of plastic.
Serge quickly brought it to his neck and slipped it between the two bleeding fingers of his other hand.
The attacker found himself in utter shock as he stumbled back a step, holding two pieces of cord snapped apart by the seatbelt cutter. He looked up.
Serge swung with a wicked sidewinder motion. The point of the survival tool’s window punch caught the man in the temple, buried itself a good inch and stuck. Serge let go and stepped away.
