Walk the Wire (Amos Decker #6)(38)

Before answering, Baker finished his beer and then looked directly at Decker. “That we were all sitting on a fucking time bomb.”





DECKER AND BAKER each had another beer and split a plate of chili, chips, and jalape?os, and then headed out of the saloon. Neither one had noticed the knot of young men who had been closely watching them at the bar. It was dark now, and the streets were emptier than they had been, not only because of the late hour but also because of the fine rain that had begun falling.

They hadn’t gone more than a block down a side street where Baker had parked his truck, and which was also a shortcut to Decker’s hotel, when Decker slowed.

“What’s up?” said Baker, noting this.

“We have some company. And I don’t think they’re friendly. Look.”

Baker gazed ahead where three young men stood, blocking their path.

Then Decker looked behind them.

Three more men barred the way they had come.

“Buddies of yours?” asked Decker.

As the men came closer on both sides, Baker said quietly, “I recognize a couple. Guys I busted up for going after Caroline that time.”

“Thought it might be that. Guess they’re here for payback.”

“This isn’t your fight, Amos. I can see if they’ll let you pass.”

Decker gave him an incredulous look. “You really think I’m leaving you here to face this alone, Stan?”

Baker grinned. “Well, this won’t be the first fight we’ve been in together.”

“And probably won’t be the last.”

“See any weapons?”

“I think one of them might have a knife.” Decker looked behind him. “And one has a baseball bat.”

“You have your gun?”

“Unfortunately, I left it in my room. Didn’t think I’d need it to have a beer with you. I can flash my creds at them.”

“Hell, those idiots probably can’t even read.”

“Okay.”

“Looks like we’re going to have to do this the old-fashioned way. I’m not thrilled about that because I’m wearing my good clothes and don’t want to mess them up with their blood and stuff.”

“I don’t see a way around it, Stan.”

Decker looked to his left and saw a row of garbage cans. “You want the guy with the knife or the bat?”

“I’m actually partial to the knife guys. Hey, I remember that game against Michigan your senior year. What’d you do again?”

“The center spit in my face after I sacked the QB, so I pile-drove him into the turf. Got a fifteen-yard personal foul call but it was worth it. And we won, so hey.”

“That’s right, now I remember. Okay, you might want to pull that one out of your playbook ’cause here they come.”

The six men rushed forward, the bat and the knife leading the way.

Neither Decker nor Baker moved until the very last possible second.

When the bat guy was within a foot of Decker, he grabbed a garbage can lid, swung it around, and caught the man flush in the face. He dropped the bat and fell backward with blood streaming down his features and two teeth missing.

Baker stepped up to the knife wielder. When the man began his downward thrust, Baker used his forearm to block it. Then he deftly gripped the man’s wrist, ripped the arm behind him, and cranked the elbow upward past all breaking points, and the man’s shoulder separated cleanly and painfully. He dropped to the ground screaming and cursing.

Decker had picked up the baseball bat and used it to club the knee of one man, then used the wood to stroke a kidney punch on the third fellow. When the second man came at him again, Decker dropped the bat, flipped him around, heaved him into the air by the waist, and slammed him into the ground.

The man let out a long groan, closed his eyes, and fell unconscious.

Meanwhile, Baker drove his hammy fist into one man’s face, breaking his nose, which spewed blood, and knocking him up against the brick wall. He slumped down, senseless. The last man was the smartest of them all. He took to his heels and sprinted off before either Decker or Baker could get to him.

Baker looked at the fallen men, then reached down and took out the wallet of the guy he’d knocked out.

“What are you doing?” asked Decker, as he watched Baker extract twenty bucks from the wallet before dropping it on the man’s chest.

In answer, his brother-in-law pointed to his shirt where it was heavily stained. “His blood got on my new shirt. I’m not paying for that.” He nudged the man’s arm with his boot. “Idiot.” He folded the cash and put it in his pocket.

Decker looked down at the fallen men who were still conscious and flashed his badge. “I could arrest all of you for being stupid, but I don’t want to fill out the paperwork. Now, those of you who need medical attention, can you get there or get your buddies there without us calling anybody? Because if you leave it to us, it could take a while and then all of you morons are going to jail.”

“Bullshit, man,” yelled one of them. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Decker took out his official creds and pointed to them. “This says F-B-I. It stands for ‘Federal Bureau of Investigation,’ in case you didn’t know. So if I press charges, you guys are going to a federal lockup a long way from here to spend about ten years contemplating your evil ways. And the guys you’ll be spending that time with won’t be nearly as nice as me and my friend are.”