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'Guess not. She was too much for you, man.' Buddy stopped in front of him. He shifted the knife to his left hand. Lou noticed that he no longer wore the ski gloves. His right hand was crimson. It was slick and sticky when Lou grabbed it and Buddy pulled him up. The weight on his legs made him wince. |
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'I'll live,' Lou muttered. |
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'Sorry you missed the fun.' |
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'Yes, you do.' Lou hobbled alongside the staircase. He crouched, groaning with the effort, and picked up his barbecue fork. As he straightened up, he frowned at Buddy. 'You've gotta let me have Maureen.' |
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'I don't gotta anything, dickhead.' |
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Lou waited while Buddy shut the front door. The guard chain, ripped out of its mount on the doorframe, dangled from its track. |
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Some lock, he thought. If it had held, Sheila would've been mine. |
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'So where is she?' Buddy asked, and started through the living room. |
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'The pool? How the hell did she get away from you bozos?' |
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Buddy wouldn't like the truth. 'Sheila and Cyndi helped her,' Lou said. |
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