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The third outsider was a teenage boy with a Mohawk haircut and a monkey wrench. John took the wrench away. Gus clobbered him with an uppercut that lifted him off his feet. The first part of the kid to hit the floor was the back of his head. From the noise it made, the stiff brush of hair hadn't been much of a cushion. He was taken into the cocktail lounge to be trussed. |
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'We do much more of this,' Gus said, 'folks are gonna start running low on belts.' |
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'Let's worry about one thing at a time,' John told him. |
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'This is working pretty good so far,' Steve said. |
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John stationed himself at the door. He glanced at Terry and Rafe, off to the side with the table cloth. Steve stood next to him. He checked the rear. Gus and Roscoe, waiting, nodded. |
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Terry and Rafe let the cloth droop. John shoved the door open. This time, those outside were ready. Two of them hit the door, forcing it wide. The crowd surged forward. |
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'Oh shit!' Steve cried out. |
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The first to rush in was a woman in a nightgown. She drove a screwdriver down at John's face. He blocked it, slammed a fist into her belly, and hurled her sideways for Steve. An elderly man tried to bring down a golf club, but it was too long. Its head knocked against the top of the doorframe. John chopped both sides of his neck, grabbed the front of the man's jacket, kneed him in the groin, then swung |
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