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aside, and saw the cop snap the loaded cylinder into place. He knocked the gun aside with one hand and smashed the heel of his other hand up against the underside of the cop's nose. The nose crunched, went soft and flat as John's blow drove its ridge bone up into the brain. The head flew back. The cop staggered away, stiff and twitching, and dropped to the floor. |
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Took him out of the picture, John thought. |
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That was all he'd intendedto stop the man from running amok with a loaded gun. |
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He suddenly felt like an idiot. |
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He saw a hand reaching for it. The bloody hand of a man on his knees, whose sweater was wet and black. John stomped down, popping the man's elbow. He ducked and snatched up the revolver, shot the man in the head, then looked at the cop. |
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He glimpsed a plastic name plate on the chest of the uniform. HANSON. |
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Hanson hadn't snapped his cartridge case after reloading. A dozen rounds had fallen out when he hit the floor. John dropped to his knees, scooped up a handful, and dropped the ammunition into his shirt pocket as he got to his feet. |
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He spotted Lynn and Cassy, still on top of the waitress. Cassy had tugged the knife out of the woman's shoulder. She held it in her teeth while she pinned the waitress down and Lynn pretended to chew on the nape of the gal's neck. |
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It's working, John thought. |
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