Today’s
excerpt is from Toboggan, Book #4 of the nine-book Janitors Series. Nick’s booby-trap works to perfection. Enjoy and have a great day.
m.j.
After
gorging themselves, Tony said, “I guess we better look for those two.”
Frank
just nodded his head, grunted, and headed for the basement door. After a thorough search there turned up
nothing, they returned to the kitchen.
Tony opened the back door and looked out. “There are two furrows in the snow out
here. One leads to Meat Hook’s barn, the
other one to a tool shed. Let’s try the
barn first.”
“What
ebber ya says.”
With
Frank close behind him, Tony headed for the barn. When he reached it, he pushed open the
door. As he did so, the piece of bottle
cut the restraining string and the bag headed toward the door opening. Tony saw it coming and dodged at the last
split second, but he wasn’t quick enough.
The knife ripped into his side and he screamed. When the bag swung back, the knife pulled
free and Tony screamed again. He sank to
his knees as the swinging bag headed back toward him. This time the bag stopped short of him. “Frank, for God’s sake, help me. I’ve been stabbed.”
Frank
could see the snow turning red around Tony.
He grabbed his friend by the back of his coat and dragged him back toward
the lodge. When they reached the
kitchen, Frank quickly helped Tony off with his clothes and gave him a dish
towel to hold on the wound as he went in search of something to dress the wound
with. The best he could come up with was
a bottle of vodka and a sheet from the second floor linen closet. Having searched the two upper floors
carefully, he already knew where the linen closet was, so he wasted little time
returning with those two items.
When
he poured the vodka on Tony, he ignored the loud cry of pain as he tore the
sheet into strips. He soon bound those
around Tony, taking several turns. Even
though blood continued to seep through the sheet, he had effectively stemmed
the flow of blood.
Tony
was beside himself with pain and anger.
After grunting thanks to Frank, he groaned, “Damn guy’s gonna die hard
if I ever get my hands on him.”
“We
gonna go affa dem?”
“No,
Frank, we ain’t gonna go ‘affa’ them.
Where they gonna go in this weather?
Down to that joint we were at to freeze to death or starve to death?”
“Yeah,
but wadda ‘bout afta da storm?”
“I’ll
worry about after, after. For now I
gotta rest. This side is killing me.”
“Yeah,
Tony, ya west. I’ll see to ya.”
“Thanks,
Frank.”
No comments:
Post a Comment