Seattle Run Page 8

  Rikki glanced from the man to the woman, wondering if they were twins.

  The man grinned. “Don’t even think it, little man,” he warned. “We’ll take your head off at the shoulders if you so much as blink.”

  Rikki said nothing. Other men and women were surrounding him.

  “What do you think, Fab?” the man said to the woman. “Do you think he’s worth saving for Tiger?” He snickered.

  “I think so, Gar,” the woman responded huskily. “In fact, I think this little man is kind of cute.”

  Gar gave the woman a reproachful stare. “Now don’t start! We’re taking him directly to Tiger.”

  The woman ignored the man. She winked at the man in black and smiled. “What’s your name, little man?”

  Rikki didn’t respond. He counted 21 people ringing him.

  “Stuck-up little shit, isn’t he?” Gar stated.

  The woman named Fab chuckled. “I bet I could melt him down a peg or two.”

  Gar sighed. “So do I. But I repeat: We are taking him directly to Tiger.”

  Fab looked at Gar, pretending to pout. “You’re no fun sometimes, do you know that, dear brother?”

  “I’m only doing what’s best for us,” Gar said.

  Fab giggled. “Best for you, maybe.”

  “I’m not going to antagonize Tiger just because you’ve got the hots for some moron in black pajamas,” Gar declared stiffly. He gazed at the man in black. “Okay, fella. Drop that fancy sword of yours.”

  Rikki did not move.

  “Are you deaf?” Gar demanded. He wagged the shotgun. “There is no way you could reach us before we blow you in half. So be a good little boy and drop the sword. I won’t tell you again.”

  Rikki hesitated, reluctant to relinquish his prized katana. He was an astute judge of character, and he knew this Gar would kill him without waivering if he didn’t comply. Obeying, temporarily, was his only option if he hoped to survive and return to Yama. He slowly lowered the katana to the sidewalk.

  “Now that’s a smart boy,” Gar said mockingly.

  “Put your hands on your head, handsome,” Fab instructed the Warrior.

  Rikki did as he was told, hoping for an opening. If they would just move in a bit closer…

  “Strip,” Gar commanded.

  Rikki looked at Gar.

  “I said strip,” Gar repeated. “Take off your clothes.”

  “Don’t be shy,” Fab said. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

  Gar glanced at his sister. “Don’t you have any modesty?”

  Fab shook her head, her long white hair swaying. “Nope. Modesty is for losers. I’m not a loser.”

  Gar studied the guy in the pajamas, who hadn’t budged. “Strip, asshole.”

  “Make up your minds,” Rikki finally spoke up.

  Gar did a double take. “Whoa! He can talk! What the hell do you mean, make up our minds?”

  “You tell me to remove my clothing, and she tells me to put my hands on my head. I can’t do both,” Rikki noted.

  Gar frowned. “A smart ass, sis. We’ve got a smart ass on our hands.”

  His tone hardened. “When I tell you to take off your clothes, mister, you damn well better take them off. Now!”

  Rikki began removing his backpack and his black shirt.

  “Oh, goody!” Fab said, smirking. “A strip show!”

  Gar gazed at his sister in disapproval. “Geez! What a nympho.”

  “Tiger doesn’t mind the way I am,” Fab retorted.

  “Tiger will hump any…” Gar began, then quickly caught himself.

  “What was that?” Fab snapped.

  “Nothing,” Gar said. “Forget it.”

  “I don’t know as I like your attitude sometimes,” Fab commented.

  “The feeling is mutual,” Gar rejoined.

  Rikki dropped his shirt to the pavement, then raised one leg at a time and took off his shoes.

  “Now the baggy pants,” Gar directed.

  Rikki slowly peeled off his pants. He was naked underneath.

  “Not bad, handsome,” Fab said appreciatively. “You’re well-hung for a little guy.”

  Gar scrutinized the pile of clothing and other items on the sidewalk.

  “What’s in the backpack?” he asked.

  “Rations,” Rikki answered.

  “What kind of rations?” Gar wanted to know.

  “Venison jerky,” Rikki replied. “A canteen filled with water. The herbs for my tea. A tiny cup. And hardtack.”

  “What’s hardtack?” Gar queried. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Hard biscuits,” Rikki explained.

  “Well, we’ll confirm that in a bit,” Gar said. He nodded at the pile.

  “What’s in that pouch on your belt? More rations?”

  “No,” Rikki admitted.

  “Then what?” Gar asked.

  “Clips for my automatic rifle, a shuriken, and a kyoketsu-shogei,” Rikki revealed.

  “Shuri-what?” Gar questioned. “And what was that last thing?”

  “They are weapons,” Rikki said, simplifying his response.

  “Oh, really?” Gar pointed his shotgun barrel at the clothes. “You can get dressed, but leave the backpack, pouch, and scabbard on the ground. And no funny stuff.”

  Rikki donned his shirt, pants, and shoes. He removed the pouch and scabbard from his belt, then looped the belt around his waist.

  The woman was scanning the street. “We’d best haul butt, Gar. The crabs are out again, you know.”

  “That fucking Manta!” Gar stated angrily. “I can’t wait for the day when his own damn crabs turn on him and rip him to shreds.”

  “Never happen,” Fab said.

  “You wait and see,” Gar declared.

  “What’s your name, cutey?” Fab asked the Warrior.

  “Rikki.”

  “Well, Ritchie,” Fab began.

  “Not Ritchie,” Rikki corrected her. “Rikki. As in Rikki-Tikki-Tavi.”

  “For real?” Fab inquired.

  “For real,” Rikki confirmed.

  “Never knew anyone with that name,” Fab mentioned, smiling. “It’s original. My name is Fabiana, but everyone calls me Fab.”

  “What is this?” Gar interjected stiffly. “The social hour? This clown is our prisoner, sis. Quit being so nice to him.”

  “Don’t push me,” Fabiana said.

  Gar sighed and looked at the ring of men and women. “We’re taking him to Tiger,” he announced. “Tom and Earl, you take the point. And keep your eyes peeled. Mania’s pets are out again.”

  A pair of men with rifles headed to the southeast.

  Gar motioned with his shotgun. “Let’s go, little man.”

  “What about my katana?” Rikki inquired.

  “Your what?”

  “My katana,” Rikki said, indicating the weapon bestowed on him by the Family Elders in honor of his martial arts prowess.

  “That fancy sword?” Gar stated. “Don’t worry. We won’t leave it behind.” He raised his voice. “Buck! Stick this guy’s sword in the scabbard and bring it! The pouch and the backpack too. Simms! You find that rifle he dropped.” He looked at the Warrior. “Satisfied?”

  “Yes,” Rikki said. “I would not leave without my katana.”

  “Who cares about a lousy sword?” Gar queried, then laughed. “Where you’re going, that sword will be the least of your worries!”

  He laughed even harder.

  Chapter Nine

  Hickok threw himself to the left, flattening against a wall and freezing.

  The enormous crab tentatively moved forward two feet, then stopped.

  Its eyes shifting back and forth, its antennae waving.

  Hickok held his breath. Maybe, just maybe, if he didn’t so much as twitch, the thing wouldn’t attack. Maybe the crab was attracted by motion and sound. And if so…

  Seconds later the three men and the woman rushed around the corner.

  One
of the men saw the gunman and blurted out, “There he is!” before realizing the crab was in close proximity.

  “No!” the woman yelled.

  The crab pounced, gripping one of the men in each mighty pincer. They shrieked as they were lifted into the air and horribly crushed to death.

  The remaining man, a stocky fellow with torn brown pants and a yellow shirt marred by holes under the armpits, and the woman fled. Or tried to.

  The crab scuttled after them, overtaking the woman immediately, slamming into her and knocking her to the ground. Her hatchet skidded from her grasp. Without slowing, and with a limp corpse in each bloody claw, the crab went after the last man. That worthy sped around the corner with the crustacean on his heels, and both were promptly lost to view.

  Flat on her back, elated at her good fortune, the woman grinned and went to rise.

  A pair of gleaming revolver barrels suddenly appeared before her hazel eyes.

  “Don’t move!”

  The woman suddenly remembered the joker in the buckskins.

  He came around in front of her, his revolvers cocked, his blue eyes narrowed. “What’s your name?” he demanded.

  “Hedy,” she replied.

  “I’m Hickok,” said the gunman, introducing himself. “And I’ve got some questions that need answerin’. On your feet, lady!”

  Hedy slowly rose.

  Hickok studied his prisoner. She was in her twenties, about five feet six with fleshy arms but skinny legs. Her face was oval, her long, stringy hair black. She wore dirty jeans that had seen better days decades ago. Her top was a faded blue, marked by mud and grime. Even her exposed skin was dirty, dotted with smudges. “We need a place to palaver. Let’s mosey.”

  “What?” the woman said, plainly confused.

  “Let’s find a place to hide out for a spell,” Hickok stated. “I don’t want to be interrupted by another mutated critter.”

  “Where?” the woman asked.

  “Anywhere,” Hickok responded. He stepped aside and nodded to the east. “That way. Vamoose.”

  “What?” Hedy queried.

  “Move it!” Hickok barked.

  Hedy hastened eastward, her eyes betraying her fright, the set of her chin denoting her determination not to show her fear.

  Hickok surveyed the buildings ahead. He observed a one-story affair across the street. There was a spacious paved area between the structure and the street, which would afford him ample warning if an enemy materialized. There were six odd metal and plastic rectangular doohickeys aligned at intervals in the paved area. What the blazes were they? He saw a cracked, reddish hose hanging from one of the rectangular boxes, and his mind flashed back to one of the books he’d read in the Family library, a book about the prewar cars and trucks. The book had contained a photograph of a car refueling at… what were they called? Service stations!

  That was it! Or simply gas stations! “Head over there!” he ordered. “To that gas station.”

  “Is that what it is?” Hedy inquired nervously.

  “You don’t know what a gas station is?” Hickok asked doubtfully.

  “I’ve seen the place dozens of times,” Hedy said. “But no one ever told me what it was.”

  “Now you know,” Hickok said, alertly scanning their vicinity as they walked across the street.

  “How’d you get so smart?” Hedy asked facetiously.

  “Just natural intellect, I reckon,” Hickok stated.

  They neared the service station, which consisted of three sections. The two at the west end of the building were open bays with tools and old tires scattered everywhere. The eastern third was a small office with the windows and the door surprisingly undamaged. The glass door was open.

  “Inside,” Hickok directed.

  Hedy tentatively entered the office, walking to the far wall and turning toward the gunman. Her body was tense, her fingers twitching in a jittery fashion.

  Hickok stepped just inside the door, where he could keep an unobstructed eye on the paved area and the street. “Don’t fret none, ma’am,” he told her. “I won’t hurt you unless you give me cause.”

  Hedy mustered a weak grin. “That’s nice to know.” She did not sound like she believed him.

  “How long have you lived hereabouts?” Hickok inquired.

  “I’ve lived in Seattle all my life,” Hedy said.

  “Then you must know the city real well,” Hickok deduced.

  Hedy shrugged. “Some parts I do. Some parts I don’t. I’ve never been west of I-5.”

  “I-5?” Hickok repeated quizzically.

  “Interstate 5 it’s called,” Hedy elaborated.

  “What’s west of there?” Hickok probed.

  “Manta and the Brethren,” Hedy said with a visible shudder.

  “Manta! He’s the vermin I’m lookin’ for!” Hickok declared.

  Hedy stared at the gunman like he was crazy. “You’re looking for Manta?”

  “Yep. My pards and me.” Hickok’s voice lowered. “Where are they?”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t play games with me,” Hickok cautioned. “I need to know what happened to my pards.”

  “And what if I don’t tell you?” Hedy rejoined defiantly.

  “I’ll shoot you in the knees,” Hickok coldly informed her.

  Hedy stared at his handguns. “I believe you would.”

  “So what happened to them?”

  “I know we caught one of your friends,” Hedy said. “I saw them taking him out the back.”

  “Yeah,” Hickok commented. “Your trap was real slick.”

  “We knew you were coming,” Hedy detailed. “We saw this thing up in the sky earlier—”

  “The jet,” Hickok interrupted.

  “Is that what it’s called? No one had ever seen one before, not even Tiger. A short while later we heard all this shooting, and Tiger sent some Sharks to check it out. They came back and said there were four strangers coming into the city from the north. So Tiger arranged a trap. We were to take you alive, unless you resisted,” Hedy said.

  “Back up a bit,” Hickok stated. “Who is Tiger? And what are the Sharks?”

  Hedy’s eyes widened. “You’ve never heard of the Sharks?”

  “Nope.”

  “Where are you from? The moon?” Hedy queried sarcastically.

  “I’m askin’ the questions,” Hickok reminded her. “Now who is this Tiger you keep talkin’ about?”

  “Tiger is the head of the Sharks,” Hedy explained.

  “And what are the Sharks?”

  “I’m a Shark,” Hedy said.

  “It’s the name of a gang?” Hickok inquired.

  “There’s only one gang in Seattle,” Hedy said. “That’s us. The Sharks.

  We control all the turf east of I-5.”

  “The Sharks are the only gang? What about Manta and the Brethren?”

  Hickok noted.

  Hedy snorted. “The Brethren? They’re not a gang! They’re just mutants!”

  “The Brethren are all mutants?”

  “Right. And Manta is their leader,” Hedy said. “The Sharks and the Brethren have been at war since before I was born. The Brethren run things west of I-5.”

  “How do either of you control anything with all those crabs runnin’ around?” Hickok commented.

  “The crabs are Manta’s,” Hedy stated.

  “What?”

  “Yep. Manta raises them at the Humarium, then he sends them into our territory to hunt us down and kill us,” Hedy disclosed. “But the crabs are real dumb. They don’t get many of us.”

  Hickok was striving to comprehend all of the information. “We got off the track. What about my buddies? You said you caught one?”

  Hedy nodded. “A big guy. He was packing these knives—”

  “Blade!” Hickok interjected.

  “All I know is that he was the biggest son of a bitch I ever laid eyes on,” Hedy declared. “He was captured inside by Oakes and his squad. I was out
side, one of those who tried to take the short guy in black and your friend with the dark blue outfit.”

  “What happened to them?” Hickok probed.

  “I don’t know,” Hedy said sincerely. “We tried to nab them, but couldn’t. They were too good for us.”

  Hickok beamed proudly.

  “They took off down the alley on the left side of the building,” Hedy went on. “We went after them, but they held us back for a while. When we finally got over the wall, they were gone. That’s when I saw Oakes and his squad carrying the big guy out the back door.”

  “Carryin’?” Hickok exclaimed in concern. “Was he hurt?”

  “I don’t know,” Hedy replied. “I can only tell you what I saw. They carried him away. Then Gar decided to split us up so we could look for the short guy and the guy in blue. But he sent Terry, Marsh, Benjamin, and me around front to see if any of the Sharks who’d been shot were still alive.

  That,” she concluded, “was when we saw you.”

  Hickok was trying to put the pieces together. The coyote named Oakes must have taken Blade out the back way while he was lying on the landing.

  But why hadn’t Oakes sent someone after him? At least he knew what had happened to Rikki and Yama. They had gone behind the building by the time he came out the front, which explained why everyone had disappeared.

  “Anything else you want to know?” Hedy asked.

  “Where did Oakes take my pard? The big guy?” Hickok inquired.

  “To Tiger,” Hedy said.

  “And where would I find this Tiger?” Hickok demanded.

  “You don’t want to find Tiger,” Hedy stated. “He’ll rack your ass as slick as shit.”

  “Where would I find him?” Hickok persisted.

  “Where Tiger always hangs out,” Hedy said. “At our headquarters. I think it used to be called the Seattle Art Museum.”

  Hickok nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’re takin’ me to Tiger,” Hickok informed her.