Two men climbed out, the pistols in sight, and came up to the hack.
The first one was a heavy-set Slavic type zipped into a tight G. I.
weather suit. He motioned. I opened up and got out, not making any
sudden movements. Stenn followed. A cold wind was whipping along
the concourse, blowing a fine misty rain hard against my cheek. The
polyarcs cast black shadows on gray faces.
The smaller man moved over to Stenn and crowded him back against the
hack. The Slav motioned again, and I moved over by the T-Bird. He
fished my wallet out and put it in his pocket without looking at it.
I heard the other man say something to Stenn, and then the sound of a
blow. I turned my head slowly, so as not to excite my watchdog. Stenn
was picking himself up. He started going through his pockets, showing
everything to the man with the gun, then dropping it on the ground. The
wind blew cards and papers along until they soaked up enough water to
stick. Stenn carried a lot of paper.
* * * * *
The gunny said something and Stenn started pulling off his coat. He
turned it inside out, and held it out. The gunny shook his head, and
motioned to my Slav. He looked at me, and I tried to read his mind.
I moved across toward the hack. I must have guessed right because
he didn't shoot me. The Slav pocketed his gun and took the coat.
Methodically, he tore the lining out, found nothing, dropped the ripped
garment and kicked it aside. I shifted position, and the Slav turned
and backhanded me up against the hack.
"Lay off him, Heavy," the other hood said. "Maxy didn't say nothing
about this mug. He's just a Escort."
Heavy started to get his gun out again. I had an idea he was thinking
about using it. Maybe that's why I did what I did. As his hand dipped
into his pocket, I lunged, wrapped an arm around him and yanked out my
own artillery. I held onto a handful of the weather suit and dug the
pistol in hard. He stood frozen. Heavy wasn't as dumb as he looked.
His partner had backed a step, the pistol in his hand covering all of
us.
"Drop it, Slim," I said. "No hard feelings, and we'll be on our way."
Stenn stood absolutely motionless. He was still wearing his mild
expression.
"Not a chance, mug," the gunny said softly. No one moved.
"Even if you're ready to gun your way through your pal, I can't miss.
Better settle for a draw."
"Maxy don't like draws, mister."
"Stenn," I said. "Get in the T-Bird. Head back the way we came, and
don't slow down to read any billboards."
Stenn didn't move.
* * * * *
"Get going," I said. "Slim won't shoot."
"I employed you," Stenn said, "to take care of the heroics."
"If you've got any better ideas it's time to speak up, Stenn. This is
your only out, the way I see it."
Stenn looked at the man with the gun.
"You referred to someone named 'Maxy.' Would that by any chance be Mr.
Max Arena?"
Slim looked at him and thought about it.
"Could be," he said.
Stenn came slowly over to the Slav. Standing well out of the line of
fire, he carefully put a hand in the loose pocket of the weather suit
and brought out the pistol. I saw Slim's eyes tighten. He was having to
make some tough decisions in a hurry.
Stenn moved offside, pistol in hand.
"Move away from him, Smith," he said.
I didn't know what he had in mind, but it didn't seem like the time to
argue. I moved back.
"Drop your gun," he said.