Robert Charrette - Arthur 01 - A Prince Among Men by Robert N. Charrette Read Free Book Online

counter as he was supposed to. He might as well have just come up front. She didn't even look at him when he bumped her elbow; she just sidestepped away from him. Jose finally looked in Helen's direction, and she gave him a scowl. He grinned sheepishly and abandoned his stalk, bringing the rolls of change she'd sent him to the back for.
    Just as Jose lifted the panel to enter the counter section, there was a flicker from the parking lot. Power surge? No, the store lights had stayed steady. She hadn't heard a truck. Probably just her imagination. Sam always said she had an active imagination. If he only knew what she imagined about him.
    She had to slap Jose lightly on the shoulder to get his attention long enough for him to turn over the change. The boy was still checking out the woman.
    "Forget it, Jose."
    "But she's so pretty."
    Helen looked again. The plastic food seemed to agree with the woman; she didn't look near as bad as when she had walked in. Yeah, you could say she was pretty, if you liked the angular, foxy-featured type. Jose would like the type; he liked all types. The boy mumbled something to himself in Spanish, and Helen just shook her head. Young and headstrong. She had work to do. She rang the "No Sale" to open the register for the coins, and the store went dark.
    Damn!
    Storm must have caught a power line somewhere. Even the streetlights were out. A car went by, headlamps throwing a wash of light across the lot. Nothing out there but the woman's bike. No more helmet.
    Even on a weeknight.
    With the power out, Helen had to secure the till. Telling Jose to close the register's drawer, she stepped out from behind the counter. Best to lock the doors until the power came back.
    Impulsively, she stepped outside to see how extensive the outage was. Funny, there wasn't any wind. Must have been a lightning strike, then. Just took out the local stuff, though; she could see lights down at Duffy's Tavern and most of the houses beyond it. The streetlights along Route 4 were on, too. But for at least a quarter mile either side of the store everything was dark.
    Amazing how quiet things got when it was dark.
    She heard a scuffling by the dumpster and turned quickly enough to catch a glimpse of a pair of kids ducking behind it.
    The helmet thieves, no doubt. She took a step back toward the door, knowing she'd best lock it up.
    With a shock, she realized that the kids were running toward her, not away. One of them held something in his hand, something that glinted.
    The helmet?
    Shit, the kid had a knife!
    She stepped back again, hand groping for the door she'd let close behind her. Instead of metal, her hand touched leather. Warm, slick leather. She spun to find a tall man standing between her and the door.
    "Help me, mister."
    "You're not her," he said. He sounded disappointed.
    Pain shocked a scream from her as fire lanced into her back. Her grasping hands reached out for the man, but he stepped away from her. Her knees hit the cement. Her spine seemed on fire. She'd been knifed in the back.
    Why was the guy just standing there?
    Fuck him!
    Helen heaved herself up. One of the kids was tugging on her. Little bastard was wearing a mask. His buddy was pawing at her too, his nails gouging like claws. God, were they going to rape her while she bled her life away?
    She kicked one of the little bastards and he staggered back. She backhanded the other, sending him staggering away too. She was surprised at her strength. Where was it coming from? Her back felt cold now.
    Her knees buckled again, dropping her. She reached up for the door handle, but one of the punks grabbed her arm. She felt his stinking breath on her cheek and his nails digging into her flesh. He twisted her arm back, painfully. Her knees left the cement. She flailed helplessly as he heaved her up. The kid was laughing as he held her over his head.
    What the hell was he on?
    His partner chattered something in a gutter dialect, and both of them laughed. The jazzed