THE TRASHMAN by Terry McDonald Read Free Book Online

do now?” Sam asked.
    “We’ve lost the element of surprise. I want this over. I’m rushing the door. You follow me in, but keep back a ways and cover me.”
    “When?”
    I retrieved the pistol and said, “Right now.”
    I took off for the door, knowing Sam’s speedy legs would have no trouble catching up. There were double doors at the entrance. I shoved through them. Right there on the tiled floor, below a large map on the wall, laid the other man. I stopped so sudden that Sam ran into me, almost knocking me to the floor.
    Sam brought up the shotgun but I put my hand on the barrel to stop him from shooting. The man was on his side staring at me. I could see his hands. He wasn’t armed.
    I moved cautiously to where he lay. Worried about the possibility he had the plague, I stopped short of what I hoped was spitting distance. He, too, was a blond, but older than the one I shot outside. His coat was off and rolled to make a pillow for his head. The side of his shirt that I could see was colored with blood mixed with an ugly brown fluid. With the pistol pointed at his chest, I went to my knees to speak.
    “Whew, you stink. Bullet must have torn all through your guts. Are you feeling good about killing people now, you murdering bastard?”
    “Fuck you, shithead. I guess you killed my brother since you’re here and he’s not.”
    “Your brother? All I saw out there was a rabid dog that needed to die.”
    “Aren’t you a clown?”
    “Nope, you and your bunch are. Three grown men with guns, shot by an unarmed woman. She killed two of you straight up and left you as good as gone.”
    I stood and stared at him. Cleaned up, he could have been anyone’s neighbor.
    “Why’d you mess with that family?”
    “Why not? There isn’t any law except for the gun. I’m as good as dead and you’re a killer same as me, same as my brother. Sooner or later someone will kill you. That’s what we have now.”
    I shook my head. “No, you’re scum and deserve to be dead. The mother and father you killed out there were good people. I’m your judge and I find you guilty.”
    I began to raise the pistol, but Sam used the shotgun. With only ten feet to travel, the birdshot didn’t spread much, but it spread enough to turn the man’s face into raw meat.
    I turned to say something to Sam, but he was bent, hands on his knees. He opened his mouth, spewed a single, long stream of vomit, and then began retching up small amounts that dribbled to the floor.
    Instead of chastising him for firing the shotgun without warning me, I told him I’d be waiting outside. As I turned to leave, I saw a pile of weapons and other items to the side of the entrance door. I carried six pistols and three long guns to the Durango. By the time I opened the rear hatch and laid them into the rear compartment I heard Sam call from the door of the building.
    “You want the rest of the stuff? There’re some bags full of canned food and other bags full of clothing.”
    I shouted back, “The food, yes. No clothing. Check for ammo.” While he did that, holding my breath, I relieved the first man I shot of the pistol he had tucked into his belt.
    A glance at the children’s mother confirmed she was indeed shot in the heart and neck. She had another wound that happened after the kids ran, a hole in the center of her forehead. The blackened marks around it meant she’d been shot point-blank.
    The gut shot man inside must have been the one Jessica saw in her remembrance of the event. The chest shot man was on the pavement near her parents, but the other dead highwayman had a hole in his temple. There were no weapons at the scene. The blond I’d shot must have collected them.
    I heard footsteps. Sam was headed to my Durango carrying a heavy canvas bag, holding it against his abdomen with both arms.
    I arrived at the open hatch at the same time he did.
    “Tell me you’re carrying a bag full of ammunition.”
    “Nothing but. All sorts of calibers in here, some