Tiger by William Richter Read Free Book Online

stepped out of a recessed doorway and onto the sidewalk, blocking their path. He wasn’t tall or especially big, but he carried his lean, wiry physique with a sense of confidence. Wally tensed—she didn’t think this was one of the guys from the sedan outside Harmony House. How many men did Kyle’s father have out here?
    The man held up his hand for them to stop. The man even smiled a little, attempting to put them at ease.
    â€œOkay,” he said quietly. “There’s no reason to make this hard. . . . ”
    Tires squealed behind them as the large sedan that had been parked out in front of Harmony House wheeled around onto Tenth Avenue, headed straight for them.
    Shit .
    â€œForget it,” Wally said to the man. “He’s not going with you.”
    With blinding quickness, the man’s right hand shot out and grabbed Wally by the shoulder, his fingers digging deep into her muscle. His grip was powerful—like a vice clamping down on her nerves—and she felt a searing pain up and down her arm as he pulled her toward him. Wally spun to the right and brought her left arm down hard, breaking the man’s grip on her.
    She stepped back and saw the look of surprise and embarrassment on his face, which turned almost immediately to anger. He lunged at her again, but his rage had unbalanced him—Wally spun out of his path and crouched down, aiming a side kick straight at his knee. The heel of her foot landed hard on the man’s knee joint and it buckled to the side. The man fell to the sidewalk, howling in pain and holding his dislocated knee.
    â€œOh my God . . . ” Kyle said, a look of shock on his face as he stared at the writhing security man.
    Wally jumped back to her feet and grabbed Kyle. The sedan kept coming and raced after them. Wally and Kyle caught a break when a delivery truck turned onto the street, blocking the sedan’s way. Though they didn’t turn to look, they heard the car skid to a stop and the driver’s door fly open. The footsteps of the second man echoed down the street as he raced past the cursing truck driver and came after them.
    Wally could hear that the man’s footfalls were heavy—he was bigger than the first man—but his pace was fast and athletic, his size now slowing him down.
    When they reached 39 th Street and rounded the corner, Wally stopped short against the stone wall and pulled Kyle close. She listened as the second security man’s footsteps grew nearer and crouched, waiting. Just as he rounded the corner, Wally twisted her body hard and struck out with a high, straight arm, striking the man in the throat.
    He flopped down onto the ground, wheezing and struggling for breath, but then rose up onto his feet again, unsteady. Wally had been right about his athleticism—the guy looked like an NFL tight end, at least six foot five and well over 250 pounds with a farm-boy buzz cut and a bleached-blond goatee. His eyes burned with fury as he came at Wally, spittle dribbling out of his mouth and catching at the hairs on his chin.
    He pivoted to his left side and launched a sweeping kick at her, but the size difference between them actually worked to Wally’s advantage—she dropped nimbly to the ground, avoiding what would have been a devastating strike. From her prone position on the cold, filthy pavement, Wally kicked upward and launched a strike of her own, driving her boot up into the man’s solar plexus. He grunted in pain and dropped, curling his massive body up in a fetal position as his body went into a kind of seizure.
    â€œLet’s go,” Wally commanded, and Kyle obeyed, picking up his pace as they hustled west on 39 th . A block and a half later they reached Ninth Avenue and found a taxi idling outside a Greek diner. They slid into the backseat of the cab and within seconds were headed away from the scene, the cabbie glancing suspiciously at them in his