The Patch of the Odin Soldier, page 19
“Of course.”
The vine parted, Lincoln dropped and held his breath.
The plank didn’t fall.
Hell, he thought, and scowled at the splinters he plucked from his arms.
“Y’know, Whitey,” he said, “this is dumb.”
“Do not call me that!” Cull yelled. “That is a disparagement upon my mother, and I’ve already told you I will not have it! Do you hear me, tailor? I will not have it!”
Cull stamped his foot angrily.
The plank parted.
Cull yelled and dropped through, and Lincoln was positioned to lunge at him and bring him down when he saw that the man had landed on his feet.
Damn, he thought; being seven feet tall has its advantages.
“Well,” Cull said with a wolfish grin, reached out suddenly and snared Linc’s arm. Linc aimed a side kick at his groin, and Cull sidestepped, spinning him closer to land a punch on his cheek. Linc grunted, snapped his head back and managed a blow into the man’s midsection, The man lost a bit of air, but didn’t release him. He would have tried another kick then, but Cull grabbed the front of his shirt and lifted him off the ground. Linc encircled his neck and pulled his head near, then leaned to one side and screamed in Cull’s ear.
Cull laughed.
Nuts, Linc thought; he’s shut the aids off.
Then Cull stiffened his arms and Linc flailed his fists wildly, grimacing as his blows landed weakly on Cull’s shoulders while Cull walked forward slowly between the pilings toward the lake.
Molly screamed.
Cull shifted one hand to Linc’s throat and began to squeeze.
Linc saw the man’s arms bend slightly under the strain and he reached out to bury his hands in the mass of white hair. He pulled as hard as he could.
Cull shrieked.
Linc pulled harder and saw droplets of blood begin to seep through the white; again, and his right hand came away with a fistful of hair he shoved in Cull’s face. At the same time, he snapped his other hand down onto the crook of the man’s elbow, and Cull released him with a groan. Linc landed on his feet and wasted no time butting his chest to drive him back; Cull caught an arm and swung him into a piling. There was red, and sparkling light, and he was swung out again, back again, but this time he cushioned most of the blow with a backward-extended foot that he used to launch himself forward. Cull’s arm gave at the pressure, and Linc took hold of his hair again, wrapped his legs around the man’s waist, and pulled.
Cull shrieked and put a forearm under his chin.
Lincoln twisted away and bit his nose.
Cull yelled, covered the nose, and Linc wriggled free, blinked the sweat from his eyes, and kicked him in the groin. Cull doubled over.
Linc grabbed two fistfuls of what hair was left and spun the man around, releasing him with a toe into his ribs when they were parallel to the water.
Cull stumbled in, fell, rose sputtering in a sitting position, and windmilled his arms as he tried to regain his footing.
Linc sprinted for the Soldier, held it tightly, and after taking a deep breath, lifted the patch.
The water around Cull began to boil, and the man began to scream. His face reddened, and the blood on his scalp began to pour more freely over his face. He lurched to his feet and tried to run, but the smoke lifting from the surface blinded him and he ran in the wrong direction—out toward the center instead of toward shore, until he screamed one more time and vanished.
The lake bubbled.
The bubbles were red.
Linc thumbed the patch down and dropped the Soldier at his feet, his hands trembling too much to hold it.
Molly screamed.
Lincoln had had enough. He stalked to the water’s edge and put his hands on his hips.
“Goddamnit,” he said, “it’s over so shut the hell up!”
She quieted suddenly, looked at him, then screamed again. “You idiot! Look at the damned water!”
It was still boiling, more furiously than ever.
It took a while for the implications to sink in; then he gestured for her to remain calm, ran back to the far cabin just as Lymington was staggering into the sunlight. Linc shouted at him to hurry, explained the situation as the old pilot stumbled down the ladder, and practically dragged him out to the dock and into the waiting, bobbing seaplane.
“Damnit, I don’t have the keys!” he said, slapping the instrument panel.
“Don’t need them,” Lymington assured him.
“What are you going to do, Ace, hot-wire it?”
Lymington sniffed, pulled a set of keys out of his pocket, and soon had the engine revving. Lincoln cast off the rope holding them to the dock and they bounced and bucked their way to the float and took Molly aboard.
She glared at him and strapped herself in.
He glared at her and did the same.
Lymington hummed to himself and within minutes had them in the air. “I believe,” he said over his shoulder, “we had best head back for the islands.”
“Fine,” Lincoln said, looking out the window to his right as they banked sharply. Then he groaned.
“What?” Molly snapped.
“I forgot the Soldier.”
“You called me an idiot!”
“But I don’t think we’ll have to worry. Angel, you’d better not hang around.”
Lymington nodded.
“Hey, Lincoln, you called me an idiot!”
He turned to her, measured the distance between her chin and his fist, and praised his self-control when, instead of punching her, he pointed. She resisted for a full five seconds before looking out and seeing the vast cloud of steam and smoke rising from the center of Kampollea.
“It’s going to blow up,” she said in quiet astonishment.
“Looks that way.”
“My brother—”
“He was already dead, Molly. I’m sorry.”
She shuddered and lowered her head. “That’s all right. He was crazy anyway.” A sigh, and she looked out again, one hand touching the pane and tracing its outline. “Nice, but crazy.”
“The Soldier, too. I’m sorry we had to leave it. It would have made you a very wealthy woman.”
“That’s okay,” she told him. “I’m rich anyway. Another couple of million more or less won’t make any difference.”
“You’re rich?”
“Sure. How do you think I paid for all those airline tickets? My good looks? Wow, look at that thing go!”
“You’re rich?”
“God, Angel, we’d better be almost there before it blows or it’ll knock us right out of the air.”
He sat back and stared at her profile. Then the plane dropped in a downdraft and he closed his eyes tightly, whispering silently to his stomach not to get so excited. It wouldn’t be long before they were back in Honolulu. Then he was going to get on the first boat back to the mainland, the first train back to the East Coast, and rent a limousine to bring him back to his tailor shop in Inverness, New Jersey. He was going to sleep for a week or two, then look up a few friends and let them know what he thought of them.
After that, he was going to go to the Bronx Zoo and spend the whole day looking at a moose.
They landed without incident on Oahu, only barely resisting dropping to their knees to kiss the ground. Then, not brooking any delays, Lincoln snared a cab to the docks. Molly went with him after promising to join Lymington later.
“Lincoln?”
“What?”
“We … that is, we won’t be seeing each other again, will we? After we land, I mean.”
“I guess not.”
“Will … I mean, I don’t mean to be forward, but what I mean is, even though I haven’t said it yet, but will you be glad? Not to see me again, I mean.”
It was a close call between tact and truth.
“Not really,” he compromised.
“Funny,” she said, so thoughtfully he opened his eyes to look at her. “I don’t think I’ll be sorry at all. I don’t mean to criticize, you understand, but you’re really no fun. No fun at all.”
He closed his eyes again, felt the bruises on his ribs, the scrapes on his arms, the scratches and aches in his legs, and sighed. Crazy as a loon, he thought, and did not open them again until they arrived. The ticket was purchased, the ship was already boarding, and they walked quickly toward the dock.
“Maybe,” she said softly, “I’ll call you when you get back.”
He smiled gently. “Okay. I’d like that.”
A purser rushed by, bleating the same message they could hear over the loudspeakers—all visitors ashore, the ship was departing. He kissed her once, quickly, and hurried up the gangplank, found a place on the railing and saw her below. He waved as horns blew and confetti filled the air and a band below played “Aloha.” She waved back. He blew her a kiss. She started to wave with both arms as the ship pulled away. He laughed and blew her another kiss. She waved even harder, and he couldn’t figure out why she was so delirious until a soft hand touched his shoulder.
“Lincoln,” Salome said, “you owe me several thousand dollars, you son of a bitch.”
Then he heard Arturo singing.
He was not reminded of angels.
Lincoln Blackthorne returns in:
THE FANGS OF THE HOODED DEMON
Book Four of the Lincoln Blackthorne series
Charles L. Grant, The Patch of the Odin Soldier
