“Y’all will regret this,” Carl said with a raspy laugh. The cigarette fell out of his mouth. “Damnit.”
“Keep your hands in the air!” I ordered, but he was already bending down to grab the cigarette.
I didn’t want to kill him. That was my mistake. I should’ve pulled the trigger the moment he reached.
Carl pretended to bend down, then lurched upward with shocking speed. He pushed the barrel of the shotgun aside and then twisted, wrenching it free from my grasp and knocking it aside.
“Shit!” Flop shouted, and ran back into the kitchen.
I swung a fist in a desperate attempt to regain the upper hand, but Carl was quicker than I expected and leaned back to dodge the blow. As he slid sideways he reached out and snatched his switchblade from the counter, slashing it across my body and almost spilling my guts on the floor.
I backed up, putting some space between us, and he came onward, knife extended like this was a goddamn fencing match. I jumped back with each of his thrusts, painfully aware of how close each one came. I was running out of room, and moving farther and farther from my shotgun.
“Sid’ll be pissed if you kill me,” I taunted. “He wants me for himself.”
Carl sneered. “Maybe I’ll just—”
It was the oldest trick in the book, and itworked. As he responded, I threw my weight into him, shoving the arm with the knife aside and getting in close. I head-butted him in the forehead, which might have hurt me as much as it hurt him, but it did the trick of disorienting him enough for me to punch the knife out of his hand and tackle him to the floor.
I tried to stay on top of him but he rolled sideways, kicking his knee up into my balls. The pain was so intense I almost vomited. I grunted and fell over, grabbing at him in a desperate attempt to keep him from getting on top ofme.
Flop returned from the kitchen with his own weapon, an old assault rifle from the war. I was vaguely aware of him aiming it, but we were moving around too much for him to take the shot. At least Ihopedhe wouldn’t try to take the shot. The bullet from that rifle would go right through Carl and into me.
Carl succeeded in climbing on top of me. He grabbed a handful of my hair and slammed my head back, flashing my vision white and disorienting me. “Fuck. You. Copperhead. Traitor,” he said with each slam.
Suddenly Carl grunted. He blinked and fell sideways off me, groaning as if he’d been shot. Flop held his assault rifle backwards, having just hit Carl with the butt of the gun.
I sat up and reached for my shotgun. “About time you helped.”
Flop flipped his rifle around and made an offended noise. “That’s the thanks I get?”
“Thanks, Flop.”
“Ought to give me more than just your appreciation,” he grumbled sourly. “You know what Sid’ll do if he knows I helped you? Gonna peel my toenails off one at a time…”
I retrieved Carl’s switchblade and put it in my back pocket, then used the potato sack string to bind the Copperhead’s hands behind his back. It did a surprisingly good job, at least for now.
Flop and I dragged Carl into the dry pantry in the back of the kitchen. “Had to go bringing trouble into my bar,” Flop’s wife grumbled.
“Yourbar?” Flop shot back. “Whose name is on the goddamn sign, woman?”
She rolled her eyes. “You think the man who owns McDonald’s is named McDonald? Name don’t mean shit.”
“It ain’t owned by one guy,stupid. It’s got shareholders.”
“Hey Flop,” I interrupted. “You know your buddy down in Jacksonville? The one who helped us that one time, with the thing?”
He got a faraway look in his eye. “Sure do. You think that’s a good idea?”
“I’m open to suggestions. But that seems like the best plan right now.”
“Gonna need transport down there,” Flop said.
“Leave that to me,” I replied.
“Why don’t you tell him the story about getting shot down in Vietnam,” his wife suggested. “He’ll hang himself on the doorknob to avoid hearing that again.”
“Sandra, will you shut it already!”