John Deere trailed the both of them outside, mumbling under his breath.
Cathy stood next to the stranger’s truck, speaking with John Deere’s cohort.
“Hey, pal. It’s rude to walk away from someone when they’re speaking to you,” John Deere said. “We don’t take kindly to that sort of thing around here, or stealing. Perhaps you need a lesson in manners.”
The man standing in front of Cathy had her pressed against the driver’s side of the truck. He leaned on the hood, smiling and looking her up and down.
The Corona cap he wore looked in dire shape. The dark navy-blue bill was tattered and frayed. Long, black, wiry strands of hair snaked out from under the cap like spider legs. His thick, bushy, black beard concealed his mouth. The smirched rags he wore looked just as bad as his buddy’s–dirty and ripped.
Cathy eyed Russell, then turned away from Corona.
“Hey, where you going? We were just getting to know each other.” Corona tossed his hands in the air, looking at Cathy as she walked away.
“Seems like we have some rude thieves in our midst,” John Deere said, from behind Russell. “Seems like these out of town folks don’t care for conversation or the law.”
“Are you ok?” Russell asked, walking alongside Cathy. “They didn’t try anything, did they?”
She peered over her shoulder at the two men, then said, “I’m good. It’s not the first time I’ve had to deal with some backwoods hillbillies. Though, I’m glad you came out when you did.”
“Yeah. Seems like they’re out looking for trouble. I grabbed what I could, and decided to leave when I spotted John Deere’s piece tucked in his pants,” Russell replied, eyeing the Bronco.
“Can you believe these two?” John Deer said, walking behind them. “I think it might be our civic duty to handle this. What do you think, Boyd?”
“I think you’re right, Ned. I do believe it is our duty to protect our little community from such outside trash as these two,” Boyd replied.
Max stopped, turned toward John Deere, then barked.
Cathy whirled around and grabbed him by the collar. “Max. Come on, boy. It’s not worth it. Let’s just go.”
Russell spun on his heels, facing the two men. The dying light made it cumbersome to see, but the surge of adrenalin pushed him past any fatigue and helped him focus.
Ned yanked the piece from the front of his jeans, then trained the barrel at Max’s forehead. “I already told your friend to control that damn mutt. I’d hate to have to put him down.”
The German shepherd lunged forward, baring his fangs and barking at the two men. Cathy wrestled the excited canine, holding him at bay as best she could.
“Listen. We don’t want any trouble here. I paid for what items I took, so nothing’s been stolen. We’ll be on our way.” Russell looked at Ned, then over to Boyd who stood in front of his truck.
“I’ll tell you what. How’s about that pretty thing right there do the apologizing for the both of you with her mouth,” Boyd said, straight-faced while looking at Cathy.
Not going to happen.
Ned looked over to Boyd. His piece drifted to the side some.
Max broke free of Cathy’s hold, charging John Deere.
“Look out,” Boyd shouted, pointing at Max.
Ned pulled the trigger without looking.
Cathy gasped as fire spat from the barrel.
She turned as the bullet zipped past her leg.
Max leapt, latching onto Ned’s forearm–the one that wielded the gun.
Ned bellowed. “Ah. Get this damn animal off me, Boyd.”
Corona reached for the top of his pants, feeling around the waistband.
Russell whipped his Glock 17 out from behind his back.
A warning shot fired over the top of the truck, sending Boyd scurrying for cover on the driver’s side of the vehicle. He dropped the weapon, then kicked the piece toward the building.
Max thrashed his head and pulled, fighting to take Ned to the pavement.
Ned struggled to keep upright, feet moving in every direction to sustain his balance. He leaned forward and reached for his piece on the pavement, but couldn’t take hold of the weapon.
“Max. Let go. Now.” Cathy grabbed him by the collar and tugged.
The German shepherd locked in and refused to let go.
Ned wailed, then punched Max in the side, trying to free himself.
Cathy decked Ned in the face while Russell kept Boyd pinned down behind his truck. John Deere stumbled backward. Max released his hold on the man’s ravaged arm.
Cathy pulled him away.
“Get in the Bronco, now.” Russell trained the Glock at Boyd, then Ned. “We’re going to leave. Neither of you will follow us. Am I understood?”
Cathy limped away with Max at her side.
Ned cradled his injured arm, gnashing his teeth and breathing heavily.
Boyd stayed hidden behind his truck. “Ned. You all right?”
“That damn dog chewed my arm up.” Blood dripped from his trembling hand to the pavement. The skin on his forearm looked like ground beef–mangled and gnawed on. He stared at the torn flesh with wide eyes, then flitted his gaze back to Russell. “Mark my words, you’re going to get yours.”
“No, we are not. This is done.” Russell lowered to the ground to grab Ned’s piece from the pavement. The supplies in the plastic bag shifted. His fingers grazed the grip, then took hold. Russell secured the piece in the front of his pants then backed toward the gas pumps.
Cathy got Max stowed in the backseat, then climbed into the passenger seat.
Russell trained the Glock at the front passenger tire of the truck. He popped off a single round, blowing out the large, thick-treaded tire.
“What the hell?” Boyd yelled.
Ned eyed Russell, hunched over and palming the damaged flesh of his arm.
Boyd peered around the edge of the truck, then glanced at the front of the building.
Russell forgot he had the keys to the Bronco stuffed in the front of his pants.
Boyd bolted from his cover and made for his piece.
Russell skirted the back end of the Bronco and fished his keys out. The door hung open, waiting for him to get inside. He shoved the bag into the cab, then hopped in.
“Go, go!” Cathy motioned with her hands to speed up.
Max clawed at the window, growling and barking.
The muffled report of gunfire crackled outside.
A single round pinged off the body of the Bronco.
“Christ. Don’t they see the damn gas pumps?”
Russell slipped the keys into the ignition, then fired it up.
The engine roared as more incoming fire pelted the exterior of the Bronco.
“Hold on.” Russell shifted into drive, then punched the gas.
The back tires squealed. The Bronco tore ass away from the pumps, heading for the highway.
Boyd materialized around the bed of his truck, firing. The orange flashes acted like a beacon, allowing Russell to locate him.
Bullets punched into the front passenger fender as they pulled onto I-66. Russell kept his foot mashed to the floor, pushing the Bronco down the highway until the station faded into the distance.
“Everybody good?” he asked, checking the rear-view mirror.
Cathy palmed her thigh, gritting her teeth.
Even in the dim light, Russell spotted the wetness on her leg. “You’ve been shot.”