One Hundred Eight
“Drop it,” said Big Bobby as he stood before Jenny, looming even larger with the smoke from the grenades billowing behind him in the soft light. “Nice and slow.”
“Like hell I’m putting this gear down,” Jenny growled.
“Wasn’t talking about your gear, girl. Hell, I get you down under me right, I can get that pushed aside when I start on you.”
“Always the charmer, Bobby.”
She couldn’t see in the low light if that awful nasty smile was on his face. The way Bobby showed his teeth as he was about to do something nasty, she just assumed it was on his face right now.
She stopped trying to look for the smile, kept her eyes where it would do her more good. Like the roll of his shoulders as his arms flexed on the verge of action, and on his hands, looking at his right hand flexed while the tips of his fingers touched something tied to his thigh…
The gear flew off Jenny as she took a step back, clangs and thuds as each bundle hit the dirt, and drew her pistol. Bobby’s hand came up to his side as she took a knee and popped off a few rounds at him.
She only saw what Bobby had in his hand as he fell forward, the large knife flying up and to the side. When it came down, burying the blade a few inches in the dirt, and Bobby rocked a few times from side to side without getting up, only then did Jenny leave her crouch.
She took a few steps forward, able to see Bobby better in the rising light of dawn through the dissipating smoke. She saw all his teeth, but he was definitely not smiling as the pain contorted his face.
“Damn, Bobby,” Jenny said, “you brought a knife to a gun fight? Real smart, ain’t it?”
Bobby glowered at Jenny; the only sounds he made were moans.
“You want to repeat that, Bobby? I didn’t catch that last bit.”
“You know what I’m going to do all over you when I get you, girl?” he growled.
Bobby’s moans deepened to a growl as he started to roll forward; the cry gave Jenny enough warning to take a step to the side as he raised his pistol and got off one shot that went wide.
She braced and got off two shots, both of Bobby’s thighs spurting blood that got as high as her shoulders before he put his big hands over the wounds to staunch the bleeding.
As she lowered her gun, she saw his face contort; this time, there was some fear at the edges of the hate that made her skip a breath, forcing her to will herself to inhale.
At first, she tried not to look at him as she gathered back the gear, but when she was re-equipped she came back over to him and looked at her handiwork: a graze on the arm, on top of the two punctures in his legs.
“You know,” she said to Bobby, “when you held down Shaun and cut him up like you did, he was badly messed up. More than just losing a hand and foot, I mean, on the inside, did you know that?”
He said nothing, the fear taking up a little more real estate on his face every second.
“And if I was as bad as you, I might look at you right and now and start thinking, what can I do to him to make Bobby’s life just go completely to shit?”
Fear started to take over the neighborhood.
“But you know what? I’m not, I’m never going to be as bad as you, and the only way I’d do you even worse is if you ever open your f’n’ mouth and say something stupid to me again. We got that?”
“And look at this way: You can tell whoever you want that I did you better than you did Shaun, and as long as I don’t hear about it and come back for your ass, that should be good, ain’t it?”
Bobby only stared at her as she turned and headed on inland, going after Harker…
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