Slob (29 page)

And he took the shotgun, which wasn't even a Remington, just some old pawnshop Winchester Defender that he'd taken a hacksaw to, and pulled his belt as tight as it would go and shoved it down in back, pointing down. It was nothing more than the grip, trigger assembly, and the hot loads. Two ugly mags in between his fingers like cigars, five of the hot twelve-pellet loads inside, and he racked it back, fingering the safety off and dropping both the extras he had in his left hand in the street in his nervousness. Easing the piece out of his nice leather holster and letting it slide in gently as it could, wondering if the S.W.A.T. boys and a tac unit would be coming up smoking and ruining everything any second as he removed the carrying case from the front seat. It was heavier than he had expected and the movement inside made it even harder to carry the weight.

"Hey!" the deep voice shouted to him. "Get over here." And it was all happening in broad daylight and it wasn't a monster at all, but a regular human being he had just seen, and the head disappeared back down into the manhole. How the hell had he crammed his bulk through that tiny hole? Eichord wondered. And he sat his box down by the side of the open manhole and gently eased the shotgun out, knowing now that it would be useless, and he placed it beside the box. Then the man called up to him from the darkness below, the voice like a peal of thunder, a deep, strong, metallic clapping boom.

"I don't know what you have in them but don't touch it again. Climb down the ladder unless you want me to twist the head off this skinny cunt," he shouted up savagely to Jack.

"I can't see, please! Wait!" Jack shone a flashlight down into the hole, shouting, "You want me to climb down there?"

"Get that light out of my eyes and get down here!"
the man bellowed at him. But he'd already spotted the woman was behind him and still alive.
"Don't mess with me or I'll kill her—NOW!"
he warned, and he did something to Edie and she screamed and Jack reached into the box and grabbed the first soft thing he touched and flung it into the hole.

"See that. I've got a whole
box
of them. Do you understand me, you big, fat
tub of shit—a whole box of them."
He was shaking now and reached down into the box and grabbed another one of the little, furry things and flung it, wiggling down into the hole. He was gambling with lives now and it had to be just right. Just believable enough so that the man would buy it and come for him. The second one was enough and he heard a bull roar of anger.

"I'll KILL these bitches if you throw another one of them down here!"

"Listen, you mountain of blubber, for every fucking second you keep them down there I'll break a paw on one of these mutts and send it down to you do you hear me? Every second you sonofabitch I'm counting to ten now and if I don't see the little girl and the woman up here I start breaking paws. You want proof? Listen."

He reached in and did something and one of the little puppies in the box screamed in pain and Chaingang bellowed:

"ALL RIGHT GODDAMN YOU COCKSUCK DON'T HURT THE DOGS HERE THEY COME UP NOW DON'T HURT"—and his head was in the opening and his chain boloing out at Eichord like a silver lightning bolt him coming up that ladder faster than any living person had ever seen him move before, churning and charging upward on those great tree trunks of legs, the links of the chain catching on the lip of the manhole as he tried to fling it out and Jack shooting him three times as fast as he could pull the trigger, hitting him in the face with the first shot and two more times and Jack making himself move now as the man fell back down into the darkness with a loud, resounding splash and first trying to climb down the ladder facing forward and not being able to and half turning, going down with his flashlight beaming down into the stench and seeing Lee bound and gagged and the woman all right then, and saying to them:

"Oh! Okay baby, we'll get you out of here now." Going to her with the gun and light on the monster and taking her and starting to work on Lee's rope as he came up out of the puddle of slime again, rising up and charging a roaring rhino-sized freight train of death screaming down on them in the close foulness of the hole, one cheek blown away, tough Kevlar body armor taking the other two rounds, and Jack icy, calm, shooting him at point blank range, the mad monstrosity roaring, steaming, bellowing, reaching for Jack even as he missed with his fifth shot, his fingers grabbing Eichord in that powerful and deadly vise grip as Jack squeezed off the top last round into this human beast.

And, oblivious to Lee Anne, who had curled into a tight, frightened ball, and to her mother's screams, snapping a speedloader into the piece and his hands shaking so badly missing and letting the precious live shells splash down into the stinking goo, and then forcing himself to move precisely and taking out the last speedloader, like a blind man fitting the shells down into the cylinder with his fingers and releasing the device, closing the cylinder tightly, feeling it click and then move that millimeter more and stop, and placing the barrel in what was left of the mouth of Daniel Bunkowski and firing blindly, not able to see or wanting to, firing, holstering the piece and working on getting them out of there, the loudness of the reports like cannon shots exploding and echoing in their pummeled, deafened eardrums.

Then he had Edie moving up the ladder and climbing out onto the pavement where she lay right beside the open manhole and the box of puppies from the Humane Society, sobbing, cars going by. And Jack brought Lee Anne out, carrying her like a rolled-up rug, and helping Edie up, and all of them blinking in the bright sunlight as they moved toward the curb and Jack got them inside and called it in. He had to force himself to keep moving. He knew if he stopped he wouldn't be able to make himself go back down and he had to get the two pups.

He had to breathe very deeply to keep from getting sick, and he started back down the ladder. He felt a swirl of water eddying around his feet as he quickly gathered up the small dogs and started back up to the street. The water was rushing through now, coming from a nearby pumping station through the branch lines and into the submains. But Eichord was back up and the puppies were safe. They appeared to be okay.

Below, the water level continued rising as the dark swirl washed over the huge carcass and then it gave the body more buoyancy and the eddying force pulled the motionless shape farther down, sucking it into the inky darkness of the water main.

"Where's the DB?" the first evidence technician asked.

"Down there." Eichord gestured toward the manhole.

"If that main connects into the storm drains and all, no telling where he'll end up."

"Probably turn up as a floater," Eichord told him, "out in the lake."

"Could be," the tech said, looking down into the darkly swirling water. "Probably end up down in the sewer system with the rest of the giant alligators and shit."

"I hear that all right," Jack said, tilting his head.

"Oh well."

"Right. Good luck," he said as he headed for the car where the woman and child sat huddled in blankets.

"You too," the man said.

REX MILLER
has had many different jobs and several obsessions. He has been a radio broadcaster and has done voiceovers and announcing for nation-wide radio and television programs. Mr. Miller's obsessions have also proved fruitful, and he is considered one of America's most knowledgeable authorities on popular culture memorabilia and the culture of nostalgia in general. His many novels include SLOB, STONE SHADOW, and THE EICHORD SAGA, which deals with the ongoing battle between Good and Evil.