Page 94 of Two Kinds of Stranger

‘He’s dead,’ said the other homeless guy.

Lake could hear the sirens getting closer. Sweat and rain stung his eyes. His arm screamed and Lake told himself to staywith it. To keep going. To save this guy. Lake knew he wasn’t just trying to save one life–Elly Parker’s life was in the balance too.

Suddenly, Lake couldn’t hold himself upright. His vision clouded and he collapsed beside Joe. He couldn’t breathe. His eyes wouldn’t stay open.

Before the darkness took him, he heard the other homeless man in the cap say something weird. At first, he couldn’t understand it. It was such a strange thing to say.

‘It’s the kindness that kills you,’ said the homeless man.

34

Bloch

Bloch couldn’t tell if the sidewalk was coming up to meet her face, or if she was falling toward it.

She’d heard footsteps behind her on the street, once she’d left Raymond in the apartment, then felt something hit the back of her head, before she could turn round and face whoever was coming up on her so fast. There had been no pain, not yet, but it had been hard enough for her to collapse. Something happens when you get hit just right, enough to rattle the brain inside the skull – your legs just give out.

Bloch wasn’t unconscious, but she knew she had been hit hard and managed to bring her arms up, protecting her face as she hit the sidewalk.

Her right forearm took the impact, jolting her shoulder and sending a freezing pain through her elbow that immediately brought gooseflesh to her skin.

She was still awake.

The pain in her arm lit up her nervous system. Cleared her head just as she felt the pain growing at the back of her head and the first trickle of blood on her neck.

She spun round, shoulders to the sidewalk, to face the man standing over her.

He was enormous, and wore a long, black leather coat that bulged from his shoulders and arms, as if he was wearing football pads. But Bloch knew this wasn’t padding. She could tellby the large thick hands that reached down toward her. He had a bald head and a beard. Scars crisscrossed his cheeks, and one long slash bisected his right eyebrow.

His name was Bruno Mont. The man who did wet work for Arthur Cross.

Mont knelt down, taking hold of Bloch’s coat to keep her on the ground, his left knee digging into her thighs. He let go with his right hand, raised it and sent a massive blow toward Bloch’s face. She managed to get her hands up to cover her head and felt her left arm go numb with the impact. Instinctively, she snapped a right hand into his jaw, snapping his head back. But she had no purchase, no power from lying flat on the sidewalk. A second later, she convulsed as his huge fist drove into her side and Bloch heard her ribs snap. She cried out. Reflex kicked in and her arm dropped to protect her side, leaving her face exposed.

A straight right to her mouth hammered the back of her head to the sidewalk. His hand was now in her jacket. He drew out her Magnum and tossed it.

Bloch’s vision blurred, stars dancing around Bruno Mont’s ugly smiling face.

She was hurt, dazed, but no longer surprised.

Bloch took a second to glance around, getting her bearings. She was beside a line of cars parked along the curb. A black BMW was beside her, just a few feet away, and her Jeep was just beyond it.

Bruno sat up, and reached into his jacket.

Bloch planted her heels on the ground and arched her back, forcing him off, unbalancing him so he fell off her, onto his ass.

She had two choices. Try to get to her feet, and deal with him toe to toe, with whatever weapon he had in his coat.

Or. . .

Bloch rolled onto her left side and swung her right leg as hard as she could into the passenger door of the BMW parked at thecurb. A metallic thud from Bloch’s boot put a dent in the door, but thankfully something else happened.

The car’s alarm kicked in, deafening her. Lights flashing. Horn buzzing.

It was the best thing Bloch could do.

Raise the alarm.

She turned to see Bruno getting onto his feet, a blade in his right hand.