Part of his mind had been calmly certain that he would never get away with it; that he would find himself standing there flatfooted, holding the bar of iron, while the man pointed a gun at him, and told him to drop it and stop acting like a jackass. Instead the man in the Stetson hat gave a little grunt and grabbed for his shoulder; then staggered as the pain got to him, swayed against the car, and sat down in the road. Emmett was aware of Ann running to him and catching at his left hand. They stood looking down at the man sitting in the gravel, in the glare of his own headlights, staring up at them with wet, pain-glazed eyes. “Who is he?” “Damned if I know,” Emmett said, and freed himself from her grip. Holding the jack handle ready, he went forward. The man’s eyes followed him. “It’s broken,” the man whispered. “You bastard.” “Think if it had been your head,”
What do You think about Hamilton, Donald - Novel 02?
