Page 90 of Slow Burn

Head wound. He had a head wound. They always bled a lot. His arms were okay, his legs hurt like hell, but he could move them. The car was mashed to hell.

There was a limp white balloon hanging from the steering wheel. Air bag.

He turned his head to tell Agent Jennings about the air bag, but Jennings was gone. His door was open, creaking in the wind, and there was blood on the passenger seat.

“Jennings?” he croaked. “Hey, are you okay? Hey?”

He could see through the windshield now, mostly because the windshield was gone. Jagged squares of safety glass hung like fringe here and there; he had a good view of the white truck. It lay on its side like a dying elephant, grille mashed in. One tire was still spinning unevenly. The wind smelled like gas and hot metal.

Somebody opened the driver’s-side door. Martin tried to turn his head, but it wouldn’t cooperate. He turned it with both hands and blinked.

“Jennings?” No, the face wasn’t Jennings. It was a big guy with a blank steroid look. In spite of the cold, he was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt. His arms looked like the Jaws of Life.

“You okay, man?” the Hulk asked. “We called 911. Shit, there’s some old lady shot over there. You do that?”

Martin tried to shake his head.

“I seen you crash. Man. Boom! Lucky you ain’t dead, man. You been drinking or what? Hey, if you been drinking, better have one of these.” He held up a tin full of what looked like mints. “Altoids. Cops won’t smell it on your breath.”

“Where’s Jennings?”

“Who? The old lady? She’s over there. Guy from the club, he used to be an EMT, he’s over there with her. Don’t worry, he ain’t been drinking much.”

“What about the truck? Anybody in there?”

The Hulk looked almost cheerful.

“Couple of dead guys, that’s all. One of ’em has no face, Randy said. He was pukin’ on the sidewalk, so I know he wasn’t shitting me.”

Over the Hulk’s huge shoulder, Martin caught sight of a woman wearing a Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt, brand new. It still had creases. She smoothed it proudly over her hips and modeled it for a weaving leering boyfriend.

Martin held his head together with both hands and peered out at the street.

Chaos. The crash had drawn a crowd out of the club, and now they were at the truck, yanking open boxes, carrying off shirts—a purple-haired woman ran by carrying an armload. A young Hispanic man lifted two large boxes.

“No …” Martin’s voice sounded slurred and weak. “No, stop … hey, stop them, they’re taking—”

The Hulk looked where he pointed, and shrugged philosophically.

“Hey, dude, I’m just the bouncer, I ain’t the cops. Fact is, I got a couple boxes stashed in my car right now.”

Martin gritted his teeth and moved. He got one leg out the door, then the other, but when he tried to stand up, he fell over. The Hulk steadied him.

“Not a genius idea, man.”

“I have to stop them,” he said. It sounded stupid, and itwasstupid, but he had to do something, any-thing. He staggered off toward the looting. The Hulk followed him at a casual distance.

Martin tried to take a sweatshirt out of the hands of a young woman wearing orange leather. By the time he got up again, she was gone, heading for a decrepit Pinto.

He grabbed hold of a middle-aged man in a business suit, and got an elbow in ribs that already felt like confetti. He sat down on the pavement to think about it, head down, and felt a hand on his shoulder.

“It was good of you to try to stop them,” said a quiet male voice. The accent sounded English. Martin cradled his head in his hands. The splintering noise wasn’t just in his head, after all—sirens, approaching in the distance. The man squeezed his shoulder hard enough to make him wince. “Such a tragedy.”

“Had to try,” Martin mumbled, and looked up. The man bending over him was about his own age, dressed in a dark sweater and khaki pants, a thick down parka with fur around the hood. He had a smooth Arabic complexion and large soulful eyes. And a smile.

He knew that face. From—where?

“I see you know me,” the man said, and it clicked. Fathi el Haddiz. Carling’s terrorist. “I’m afraid I don’t know you. Were you driving the car? If so, my congratulations. Quite a solid hit. You might even have accomplished your mission, if this hadn’t happened. People are so greedy, don’t you think?”

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