Page 84 of Close Up

But it was too late. With a final scream the Poet threw himself off the cliff.

The shriek ended a second later.

Luther and Brandon raced forward and aimed their flashlights down at the thrashing surf. Nick found his own flashlight and joined them.

“I don’t see him,” Luther said.

“Must have been swept out to sea on a wave,” Brandon said. “With luck the body will wash up onshore.”

“He didn’t have enough speed to land in the water,” Nick said. He swept the beam back and forth across the rocks at the bottom of the cliff. “There he is.”

The Poet was sprawled on an outcropping. He did not move.

“Well, damn,” Brandon said. “That’s gonna be a problem.”

A siren wailed. A heavy engine rumbled in the night. Nick turned to watch a patrol car and a speedster arrive. Oliver Ward got out of the sleek speedster, bracing himself on a cane. Two uniformed officers jumped out of the patrol car and ran forward.

“Get on the radio,” Brandon said to one of the officers. “We’re gonna need some help recovering a body.”

Nick headed toward the nearest car, Luther’s coupe, and leaned against it. The pain in his shoulder was making it difficult to think. Luther yanked open the door. “Sit down before you fall down. We need to get you out of that coat.”

Nick half fell into the front seat.

Luther went to work, quickly stripping off Nick’s jacket and shirt. He fashioned a thick bandage out of the shirt and secured it in place with his necktie.

“You’ve done this before,” Nick said.

“More often than I want to remember.”

“The War?”

“Yeah.”

Luther finished the first aid work, propped Nick up in the passenger seat, and got behind the wheel.

“I’m taking Sundridge to Dr. Skipton’s clinic,” he said to Brandon and Oliver Ward.

“Bad?” Oliver asked.

“Not as bad as it could have been,” Luther said. He fired up the engine. “But he’s lost some blood.”

“Go on,” Brandon said. “We’ll catch up with you later.”

Luther pulled out onto the road.

“Lucky for you that bastard was using a twenty-two,” he said, shifting gears. “Not much stopping power.”

“Could have fooled me,” Nick said. He knew his words were starting to slur. “I was trying to count the rounds. Thought he’d fired all six.”

“Hard to keep track when the lead starts flying.”

“It’s depressing, you know.”

“Getting shot?”

“That, too. But mostly it’s depressing to know that I almost got myself killed because of poor math skills.”

“Look on the bright side.” Luther drove faster. “Vivian Brazier is safe now. If the Poet isn’t dead, he’s headed for that gas chamber they’re installing in San Quentin.”

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