74. Bull

74

Bull

I slid down off the horse, gave it a pat and stalked into the store. Betty’s Fine China Emporium, said the sign.

Inside, narrow aisles threaded between shelves. The shelves groaned under the weight of plates and teacups in a million different patterns.

I saw the dark-haired asshole halfway down an aisle, dragging a protesting Lily behind him.

I saw red.

I bellowed and charged down the aisle. The shelves shook under my footsteps, setting up a clattering vibration. The aisle narrowed and my shoulders were too wide for it.

Fortunately, the shelves weren’t attached to the floor. I just smashed them out of the way, jolting and sometimes tipping them. Piles of china slid and crashed all around me, drowning out everything else. When the Mafia guy turned to glance over his shoulder, I had to settle for seeing his lips move. “ Shit,” he mouthed .

He pulled his gun and fired once, twice. A teapot and a stack of side plates exploded. The third bullet grazed the top of my shoulder. And then he ran out of time.

I’d lowered my head to avoid the shots and wound up hitting him in the legs like I was sacking a quarterback. He slammed backwards into another shelf of crockery and the gun fell from his hand. He slumped, limp and groaning.

Suddenly, the store was very quiet aside from the occasional plate sliding off a pile and breaking. Outside, I heard sirens. Probably Calahan and the local police catching up with the driver.

Lily was standing with her back up against a shelf, panting. “You crazy fool,” she told me. “You could have been killed!” Then, in her next breath, “Thank you.”

I rubbed my head and figured that was probably the right time to kiss her, so I did.