A Beautiful Friendship - The Wheelman

OH, IT WAS BAD. SAUGHERTY DIDN ’T HAVE ANY ILLUSIONS. The wound under his right arm was pumping blood like a kid’s water pistol. The impact of sliding down the pipe had snapped his spine, and he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore. He was folded like a V inside a dank, fetid, slimy, and circular metal coffin. There were soft, squishy things beneath him. Bodies. He had been to enough crime scenes to distinguish the degrees of ripeness.

But at least he wasn’t upside down. Saughtery could look up and see the night sky through the opening of the pipe.

Things were looking up already, he thought to himself, and chuckled, which hurt.

Then a hand appeared in the opening, and an arm. Draping itself over the side.

A head, in shadow.

What the hell … ?

The opening of the pipe suddenly went dark. Saugherty heard a scraping sound that became louder and louder until—

Impact. A hard skull pounded into his chest. An elbow smashed his nose, and another slammed into the middle of his left shin.

That Michael asshole had pitched his own brother-in-law—well, his almost brother-in-law—into the pipe.

Which made no fucking sense whatsoever.

“You son of a bitch,” Saugherty finally mumbled, when the waves of shock and pain finally ebbed. He took his frustrations out on Lennon’s body. “Shouldn’t you be out collecting your money? Isn’t that what this is all about?”

Nothing.

“I know you’re still alive. I can feel your body breathing.”

Nothing.

“You’re trembling. You’re scared, ain’t ya?”

Still nothing.

“Goddamnit, I wish you could have held on to your voice a bit longer. ’Cause you know, I’m really dying to know what was going through your head the past couple of days.”

Saugherty felt the trembling increase. At first, he thought the mute bank robber was going through death spasms. His body finally giving out. After a while, he realized he was wrong.

Lennon was laughing.