Hardbingers

7

The guy came back and squatted before him. He held out a slip of paper and waggled it. Through his fog of agony Miller saw a ferry pass.

Shit.

"So she's on Nantucket. Care to tell me where?"

"Fuck you." It came out like a groan.

"I'm not out to harm her—anything but. Unlike you, I don't target women and children. But I am going to find her. You can make it easier by telling me where."

"You gotta be kidding me. The fuck would I do that?"

"'Cause maybe it'll help undo what you've done."

Undo? Was this guy crazy?

"No way."

The guy raised the pistol in his other hand—Miller's own H-K—and said, "Then you're no good to me."

Miller had known this was coming. To his surprise, he felt no fear. Torture he feared. Dying clean and quick… not so bad. He'd sworn to die for his Oculus if necessary. Now it was necessary.

He looked the guy in the eyes and said, "Things'd be different if we'd had a fair fight."

The guy looked sad. "No such thing as fair. You of all people should know that."

He saw the barrel come level with his face.

Saw the cold eyes behind it.

Saw the muzzle flash.

Then saw nothing.

Ever again.