CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Riley moved slowly to get back on her feet, watching for any attack from the men who had surrounded her. She more than half expected to get kicked back to the ground before she could stand up.

Instead, the circle of men withdrew a couple of steps.

Their retreat wasn’t out of fear—she felt none of that in the air.

They just want to give me a fighting chance, she realized.

It wasn’t really an encouraging thought. In the dim firelight, these guys looked a lot bigger now than they had when they’d been sitting huddled around their little fire. She remembered that a large percentage of today’s hobos were ex-convicts. They would be strong, and they’d learned to be violent in the nation’s prisons.

She quickly assessed whether to draw her weapon.

No, she thought.

That wouldn’t be a good idea—not in a circle of potential assailants. One might grab her from behind, causing her to lose control of her weapon. She could easily wind up dead.

She fleetingly worried about Officer Lawrence. The aggressive young cop had disappeared out of the ravine in pursuit of the escaping hobo.

Had Lawrence drawn his gun? Did he have the sense not to fire on the fleeing man?

But she didn’t have time to worry about that now.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Riley said.

“Neither do we,” the largest of the hobos said. “That’s why we want to know—why are you guys after our pal Spider?”

“We didn’t come here after anybody,” Riley said.

“You got an arrest warrant?” another hobo asked.

“No. We just want to talk, that’s all.”

The largest guy broke into a sinister grin.

“Talk!” he said with a rough laugh. “We might just get around to that,” he said. “Or we might not. Or maybe you and me need to communicate first.”

Riley heard a murmur from the others in the circle, but couldn’t tell whether it was in support or protest of the big man’s attitude.

Then he barked out orders. “Tater, put out the fire. Weasel, grab her flashlight.”

“Right away, Dutch,” said one of the men.

The two hobos he’d addressed quickly followed their orders. One dumped a cup of water on the campfire. As the fire hissed and smoked, he threw a heavy cover over it.

The other hobo snatched up Riley’s flashlight and turned it off.

Suddenly, the darkness was total, and the sound was only that of shuffling feet. No ambient light penetrated into the deep ravine.

Riley knew Dutch was still there, somewhere in front of her. The rest of the men seemed to have stepped back.

Giving us space, she realized.

Riley deliberately slowed her breathing and considered her tactics. Although the hobo called Dutch was a lot bigger and stronger than she was, he was overconfident. His mistake was being determined to fight with her one-on-one. She knew that the darkness didn’t give him any particular advantage. She’d fought in total darkness before. She knew what to do.

Riley began to move about randomly—stepping lightly forward, backward, to the sides, ducking and dodging even though no blows were coming just yet.

She couldn’t see where her opponent was, but he couldn’t see her either. He would hear her moving about, but if she kept moving, he couldn’t predict where she’d be next. And he was likely to make more noise than she did.

Soon she heard a heavy step and felt a rush of air as his arm sliced by, then a grunt of discouragement that the blow didn’t connect. Another quick swing also missed her widely, and she heard him stumble past her.

Riley knew that she was depending on luck as well as stealth, and that luck wasn’t likely to hold out for long. But maybe it wouldn’t have to. The guy’s very size meant that he was already using more effort and energy than she was, just by flailing about. If she could just evade his blows long enough to tire him, he’d become markedly less dangerous.

She kept her feet moving until a backward step brought her into contact with a body. She’d almost forgotten—the circle of men was still tight around her. Whoever she’d bumped into gave her a sharp push back toward Dutch, who was still swinging at her.

Another blow came, and this time she felt his knuckles graze her cheek.

She heard curses as the big man blundered past her and into his companions. Then for a long moment, she couldn’t tell exactly where he was.

Riley began to worry …

Is he tiring fast enough?

She stood still, and she heard a welcome sound.

Dutch was breathing heavily now.

Those sounds were all she needed to locate the position of his head. She drew back her right arm and let fly with her fist.

She felt a sharp pain in her knuckles that shot all the way into her wrist as her fist connected with the man’s skull.

Dutch let out an outcry of pain. But Riley could tell by his voice that he was still on his feet.

She fought down a surge of discouragement.

There was a disadvantage to fighting blind that she hadn’t reckoned on.

If she’d been able to see, she’d have been able to aim her punch somewhere softer and yet more vulnerable, like her assailant’s throat.

Now it was going to take more than one strike to bring him down.

Dutch was groaning and gasping audibly now. She listened carefully, then launched another punch—this time with her left arm.

This hit didn’t hurt her hand nearly as much as the last one, and she could both hear and feel something cracking against her knuckles.

Teeth, she realized.

She must have smashed him on the side of his mouth. He was cursing and howling with pain.

The fight was over.

Now Riley drew her weapon. Her hand was hurting, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to fire it. She doubted that she would, but she knew that she could fire with her left hand if she absolutely had to.

Dutch yelled, “Light, damn it! I need some light.”

The hobo named Weasel snapped Riley’s flashlight back on. Another hobo yanked the cover off the campfire and squirted kerosene onto the coals.

Flames leaped up again.

The light revealed Riley standing there, pointing her gun at Dutch. Blood was pouring from the big man’s mouth.

“Nobody move,” she said sharply. “Dutch, put your hands up on your head.”

Dutch looked cowed.

“OK, OK,” he said, obeying her order. As he raised his hands, he leaned forward to spit out a couple of broken teeth.

Despite the pain in her right hand and wrist, Riley managed to smile.

She said, “All right, let’s pick up where we left off. Like I said, I just want to ask you guys a few questions. Just sit down and make yourselves comfortable. Let’s get to know each other.”

As the group of men backed off and began to seat themselves again, Riley heard Officer Lawrence’s voice. He was talking on his cell phone and making his way back down the slope into the ravine.

“OK,” Lawrence was saying. “Just don’t let him get away.”

He ended the call, and Riley asked, “What about the guy who ran?”

“I couldn’t catch up with him,” Lawrence said.

Riley saw that his weapon was still holstered.

Well, at least he didn’t shoot him, she thought.

Lawrence continued, “But he went running straight down the road beside the tracks. He was actually headed back toward the train station, so I called one of our guys and told him to have a team pick him up. He shouldn’t get very far.”

Lawrence looked puzzled as he gazed around at the scene. Riley was standing there with her weapon still drawn, and the largest hobo was groaning and fingering the side of his bleeding mouth.

Lawrence said, “Huh—what’s been going on here?”

Riley let out a small chuckle.

“Oh, nothing much,” she said. “We were just settling down for a nice little chat.”

At that moment, Lawrence’s phone buzzed. His eyes widened with surprise as he took the call.

“What? Are you kidding?”

He listened for a moment, then added, “OK, we’ll be right there.”

Lawrence put the phone in his pocket and stared at Riley.

“They caught up with him, all right,” he said. “And get this—he was trying to get away in a goddamn Mercedes!”