Oil of Roses Ch. 23

He briefly thought about running but he still wasn't sure one or both of them didn't have a gun somewhere on him. As his right foot swept around in his spin, the poor light, the alcohol in his system and a furrow in the dirt conspired to catch the toe of his sneaker and he started to go down.

Grabbing at the chain supporting the swing he managed to catch it, but realized his mistake as soon as he made it. His fall continued and his grip on the swing swung him around, spinning him on his left foot, dragging his treacherous right foot behind him and as the force of his fall wrenched his shoulder, he let go of the chain involuntarily, falling onto his back, his right leg at an angle beneath him.

As he landed on it, the torque ripped through his knee, he heard an angry 'pop' and the pain began. He was on his back with little chance of getting to his feet and in a defensive position before they were on him.

Years of not only whuppin' ass, but having his whupped as well came to his rescue and he began to curl into a ball on his right side, protecting himself as best he could. His attackers arrived and the bat sang its metal song against his left shoulder. The sharp sound that tore its way out of him came on the heels of the sound of something giving way in the shoulder, a crunching noise, wet and far too loud in Harry's ears.

"- get her!"

He opened his eyes to see one set of legs, within his reach, apparently preparing to go after Carol. He uncurled and his right arm shot out to grab the denim cuff of the attacker's jeans. His fingers clamped down and held on for his dearest' life. His left arm had tried to join the right, but the pain that attempt had birthed blinded him. A second strike from the bat came down, without as much force, on his partially extended left arm and merely added to the litany of pain. He jerked the jeans cuff hard and felt his victim falling forward.

In the distance, he could hear Carol's whistle begin to blow.

* * * * *

It took all she had to follow his instructions. Her straight razor was at the house, but it didn't matter. She'd chew her fucking way to their hearts if they hurt Harry. Her feet wanted to turn and charge back...

But he'd told her what he wanted her to do. It was imperative, he'd said. As she clawed at her shirt, trying to get the whistle out she cursed Harry Grimes for making her abandon him.

Through the tears in her eyes she noted the intersection ahead of her, 45th and Garwood. The cops and the ambulance needed to go to the swings in the park at 45th & Garwood.

The whistle on its chain free of her shirt at last, she stuck it in her mouth and blew as hard as she could with every exhalation of her lungs as she ran toward the light.

* * * * *

Harry drug himself towards the one he had a grip on and found a leg, swimming before his eyes... no, the leg wasn't swimming, his eyes... something was wrong with his eyes... it was unimportant. He bared his teeth and sunk them into whatever part of the leg was closest to him.

A man started screaming, shrilly, almost like a little girl, as Harry's mouth filled with blood and he would've smiled if he didn't hurt so bad as he tightened his jaws all the more.

The blow that connected with the back of his side was sharp and loud and the pain was so strong it overwhelmed him...

...still in his mouth, chewing on it...

...the crunching as something else broke in him...

...something cold... icy... in his lower back...

"-ut his fuckin' thro-"

...another icy... thing... in his back... breathing was wet...

"-don't hurt his face"

...everything was cold... so cold...

...a shock like a thunderbolt in his arm...

The final slice across his throat was the last thing he felt.