DEATH CORPORATE STYLE

I put it back in the box and was closing it, when I heard a deep base voice say, “You’re a tough man to get, Rains.”

I whirled around and found myself looking down a smaller version of one of General Patton’s tank cannons, a Desert Eagle, one of the largest pistols made.  One that can be chambered for a .357 Magnum up to a .50-caliber Magnum.  I couldn’t tell what caliber it was, but I knew if it was the fifty caliber, it could go through an engine block.  I inspected the large black man holding the cannon, afraid to breathe.  He looked the size of a Mack truck hovering over me with his George Raft hat and long black jacket.  He reminded me of a black Clint Eastwood ready for a sunrise showdown.

He waved the Eagle at me.  “Out.  Get out now!  And let that gun and knife down nice and careful, white boy!”

I slid back across the seat slowly and got out, dropping my forty-five and knife on the ground in front of him.  He picked them up and pitched them on the other side of the car.  I cursed myself for my overconfidence and lack of patience.  He backed up several feet then told me to climb in the back seat, which I did.  “Where are my friends, Rains?  Where’s Benny and Pate?  Did you shoot one of them?  I heard one shot.  You must’ve gotten lucky.  They were both professionals and good at what they do.  What’d you do, knife the other one?  Real quiet, knives are...well, I kindov’ like them myself.  Maybe I’ll use one on you.  Where are all your papers on the Paris plant, my man?  I want all of them.  Back at the house, maybe?  In your car trunk, maybe?  I will find them whether you tell me or not, Rains.  When I get through with the girl, she will tell, and fo shor be damn glad to do so.  I knew I shouldn’t have let those two go by themselves, but I didn’t figure you to be a warrior.  Are all valuators a warrior like you, Rains?  Shit, I thought appraisers inspected houses and you would be easy, man.  Must have served in the Marines or Army, huh?” he said, taking a sip from his cup.

I decided it would be to my advantage to keep a conversation going while I tried to figure a way out of my predicament.  I told him, “Some Army, nothing big.  What about you?  Special Forces, Berets, maybe Rangers?”

He shook his big head.  “Negatory, white boy.  I served in the “Harlem” Special Forces.  What I learned about staying alive on the streets you will never know.  They don’t teach that kind of stuff to you white boys, or in the Army.”

“Let me ask you one question,” I said.  “Since you’re going to kill me anyway, who hired you guys?”

He snickered.  “That only for me to know.  I don’t tell who my clients are,” then he snickered again, “that for shore get me killed.  But I will tell you this: you, my man, have made the mistake of going up against big money.  And big money don’t like people like you messin’ with em¾you know what I mean?  You make too damn many waves, Rains.  You should’ve quit while you had the chance.  Now get out of the car and take off your belt.”

A chill ran through me.  If he tied me up, I was a goner.  Then I wondered what he would do to Lindsay?  It made me shudder to think about it.  Rape and kill her probably, then toss her in the channel for the sharks.  He was one big careful dude and I didn’t see anyway I could disarm him without taking a fatal slug from his cannon.  I got out of the car under his watchful eye, my mind racing frantically, trying to think of something to say or do.  I stared down the long barrel of the Desert Eagle as I slowly undid my belt and started pulling it off.  I lacked two loops of getting it out when a shriek broke the morning silence.

The big man glanced up the road at the screaming woman running at us yelling, “Don’t kill him, don’t kill him.”

The distraction gave me my chance.  I gave the belt a final yank.  It sailed out in a whipping motion catching the barrel of the big Eagle and wrapping around it.  I gave a h