Chapter XVIII

anny froze in his tracks.  "I was just coming to see you Slayton.  I have the discs and the weapons stashed away, but you'll have to do me better than you did last time we met.  Do you have the money?"

"You are one cold dude Danny.  First, you double-cross me for the money owed from the last buy, then you double-cross me for the discs and the weapons, and now I sit and watch as you coerce this young lady to shoot another person who is after you for God only knows why, then you shoot her down in cold blood.  I've never seen anyone so cold as you Danny."

"And to top it all off, you approach me, while completely vulnerable and unable to fight in any measure except your crooked tongue, and tell me you have my stuff?"

Danny just stood there, and one could tell his mind was racing in the attempt to dig up something with which to smooth the situation over.  The only possible chance he has was to turn enough to point the 1911 in his hand at Slaytor and fire on the sly.  Slaytor had not seen the gun in Danny's hand.

The 1911 spoke violently, the muzzle flash much longer than he'd ever seen.  Slayton grabbed his chest, then started raising his arm to point his own gun at Danny.  Danny fired again and still Slayton had not been immobilized.  Danny shot again, and again, the last shot entered his hand at the knuckles of his gun hand traveling upward, splintering his right hand and forearm then exiting out at his elbow.

Slayton was done, but he wouldn't go down.  The forty caliber pistol spoke twice more, the last catching Slayton in the throat, still, he stood there for almost five seconds then he too was on the ground.  Danny absolutely could not believe his luck.  The surprise of the first shot he'd fired at Slayton denuded him of the ability to fight, but Danny had not known that.  The first shot was directly through the heart.

Slayton only had about fifteen seconds to take Danny out, but he could not force his limbs to work.  As he was bringing the gun to bear on Danny, Danny simply shot him to rags.  Out of eleven shots Danny fired, three actually struck Slayton, the first being the shot through his heart.

Danny dropped the 1911 on the ground.  It was of no value to him now with an empty magazine and no ammo for it.  On his hip was the western style holster sporting the chrome .44 magnum single action long barrel revolver with the pearl handles.  He set a lot of store by the gun, and it was for certain his good luck charm.  He'd seen several take their last breath after being shot with this gun.

He set the stuff he was carrying by the door, then went back up the stairs for the final load and take care of a matter that was beginning to sound off.  The woman he'd left high as a kite upstairs was still out, and the baby she was caring for was beginning to make a ruckus.  When they were in the house of William and Sharon placing the charge, the girl had picked up the baby and carried him out of the house.

This was a major irritation to Danny, but, with the timer already set, he wasn't about to stand around and argue.  Besides, he needed this girl for a while longer.  Her name was Tessa Clemens, and if the Chief came after him, he would have a bargaining chip.  Unbeknownst to him the Chief was more upset over losing the discs and the weapons much more than losing his daughter.  She was merely another in a long line of girls Danny had deflowered.

But now, it was time to rid himself of her and the baby.  He'd actually played with the little tyke some, had bought some clothes and a couple of toys, some food and other amenities.  But that was as close to being a dad as he ever wanted to be.  Now, he meant to kill the little fellow.

Unbeknownst to him, the fortune he planned to retrieve from the warehouse down in La Dago had already been discovered by the very man who was walking up to the old warehouse in Monterey at this very second.  He was the father of Billy, and he had a mean streak in him that had never arisen before.  He meant to take Danny out with his bare hands and take back the discs and the weapons which had changed his life so dramatically.

William had no idea that his son was alive, and that he was within one hundred feet of him.  Slaytor raised his arm high with the .44 in his hand and brought it down hard on the sleeping girls head laying on the makeshift bed on the floor.  She barely moved as the huge barrel broke through her skull and killing her instantly.  Just as he was about to do the same with the baby, someone yelled outside, then a shot.

Danny stood stock still, listening, wondering, attempting to deduce what was going down outside.  He heard someone running, then another shot, then another.  He quickly stood up, readjusted his goggles, grabbed the briefcase which held the discs and the weapons, and proceeded toward the staircase.  A door opened, a footstep, then the door closed, the sound barely audible.

Danny was about the meet the fury of several years which would culminate in the worst beating he'd ever seen anyone survive.  And HE was going to be on the receiving end of that beating!  He took his time descending the stairs, cautiously attempting to locate the person he knew was inside with him.  He was so close to being free.  It would take little time for him to be gone, then out of the country.  He'd muddied the waters so bad here they would never clear up for him.

All this was going through his mind as he looked before each step, scanning continually from side to side, searching, attempting to ferret out the person in the building with him who was jeopardizing his escape.  Without warning, something stuck him in the face, hard.  He was knocked backwards, and not being able to raise his foot to the next stair up with which to maintain his balance, he sat down.  Hard.

Thus commenced a whipping, no . . . this wasn't a whipping.  This was a WHOOPIN'!  He brought his hand up holding the big .44 and it was also hit, knocked back so hard it split him up beside his nose, his forehead and chin laying open a huge gash going up his forehead from the center of his eyebrows.  Danny was hearing bells which sounded like thunder, brief flashes of light as the blows came.  He never it was even possible for ANYONE to deliver blows that hard and that fast.

And still, he struggled.  And he retained his hold on the big pistol.  If he even got half a chance . . .

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