Children of the Knight (80 page)

“Now we’re going to casually turn and walk through the crowd ’til we’re clear of them,” the voice went on in her ear, casual and deadly. “You make a false move or try to get any of these kids to help, I’ll shoot you and then randomly shoot kids. You got it, lady?”

She nodded and slowly turned around. The boys surrounding her were engrossed in the fighting, their own swords out and ready should they be needed, and had not even noticed her deadly predicament. With the metal still pressed into her back, Jenny wended her way carefully through the throng, death right on her heels.

W
ITHIN
the limo, Lance and Jack watched the fighting unfold on the flat screen with confidence and fear. There were too few attackers, Lance knew. There was no way they could beat all of Arthur’s knights. So why bother? A diversion, R. had said, but diverting attention from what? Despite his fear, he and Jack exchanged a look of pride in their fellow knights. Most of them, Lance knew, had been trained by him, which gave him a fleeting feeling of accomplishment, something so rare it caught up in his throat like a wad of gum.

Ramirez observed the mayhem with amusement, occasionally glancing up through the open moonroof and drawing Lance’s attention. He, too, looked up through the open rectangular hole.

A building loomed to the right of the limo, and he thought it was an old court building or something. But why would R. keep…? And then movement caught his eye, a flash of light against metal, up on the roof, right there on the corner.

“What you lookin’ at, Pretty Boy?” Ramirez barked suspiciously.

Lance whipped his head around but quickly recovered. “Nuthin’. The stars.”

Ramirez shook his head in disgust. “You’re a pathetic excuse for a boy, you know that?”

If he thought Lance would rise to the bait, he was mistaken. The boy’s mind spun. Roof. Metal. What did it…? And then he knew. A sniper! That must be what it was, and that’s what the diversion was all about, so he could shoot Arthur!

Desperation swept over him. He wanted to blurt it out to Jack, who sat fuming over Ramirez’s insult, but knew he couldn’t. Their time was up. They had to get out of this car, and they had to do it now! They locked eyes a moment, exchanged a slight nod, and then began.

Ramirez’s phone vibrated, and he put it to his ear. “I said I didn’t… what?” His eyes bugged out in fury, causing the boys to press closer together. Each had casually slipped a hand beneath his own tunic, and so far no one had noticed.

“Sit tight, and we’ll get you later.” He slammed the phone down. “Fuck!”

Lee turned from the fighting on TV to eye him questioningly. “What?”

Ramirez glowered with such hatred at Jack and Lance that they thought he might rip them apart with his bare hands. “That was Gutierrez. He just barely got away from the cops, after our warehouse was firebombed!”

Lee’s face actually reacted to that. “What?”

But Ramirez’s fierce, killing glare fixed on Jack. “Forgot to mention that, did you, fagboy?”

Looking braver than he felt, Jack pretended to consider the question. “Oh yeah,” he said with a shrug. “I did forget that.” Then he grinned.

Ramirez turned red with rage. “Kill him!”

That was their cue. They simultaneously yanked their hands from beneath their shirts. Each wielded half of the metal rod used to lift the toilet stopper, the metal rod from the toilet of their holding cell, the metal rod Jack had snapped in two with his powerful arms.

With the quickness of youth they twisted around and rammed their sections of steel right into the throats of the Asians flanking them, causing both men to flail wildly about, grab for their throats, and drop their guns.

Ramirez dove across the space toward Lance, but the boy was faster. He dropped under the man and threw himself to the carpeted floor of the limo, reached under the seat, and grabbed his skateboard.

Jack flung himself across the small space and attacked Lee like he used to hit the tackling dummy in football practice. He drove his shoulder into Lee’s chest, shoving the man back hard against the car seat and sending the wind whooshing from his lungs.

Quick as a rabbit, Lance was up with his board and swinging. It struck Ramirez hard in the jaw, and the audible crack of bone warmed his heart. Ramirez went sprawling, and Lance called out, “Let’s go, Jack!”

Before the other boy could even respond, Lance was up and through the moon roof. Jack leapt up after, his muscled frame finding it more difficult to squeeze through. Lee reached out a hand to grab Jack’s ankle, but the boy kicked out, heard an “ugh,” and his ankle was free. Then he was hauled out by Lance and stood atop the limo. Lance pointed up at the court building.

There was movement, visible even in the dark.

“I think it’s a sniper. C’mon!”

The boys leapt onto the hood and down to the sidewalk like panthers and took off running frantically down Temple, desperately hoping they weren’t too late.

Lee was the first to recover and started to jump from the car with his gun. Ramirez flung a hand out to stop him. “Let ’em go. It’s too late anyway. Help me up.” His voice sounded slurred and uneven.

Fucking kid broke my jaw
, he silently fumed.
He’ll pay for that!

Lee helped Ramirez back onto the seat, and the man pulled out Lance’s phone. He dialed Arthur.

T
HE
battle had wound down. Only Arthur still fought, clashing with the biggest of the attackers. Arthur’s knights, the mayor and his group, the LAPD officers scattered around the perimeter, as well as the rubbernecking local residents, stood by helplessly, breathless with anticipation.

Arthur’s attacker fought hard and with deadly accuracy, his samurai sword swinging deftly up, down, and across with dizzying speed, parrying many of Arthur’s thrusts. He could jump high above Arthur’s swings and crouch low to avoid the same. But finally Arthur figured out his pattern, and when the man leapt, Arthur swung high instead of low, and Excalibur slashed across the attacker’s thigh, slicing it open.

The man crumpled to the ground hard with a piercing scream, blood spurting from the jagged wound, his sword spilling to the concrete for Lavern to retrieve.

Arthur stood back, panting from the exertion, eyed the writhing, wounded man and the blood streaking Excalibur, and then thrust the sword skyward in triumph. The kids roared their approval. The fight was over. They had won.

Then the phone in Arthur’s hand vibrated.