Page 117 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

“What the fuck!”

“Youfucker,” Boyle hissed. “You–”

His boot left Remy’s hip, accompanied by the sounds of a struggle; booted feet slapping against the floor of the boat, grunts of effort. A gunshot rang out, one sharp blast directly overhead, and the sirens whooped again, closer.

“Police!”a distorted voice shouted through a megaphone somewhere onshore.“Put your hands behind your heads and get down on the ground! Drop your weapons!”

Heart hammering with fear, now, rather than excitement, Remy twisted around to see what was happening.

Daddy had his hands around Boye’s throat. Something bright silver dangled from one of Daddy’s wrists, and Boyle still held his gun.

With a lurch, Remy saw blood pouring down Daddy’s left arm, bright and shiny in the dock lights, twin rivers of it that wrapped around his elbow and dripped off his forearm.

Boyle made a choking sound, and Daddy released him with one hand – his left hand, where blood was pooling in his palm – so he could pluck the gun from Boyle’s grip with the same ease and quickness with which he’d snatch something out of Cal’s fingers, and chucked it into the water.

Daddy!Remy wanted to yell, but he bit his tongue hard. He didn’t want to distract him, not when he put both hands back on Boyle’s throat, and the tendons leaped in his forearms, even the bloody one, and Boyle’s face went dark as he scrabbled at Daddy’s hands.Get him, Daddy, get him.

“Police!”the shout came from the shore again. Remy glimpsed flashing blue lights.“Drop your weapons!”

Crack-crack-crack.Gunshots.

Daddy jerked as if struck by an invisible hand.

Remy did shout this time. “Daddy!” He scrambled up onto his knees.

Mercy’s head whipped toward him. “Stay down!”

Fixated on Mercy, his wide eyes, the way a fresh red stain was spreading along the shoulder seam of his white t-shirt, Remy didn’t see Boyle move until it was too late.

A boot landed in the center of Mercy’s stomach – Boylekickedhim – and Mercy’s hands loosened enough so that, when he kicked off, Boyle broke free. He flipped backward over the side of the boat and into the water with an almighty splash, and then was gone from sight.

Mercy watched him go, swore – and then dropped to his knees and reached for Remy. “Remy! C’mere, you okay, bud?”

He was shaking, and no hug had ever felt so wonderful as the one Daddy wrapped him up in, there in the bottom of the boat. “You’re bleeding!” His voice came out a high and pitiful wail. He could smell the blood, hot and metallic. Could feel its warm wetness against his neck where Daddy cupped the back of his head.

“I’m okay,” Daddy said, and his voice was okay, sure and strong. “We gotta–”

Crack-crack-crack. More gunshots.

Andcrack-crack-crack, return fire.

“Don’t fucking shoot at the cops!” someone shouted.

Someone else yelled, “There, there, the boat’s not empty!”

Crack. A small, stinging pain blossomed along the outside of Remy’s right arm. Like that time he’d stumbled into a yellow jacket nest.

Daddy grunted, and his arms tightened around Remy, before they released him entirely.

Fear leaped in Remy’s chest as he pulled back. The pain in his arm was sharp, and spreading, pulsing hot with each too-fast beat of his heart. He clapped a hand to it, and that helped a little. But his own pain was secondary when he saw the big bloody hole in Mercy’s arm.

“Daddy!”

“It’s okay, I’m okay.” And though his face was pale, and slick with sweat, his smile was soft, and encouraging.

Crack.

The fake leather headrest of the seat beside them exploded in a shower of foam filling.

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