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ticed two telltale tube-shaped bulges in their front pockets and instinctively moved between Kyna and the strangers. She deftly shifted the briefcase to her left hand. As they strolled past, the men nodded politely to Kyna and then a split second later, Cyrus heard the scrape of leather soles followed by the stereophonic clatter of clasp knife blades unfolding. |
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The men were already in motion, their arms extended and their knives carving the air where Cyrus's kidneys had just been. To Cyrus, everything after that seemed to happen in slow motion, and yet by the time Kyna turned around, both men were on the groundone out cold and the other one probing the brand-new gap in his front teeth with the tip of a bloody tongue. |
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"You motherfucker!" the cowboy rasped through his ruined enamel. "You kicked my fucking teeth out!" |
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The man lunged for the knife lying beside his knee. |
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Cyrus applied the toe of his boot to the bone behind the man's left ear. The man rolled over several times and went to sleep. |
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Cyrus grabbed Kyna's arm. "Let's get out of here." |
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Cyrus sat in a very uncomfortable patio chair under a gaily striped umbrella, sipping a diet soda while two tables away, Kyna and her customer haggled like a couple of Italian fish-wives. This time, Cyrus thought, at least the man looked like a jeweler. None of this yuppie ponytail and gold chains stuff for this guyhe had on an Armani suit, his hands and fingernails were long and well manicured, and he had a real haircut. |
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Four tables away, at an identical patio table, another man was sipping a Coke and watching the transaction. This guy was older than Cyrus, and beefier. But he had the same bulge under his right arm that Cyrus had, and his eyes never left the man in the suit. |
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Unsure of the proper bodyguard etiquette, Cyrus wondered |
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