CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
With his mouth gaping open, Henry swung around and shouted out to no one in particular. “What the hell is going on here? Who was that young fella and why you tryin’ to kill him?”
“Shut up, Henry,” spat Turner.
“What?”
Young Otis came forward, eyes shifting in all directions, “Mr Henry, I think it’s time for us to get out of here.”
But Henry was no longer listening. Purple with rage, he pierced Turner with a glowering glare. “Don’t you ever speak to me that way! Have you any idea who I am?”
“We know,” said Hanson, working the lever. He brought up the Sharps, peered down the barrel, and blew a hole the size of an orange through Henry’s throat.
A great fountain of blood sprayed outwards, splashing across Otis who, screaming, backed away, fumbling for his gun. He watch
