I pulled my right fist back. With a low cry, I pushed off, driving forward with everything I had. I connected, and the blow rang all the way back down my arm. I felt the pain arc from my battered knuckles to her face, and she made a low sound I liked. She staggered back and I launched myself at her, getting a headlock on her that closed her throat. I swung her sideways, keeping her off-balance, moving backward at the same time so she couldn't get her feet under her. She was being hanged by the force of her own weight. I braced myself then and concentrated on narrowing the V of my arm where her neck was caught. I heard a loud pop, and for a moment, I thought I'd broken her neck. She sagged to the floor. I released my hold to keep from being pulled down on top of her. I looked down at her blankly and then looked up. Leonard was standing there with a .22 that was now aimed at me.

Marty was wheezing. "You shot me, you fool." Her voice was hoarse.

Leonard's gaze shifted to her with dumb amazement.

I stepped back. The slug had caught her in the side; not a fatal wound but one that had taught her a little respect. She was on her knees, clutching at herself. She hurt and she made little mews of outrage and pain.

I was winded, still heaving for air, but I felt the strange exhilaration of victory. I had almost killed her. I'd been seconds away from converting her live body to a quite corpselike state. Leonard couldn't shoot straight, so he'd felled her himself, thus spoiling the fun, but the battle had been mine. I wanted to laugh, until I caught the look on his face.

The craziness that had consumed me for the last few minutes drained away, and I realized my troubles were starting all over again. I was dead on my feet. Somehow, I'd taken a. blow right across the mouth and I was tasting blood. I felt gingerly to see if a tooth was broken, but everything seemed to be intact. It was a dumb time to worry about the possibility of a cap, but that's what I did.

I was trying to pay attention, but it was very hard. I had this weird desire to grovel around on the floor with Marty, the two of us snuffling like wounded animals looking for a way to crawl off and hide. I would have to go after Leonard soon. Already too much time had passed, and I knew I was losing ground.

He was staring at me without expression. I didn't know how to read him anyway.

"Come on, Leonard. Let's pack it in."

He said nothing. I tried to keep my tone conversational, as if I spent part of every day talking guys out of shooting me dead.