Groping along the edge of his Explorer, Henry tried to move toward the Beacon building, but the bat glanced against his skull, knocking him nearly senseless. Blood ran into his eyes. He wanted to scream, Why are you doing this? But he barely had the breath to stay on his feet.

The powerful hands grabbed his arm again, and searing agony almost brought him to his knees. Only the blood in his eyes distracted him from the pain. As they dragged him away from his SUV, Henry kicked out as hard as he could with his right leg. He connected with something. A man screamed, and one pair of hands fell away.

“My knee!” shouted a voice. “Oh, goddamn—”

Henry kicked again but this time only felt air.

“By God, that’s enough,” someone grunted.

The bat clanged into Henry skull again, just above his left ear. Fireworks exploded behind his eyes. Then it crashed into his jaw. If I fall, I’m dead, he thought dimly. Yet he was too dazed to defend himself any longer.

“Hold him still!” said another voice.

Two boys grabbed his arms and held him up against the Explorer while the third drove the end of the bat into his solar plexus, again and again. The air in Henry’s lungs burst from his throat in agonizing jets.

“You’re gonna kill him! We’re s’posed to take him for questioning first!”

“Screw that! This nigger lover’s said all he ever needs to say. We got his shit. This ends right here.”

Through a curtain of blood, Henry saw the flash of steel at his waist. He tried to beg for mercy, but his throat had locked shut.

A bright blade plunged into his belly.

Henry felt it slice sideways, severing vital tissue, and fire filled his torso. He sucked in one gasp of air, then the knife flashed to his throat.

“Last words, Mr. Henry? Before I shut your mouth for good?”

The boy with the knife looked about twenty, with a bland face and cruel eyes. The knife danced before Henry’s face, its blade black with blood. His blood—

“Speak up, Mr. Henry! You ain’t run out of words, have you? That can’t be!”

“Get off him!” screamed a woman’s voice. A familiar voice. It was Lou Ann, the Beacon’s receptionist. “Leave him alone!”

The boy pinning Henry’s right arm laughed with amazement.

“Run, Lou Ann!” Henry coughed. “Get back inside!”

The cold blade lodged against his jugular vein, and Lou Ann Whittington yelled again. “Don’t make me shoot you boys! I swear to God I’ll do it!”

The boy holding the knife looked left.

Henry followed his eyes. Lou Ann stood by the hood of the Explorer, all five feet four of her, her purse in one hand and a nickel-plated .38 revolver in the other.