“Yes, they are, and she’s a real bitch. You want me to go and get her? She’s in the car.”

The girl looked out the window like she was looking for his mother, then rolled her eyes and gave him the cigarettes and his change. Stupid cow.

Dennis took his stuff and left, not sitting down to eat his burrito until he was out of sight of the store.

He felt different now than he had twenty minutes ago. Twenty minutes ago he had been just a kid. Now he was a killer. He felt bigger and stronger and meaner. He was going to show everybody just how bad he was. And he was going to start with that bitch Miss Navarre.

Chapter 73

73

He hadn’t counted on the knife.

Zahn came at him like a wild animal, and Vince flashed on what Anne had said: You know, people don’t look the same when they turn on you.

“Vince!” Mendez shouted, drawing his weapon.

Zahn’s arm came down in an arc, the light catching on the blade of the knife. By reflex, Vince caught hold of the man’s wrist and stepped to the side to get out of the path of the weapon.

“Zahn! Drop the knife!” Mendez shouted. “Drop the fucking knife!”

But Zahn didn’t hear him. What was reasonable and civilized in him was gone, overridden by fear and demons. He struggled to pull free of Vince’s grasp, the two of them crashing into the bed frame, falling against a nightstand.

Madness fueled and intensified Zahn’s strength. Vince had half a foot and a good fifty pounds on him, and all he could do was stumble backward on his heels as Zahn continued his attack.

“DROP THE FUCKING KNIFE!” Mendez shouted again.

From the corner of his eye Vince could see him trying to maneuver around them to get a clean shot.

Zahn twisted and yanked free of the hold Vince had on his wrist, stumbling backward and banging hard into the wall. Vince took the chance to dive across the box spring to the other side of the bed.

“DROP THE DAMN KNIFE!!”

“TONY! DON’T SHOOT!” Vince shouted.

Zahn stood there, looking stunned, looking like he didn’t know where he was or who he was or who they were. He looked at the knife in his hand, his arm still cocked at the elbow, ready.

“Zander!” Vince said. “Zander! It’s me, Vince. Put the knife down.”

Zahn stared at the knife in his hand, fascinated. He stared at the knife and at his arm as if it weren’t attached to his body.

Mendez had taken the stance to fire, his arms straight out in front of him, his finger on the trigger of the weapon. Everything about him was pulled as taut as a string on a bow. His dark eyes were as bright and hard looking as polished onyx.