"Who says?" Troll demanded, in his low rumbling growl. His belt buckle was higher than the top of my head.
Cheetah screeched with laughter. "Okay, Chop-Chop. We get the message. You just tag along."
We stopped in the shadows across the street from the red warehouse. Lights were on inside the front of the building. Pedestrians were still strolling nearby in the cool night air.
"This one or the one down the block?" Troll asked.
"Doesn't matter," I said.
Cheetah looked down at me. "This is your show."
"This one, I guess."
Cheetah led us down to the rear lot, with the loading dock. It was fenced and locked. None of the rear windows was lit.
Troll lifted Cheetah over the top rail of the eight-foot fence, then me. Last, he grasped the top of one of the steel fence posts and jumped. It bent slightly, but he was merely using it for leverage, not pulling with his full weight. At his height, the fence was just an annoyance.
Cheetah jogged quietly to the back of the building, craning his simian neck upward. He pointed with a long, hairy arm to a third story window that was almost completely broken out. Troll moved under the window Cheetah had chosen. He held Cheetah around the waist and lifted him. Cheetah's long arms stretched up to the top of the second story window, where his fingers found a hold lost in the shadows. Then Cheetah climbed upward out of his grasp to the open window and carefully moved through it, avoiding the bits of jagged glass still in the frame.
We waited in silence. Finally the rear door creaked open gently. Cheetah stuck his head out and gestured for us to follow him. "Just two guys down in the front," he whispered. "Playing cards. But they have guns."
I drew in a sharp breath. "Look, maybe -"
Troll gently shoved me forward. "Too late," he rumbled.
I followed Cheetah inside. At first the only light came from the streetlights behind us. Deeper inside, light came from the front of the warehouse, angling around tall stacks of wooden crates. I could hear the voices of the two men talking quietly to themselves, and then the rippling sound of cards being shuffled.
Troll, moving with a stealth that seemed impossible, moved over one aisle between stacks of crates. Cheetah slipped over to another aisle. I followed Cheetah, quivering with fear.
Near the end of the aisle, Cheetah turned and began climbing the stack of crates. I moved up close and simply watched. By now, I had no idea where Troll had gone.
"I'm sick of goddamned cards," said one of the men. "Three more lousy hours till we're off. You still got that flask on you?"
"Aw, come on. It's almost empty ... hey, you hear somethin'?"
Suddenly Cheetah let out a shriek. I ran up to look around the corner. Cheetah was swinging on a rope that dangled from the ceiling on a block and tackle, toward the two men.
The two men were both in shirtsleeves, wearing shoulder holsters and narrow ties pulled loose. They had been sitting on crates, using a third one to hold their cards, an ashtray, and a couple of empty beer bottles. Now they looked up in shock, reaching for their guns. Jarring footsteps shook the floor as Troll ran toward them on his long, lumbering legs.
One man started to aim at Cheetah, then spun toward Troll.
"No! Not in here!" His companion screamed in terror and pushed his arm aside. "The whole joint'll go up!"
The first man hesitated, staring at Troll in astonishment. Then, ignoring his friend, he fired, apparently figuring he had nothing to lose. Two bullets ripped through Troll's shirt, careening off his hard, green skin.
The man fired again and again, backing away in horror. "Holy goddamned -"
Cheetah dropped onto his shoulders, still screeching insanely, and knocked his arm askew. As the man tumbled sideways from Cheetah's weight, Cheetah rolled and the gun skittered across the floor. The man leaped for the gun, snatching it up in both hands.
Troll was still chasing the other man, who was on his feet and backpedaling as he continued to fire. All the bullets ricocheted off Troll's skin, ripping up his clothes as they struck. Troll batted the gun out of his hand.
The first man was aiming for Cheetah.
I didn't realize I was running forward until I saw how close I was. Without thinking, I flung myself forward and collided with the man as he fired at Cheetah. The gun snapped twice in my ear as we rolled on the floor.
A much louder bang sounded high above us, but I couldn't turn to look yet. I knocked the gun away from the man, sliding it across the dirty floor. Then, before the man could recover, Troll stomped on his neck; it gave with a loud crunch.
The other man had escaped Troll, but was staring up over our heads someplace. A small fire had started in one of the crates up there. A stray bullet had hit something.
"It's gonna blow! The whole damn place!" The man screamed, looking around frantically, and tried to run past Troll.
Troll strode forward on his long legs. This time he slammed a fist the size of a volleyball into the side of the man's head. His neck snapped loudly and he collapsed to the floor.
"Never killed anybody before," Troll muttered, gazing down at the two dead bodies. "Hell, Cheetah. I didn't plan on that."
"Nobody tried to kill you before, did they?" Cheetah asked.
"Well ... no." Troll grimaced and licked his crooked, yellow teeth. "Little .22 pistols. These racket guys like 'em."
"Look up there! He said it's gonna blow!" I pointed. "Come on, we gotta get outa here!"
"Aw, calm down, will you?" Cheetah demanded. "I thought you wanted to look inside one of these crates -"
A louder explosion came from high above us, by the fire. This time a couple of crates crashed to floor. Two more explosions came from them when they hit, scattering more fire.
"Come on!" I turned and ran. Behind me, I finally heard Cheetah's quick footsteps and Troll's pounding ones. Before I reached the back door, a roaring explosion shook the entire building. I stumbled through the door and ran toward the fence.
By the time I reached it, they had caught up to me. Troll grabbed a steel fence post and simply pushed it flat, shoving the entire fence down and out of our way. On the other side, I turned to look back at the warehouse.
Another series of powerful explosions thundered through the building. Red-orange flames raged in most of the windows now. Crates crashed to the floor. Smoke was pouring out through the broken windows.
"We got to call the fire department!" Cheetah yelled.
"They might not come - that's part of the deal," I shouted. "You go ahead and call! Troll, we have to find help! Come on!"
More explosions shook the building. Part of the roof collapsed. Fire danced out of the open space high above us.
While Cheetah ran for a phone, Troll and I crossed the street to an apartment building. I started inside, but he didn't bother. He looked in a second story window, where a couple of jokers were drinking beer and peering out to see what the noise had been. Troll shouted that it was a fire and to bring out the building's emergency firehose, fast.
I yelled for them to bring their neighbors. We would have to start a bucket brigade. Then Troll and I ran to the next apartment building, where we did the same.
Soon we had jokers of all shapes and sizes pouring out into the streets, running or limping or hopping or slithering. Some brought the hoses from their apartment buildings; others brought buckets from their closets or their places of business.
No one had a tool to use on the fire hydrants, but Troll was able to unscrew the protective nut with brute strength and hook up the hoses people brought out. He and some of the other strongest jokers held the hoses. I got people to line up in bucket brigades between the edge of the warehouse and some external spigots on the neighboring buildings.
Flo was right about the fire department, even with this accidental fire. They never showed up. The fire burned late into the night, and the explosions continued. None was big enough to level the building, though, and I figured out why. They weren't bombs in the sense of trying to destroy a building in one big bang. Instead, the stuff in the crates was intended to start fires that would spread afterward. All those small fires were pretty well lost in this great big one.