Nicky Bowtie was laughing his ass off as he pulled himself up, picking shrapnel out of the side of his face.
“Time’s up, Pink!” Nicky said.
Mr. Pogo dropped from the ledge of the other building, bounced off the street and landed on the roof of The Carousel. Pinky rolled over and got up to his knees. As the smoke cleared, he saw the clown hit man standing there, wobbling up and down. Mr. Pogo’s legs were springs from the thighs down to his shoes.
The slanted mouth did not say anything. The clown just stared at his target, waiting for him to make his move. Pinky looked at Taffy tied to the carousel horse. Nicky Bowtie stood next to her, laughing. Pinky saw him laugh but couldn’t hear any sound. His ears were still ringing from the blast. If he was going to save Taffy he was going to have to go through Mr. Pogo.
“He’s the one you want.” Pinky pointed at Nick. “He’s the rat. They put a contract on the wrong guy.”
Mr. Pogo just stared at him with his emotionless face. He didn’t care why people hired him. When a contract was made, he fulfilled his obligations without prejudice.
“Nice try, Pink,” Nicky shouted.
Pinky knew it wouldn’t work, but he figured he’d give it a try. But he couldn’t reason with Pogo.
Hats was lying on the ground. He wasn’t moving. Pinky didn’t know if he was dead or just knocked out.
He had to take out Pogo on his own.
Pogo leapt into the air as Pinky fired his revolver at him. The flower bullet whizzed beneath the hit man and pierced the ground, creating a bouquet of roses that burst from the bullet hole and grew on the spot. As Pogo dropped another slinky bomb on him, Pinky ran across the roof of the restaurant and rolled behind a bumper car to avoid the explosion.
“It’s pointless, Pink!” Nicky Bowtie yelled, giggling from his cover behind the carousel. “You don’t stand a chance. You might as well just give up now.”
Pinky stood up and aimed his revolver. Mr. Pogo dodged, bouncing on his spring legs across the roof as Pinky fired at him. With each round, the roof became dotted with an assortment of flowers growing out of the bullet holes. There were daisies, sunflowers, tulips, all bursting into life, adding color to the otherwise drab rooftop.
Unable to land a shot, Pinky aimed for the ground as Pogo bounced. When the hit man’s feet hit the ground, a rosebush exploded from the bullet hole and coiled into his spring legs. Mr. Pogo bounced back into the air. His spring legs stretched twenty feet up until they went taut, then he was slingshotted back to earth and slammed face-first into the cement floor. His feet were held to the ground by the roses.
Now was Pinky’s chance. He’d actually tripped up the notorious hit man, a clown believed to be invincible. But as Pinky fired, his revolver only clicked. He was out of bullets.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Pinky ducked behind cover and reloaded his gun. He only put in a couple more bullets. But he could already hear Pogo ripping the roses from his springs. Pinky missed his only shot.
By the time Pinky stood up and raised his weapon, Pogo was on his feet. The hit man had pulled twin revolvers from holsters on his back and fired them in unison. Pogo was a master at using slinky bullets—spring-action rounds that could pierce flesh, bounce off solid surfaces, then hit the victim a second time. When Pogo’s two slinky bullets hit Pinky, they entered through his arms, ricocheted off a bumper car, then pierced through both his legs.
The pain was like nothing Pinky had ever felt before. He crumpled to the ground. Blood erupted from his body and cries gushed from his throat. Mr. Pogo always crippled his victims before killing them.
Pinky looked over at Taffy. She looked so frightened and weak. It wasn’t the way he’d ever seen her. She was usually so safe, so protected from both cops and criminals. Pinky couldn’t believe he’d done this to her. He couldn’t believe he’d put her in so much danger. And he wasn’t even able to save her in the end. Nicky Bowtie won.
“There you go, Pink,” Nicky called, cackling like mad. “Just lay there and die.”
Mr. Pogo leapt into the air above Pinky and aimed the barrels of his revolvers at his heart. But before Pogo could finish him off, a giant boxing glove the size of a wrecking ball hit Pogo from the side and knocked him out of the sky.
“What the hell?” Pinky said.
He turned over and dragged himself out from behind the bumper car until he saw where the massive boxing glove came from.
“Take that, ya mook!” Hats yelled, laughing at Mr. Pogo as the hit man was tossed over the side of the building.
Rizzo wasn’t dead. He was back on his feet, holding what looked to be a bazooka with a colossal spring-action fist attached to it.
Pinky got to his feet, barely able to stagger on his wounded legs.
“He still has twenty minutes before he can kill me,” Rizzo told Pinky. “I’ll hold him back. You go after Bowtie.”
Hats didn’t realize how wounded the half clown was, but Pinky agreed anyway. A look of panic crossed Nicky Bowtie’s face as Pinky turned toward him.