Skeeter started to step away.
Kaederman lunged up onto an elbow. “Wait!” He shook violently, eyes wild and desperate. “For God’s sake, Armstrong . . . wait . . . Go ahead and take your revenge, curse it, kick my ribs in, smash my teeth, do whatever makes you happy—just don’t leave me to die in this hellhole!”
Skeeter stood glaring down at him, drawing out the man’s terror with cold, calculated loathing. How much pity had this bastard shown any of his victims? When Kaederman fell back, eyes closing over a moan of despair, Skeeter finally decided he’d had enough.
“Okay,” he said softly, crouching down again. “But you’re gonna have to walk out of here on your own pins, Sid, because I’m not carrying you.” He tugged the man by his coat lapels, levering him up to his knees and bracing him under one armpit. Noah Armstrong and Doug Tanglewood, their faces flushed from the intense heat of the bell molds, skidded up just as he got Kaederman onto his feet. Margo was close on their heels, having gone around the long way to avoid the puddle of cooling bronze. Skeeter glanced up. “Hi, Noah. Got a present for you. Sid, here, is going to teach us all a new song. Goes like this: `All I want for Christmas is my boss in jail . . . ‘ “
Sid Kaederman stared from Noah Armstrong’s face to Skeeter’s matching one and back again, eyes widening as the import of their ruse set in. Then his eyes turned belly up and his knees went south and Skeeter ended up carrying him out of the bell foundry, after all.
Chapter Nineteen