The guy's skull crunched like a pumpkin under Roscommon's beat-up station-wagon. And stuck. S.T. yanked. Bits came loose, but the pipe didn't. Harvey had the right idea. He let go of the pipe and grabbed for Harvey's shoulder.

His other hand went into his back pocket. His fingers hit the ring first. It was as good an option as any. He ran it up the zipper on his jeans like a match, and the garnet crumbled.

Just as the sword finally found something other than air. It was a technicality at best, but it counted. Three of them disappeared, leaving only a few splatters on the floor to show that anyone had been there.

[to here]