Sure enough, he shot at me. I kissed the carpet and tatters of upholstery sifted down on me. Then I was up and moving. So was Rink. The man was caught in a pincer move and there was only one way out. He spun Louise into Rink's arms. His gun came up. And for one second I feared he would put a bullet in her spine. My response was to fire.
Lucky son of a bitch jerked aside at the exact same moment and my round nicked only a small portion of his ear—instead of a large chunk of skull. The slippery bastard lurched away from me, and now Louise and Rink were between us. Encumbered with Louise, he couldn't bring the Mossberg to bear on the man.
The man took three running steps and dove headlong at the nearest window. Drapes tangled him, glass wedged in his deep blue suit, but then he was crashing out into sunshine. I charged across the room and leaned through the window after him. The man vaulted through the topiary hedge we'd so recently stood behind. That suit of his was going to be a mess.
As he charged through the neighboring yard toward the street, a pale blue Chevrolet squealed along the asphalt toward him. I got a bead on him. I squeezed. His suit was going to get messier.
A bullet cracked the window frame next to my head. Splinters of wood jabbed into my cheek. Automatically I flinched, the action transposed to my trigger finger, and my bullet went wide.
Only one person could have fired on me. The guy I'd already winged. Move
The injured man was coming toward me. His mouth was wide with a silent curse. The muzzle of his handgun was a yawning black hole about to suck the life out of me. John's face flashed through my vision. Eyes sad.
There was a single crack.
Despite myself, I jerked against the pain.
Above me the man swayed. His angry face lengthened in surprise, eyelids shuddering. I saw a deep red blossom on the breast of his silk shirt. His knees folded and he fell toward me. He was limp as I shoved him aside. Beyond him, Harvey Lucas was like an angel with a Glock in his fist.
'Welcome to the dance,' I said to him.
Harvey stepped forward and, gripping the shoulder of the man, pulled him over onto his back. Air escaped from the man's lips. A grunt. A spark remained in his eyes. He made a futile attempt at lifting his gun. Futile because Harvey's size twelves ground his wrist into the floor.
'You like hurting girls?' Harvey asked him.
Then he placed a single round in the man's open mouth.
It was a classic hit. One in the heart, one in the head. It's the only way to make sure your enemy is dead.
Harvey stretched a hand out to me. I took it and he hauled me up.
'Thanks, Harvey,' I said. 'I owe you.'
'Was nothin'.' His eyes were a reflection of my own. As a Ranger, he'd known action. But not up close. Eye to eye. Harvey was now one of the exclusive club that Rink and I held lifetime membership in.
27
there was no time for cleanup. We had to move fast. Priority was getting Louise away from any backlash from the turmoil at her house. Harvey was up to the task. He took Louise one way with instructions to meet us in an hour. Rink and I streaked away from the house and the rising wail of approaching sirens.
Away from the cordon of police vehicles, I asked Rink to pull up at a telephone booth.
The call was enough to ensure that police action would be in our favor. Walter has that effect. It's the weight a sub-division director of the CIA wields.
We met at the same diner as last time. Louise was dressed as before. Still good-looking. Still worn around the edges. But she was different now. She held herself tentatively, like every muscle in her body ached. Fear haunted her eyes.
She was hurting from the beating she'd taken. Scared half to death by what she'd witnessed. I sympathized with her, but that wasn't why we were there. The men who'd tortured her did so for a reason. She knew more than she was admitting to.
She'd already swallowed a cup of black coffee and was asking for more when we walked in. Harvey, playing chaperone, was sitting opposite her in the same booth. He looked as sharp as Samuel L. Jackson did in the remake of
In contrast, I felt, and probably looked, like someone who'd slept in his clothes and tended to his ablutions in a tiny bowl in a cramped bathroom. Though washed and shaved, my body felt gritty and as rumpled as my shirt. The splinters of wood in my cheek itched like hell.
I sat down in no mood for wasting time.
'So what've you got to tell us, Louise?' I asked.
Louise shook her head, reaching for her coffee. I put my hand over her cup and she snapped her face to mine. There was fear there, but not a little anger. Good. It was the ideal mix.
'You haven't come up with anything that'd help us find John?' I asked.
'No,' she said. 'I haven't exactly had the time, considering I was held captive all morning.'
'Have you seen the news?'
From the tight grimace on her face, I could tell that she had.
'Have you spoken to the FBI yet?'
'Yes. They were at my place half the night. Another reason I didn't get around to looking for
