aware of, plus the two I'd given him. His nose was broken and he was bleeding, but the adrenaline-charged flood of endorphins gave him the strength of desperation.
He fought back, tried to head-butt me, but instead found the point of my elbow as I rammed it into his cheekbone. His eyes rolled upward. Before he could recover from the ringing concussion, I pulled his head down, straight into the path of my up-rising knee.
It was like a mallet pounding a watermelon, and the tendons in the backs of both knees failed him.
As he dropped, my gun followed him, and even as he sprawled out, I put two bullets into the rear of his skull.
'That's for Louise Blake,' I hissed through my teeth. Then I shot him again between the shoulder blades. Touching my ribs where I could feel the first sting of contact, I added, 'And that one's for me.'
Captain Fairbairn once wrote that the average armed fight is over in seconds, it is literally a matter of th
No other guns had barked during the few seconds it took to dispatch Hendrickson's man. The threat of Rink blasting him had likely stayed the Harvestman's hand. Allowing the Latino to lie in his own blood, I shifted again, reaching down and clawing John from the floor even as I swung my gun to find its next target.
Coming up with John clutched beneath one arm, I eyed the man who still grasped the elderly woman as a shield. But he wasn't pressing the gun to her head so forcefully.
'I couldn't have done a better job myself,' he said.
'I'm not interested in what you think,' I snapped back at him.
'I remain impressed nonetheless. If my hands weren't so full I'd applaud you,' he said. 'I'm leaving now. I'm taking the woman as insurance. If you stay put, I promise you she'll be released unharmed. If you follow me she will die.'
The deal wasn't an option. I knew the only way the woman would be returned to us would be without significant portions of her anatomy. I slowly shook my head. Prodding the dead assassin at my feet I said, 'You know what I can do. You've seen it with your own eyes.'
'I don't doubt that you're good. But are you really prepared to put this dear old lady at risk?' His smile was that of the Antichrist. 'Even if you shoot me now, are you certain that the trauma of a bullet in my skull won't make me jerk this trigger? Are you willing to take that chance?'
Reluctant to give him an edge, I said, 'We'll just have to see.'
Again the old woman mewled, and a torturous pain shot through me at having to subject her to such terror. Unfortunately, I had no recourse. To allow the Harvestman to take her was out of the question. If she didn't die now, she would certainly die later. And it wouldn't be at the mercy of a quick and painless bullet through her brain.
On the grand scale of things, if this woman were to die, then it would be best if the murderer died along with her. It would be a supreme waste of life, but her sacrifice could mean the difference between life and gruesome death for many others if the psychopath was allowed to live.
Surprisingly, John came to my rescue.
Cradled in my armpit, I felt him shift. Then he clawed at my shirtfront, as if drawing himself upright.
'Let me go with him,' John said. His voice was as brittle as monthold crackers.
I shook my head.
'You have to let me go, Joe,' he said. 'Cain, let the woman go and I'll be your hostage.'
The Harvestman's brow furrowed.
'John?' I said, grabbing at his collar, but my brother pulled himself loose. He took a faltering step toward the murderer, hands wrapped around his torso in an effort to subdue the pain he felt.
'Let the woman go, Cain. Take me instead.'
The murderer looked beyond John, staring at me. I didn't move. I hated this guy but had to concede that this arrangement was a way out for him. Complex emotions were churning behind his cool facade.
Taking another step, John said, 'We have unfinished business, Cain. We both know that. If you let the woman go, I'll see it to the end. I'll sacrifice myself for her.'
'What do you say, Cain?' I asked. 'Do we have a deal, or do we start shooting?'
Cain gave me a serpent's grin. 'Bring the briefcase, John.'
Cain removed the gun from the woman and waved me aside with it. 'Back off, Hunter. Go over there next to the window with your friend.'
Rink gave me a subtle shake of his head, not for a second taking his aim from Cain. His features were set in bronze. 'I think we can take the frog-giggin' son of a bitch,' he hissed.
'No, Rink. Stand down,' I said. Without lowering my own gun, I crabbed over to the window, blocking Rink's line of fire.
'What you doin'?' Rink whispered harshly. 'I can take the punk.'
'Just let it go, Rink,' I whispered back. 'For now.'
Behind me, Rink's curses were blasphemous, whatever Good Book you follow.
'Hunter?' he pleaded, but I was already refocused on Cain. John had grasped the briefcase to his chest and was nearing him. As he blocked my view of Cain, the woman was unceremoniously shoved to the ground, then Cain had John by the shoulder and was spinning him around. Without pause, Cain used him as a shield as he moved
