perhaps I wasn’t joking. He glanced at his superiors for direction. An insidious smile flicked at the corners of Baron’s mouth as if the threat was something he’d like to see enacted.
Maybe it was a sense of duty, maybe it was false bravado, or that Charters felt my challenge made him lose face before his superiors. Whatever motivated him, he said, ‘I don’t like your tone of voice, asshole.’ He prepared to backhand me across the face.
‘I’m warning you,’ I growled.
But he wouldn’t be told.
His curled fist whipped towards me.
My response wasn’t to take the blow stoically. Neither did I step back to avoid it. I came forward, pivoting so that both my palms accepted the blow. Fingers curling over his forearm, I pulled it with me as I pivoted a second time, taking his outstretched arm under my armpit. Pulling up on his wrist, and forcing down with my body, it was my entire weight versus the fragile make up of his elbow. I heard the twang of rupturing tendons. Not that the matter could end there. I’d promised I’d break his arm. Retaining his wrist, I rammed a knee hard against his hyper-extended elbow. It was like snapping a green stick. Not bad for a man in handcuffs.
In the telling it sounds a lot, but it was a moment’s work. Before Charters could even register that his arm was shattered, I’d already moved away from him. The other guard gave a strangled gasp, and he started after me before faltering and grabbing instead at the gun in his shoulder holster. If I’d desired to, I could have speared my stiffened fingers into his eyes, or grabbed his chin and twisted his head a hundred and eighty degrees on his spine, except I’d still to see Rink alive.
Instead I turned my gaze on Baron. Finally I’d got a rise out of the man, even if it was only a momentary widening of his eyes. He lifted a hand towards the guard. ‘That’s enough, Drummond. I think we’d all agree that Charters asked for what he got.’
Drummond swayed in place. His hand drifted from his gun. Charters was still down on one knee, cupping his broken elbow in his opposite hand, gasping and squeezing tears from his sphincter-tight eyes.
‘I did warn him.’
‘Are you finished?’ Baron asked.
‘For now.’ The way I said it must’ve reminded Baron that I’d promised to kill him first. His fingers tickled the butt of the gun wedged in his waistband: the SIG taken from me earlier. We were like gunfighters in Dodge City, facing off, awaiting the slightest twitch that’d herald imminent death for one of us.
It was Petoskey who ended the stand-off. He directed his words at Baron in an almost conspiratorial whisper. ‘Now who’s having a pissing competition? Let’s get inside, now. Hendrickson isn’t the most patient of men, remember.’
Baron slowly drew away from the gun and scratched an itch on his jaw. It was all for show, a touch of the disdain he felt for my skills. In the next instant his oily smile was back in place and his hand made a sweeping gesture indicating that I follow Petoskey up the steps and into the house.
From behind me, Charters swore loudly. I glanced over my shoulder at him and his face was a picture of hatred. Saliva stitched a pattern between his widely splayed lips. ‘You broke my fucking arm!’
‘Yes,’ I said, ensuring Baron heard my words. ‘I promised you I would.’
Chapter 19
Rink and I had been in many precarious situations over the years. But never had we faced a predicament like the one we’d gotten ourselves into this time.
Forget the fact that there were five armed men in the room with us. Or that I was cuffed, and Rink was strapped to an ‘Old Sparky’ type chair. We also happened to be in the basement of a fortified mansion with twenty or so armed mercenaries prowling the grounds overhead.
The odds of us surviving the next few minutes were about the same as falling out of an airplane, tumbling thousands of feet, then landing on your feet and walking away. Still, I’d heard urban legends about just such a miracle, so I wasn’t about to give up. Rink was relying on me, and so was my brother, John.
Despite my promise to the contrary, I would never give up my brother. Yes, I loved Rink like a brother. But Rink was also a soldier. Like me, he knew the risks. John was a civilian. A foolish, misguided civilian, who had allowed greed to get in the way of good sense, but he shouldn’t have to suffer the kind of enemies Rink and I had lived with all these years.
Petoskey and Baron were going to be pissed off when they found out I’d no idea where John was. I’d always been worried that a situation like this could present itself and for that reason hadn’t pushed to know where Walter had hidden him.
Rink was awake. He’d certainly taken a beating at some point, but he’d been cleaned up and a rudimentary dressing had been applied to the wound in his shoulder. His face carried a few scrapes and bruises that were in the final stages of swelling, but he didn’t look too bad, for all that.
‘How are you, Rink?’
‘Good to go.’ He smiled.
Giving him a slow smile of my own, I turned to our captors.
‘Release him. Rink walks out of here. Then I give you what you want.’
Petoskey shook his head slowly. He was like a dorm prefect denying a hall pass, smug and supercilious. ‘You give us Telfer first. Once we have him, then Rington will be released.’
‘No offence,’ I said to him. ‘But I don’t believe you.’
‘Then we’re on the same wavelength.’
There were four guns pointed at me. My hands were cuffed. Under the circumstances Petoskey was safe from me.
‘So what happens now?’ Purposefully, I turned to Baron. ‘You’re going to have to wait a little longer for your big pay day.’
‘We could always force Telfer’s whereabouts from you,’ he said. With a flick of his jacket tail, he showed me a Taser clipped to his belt.
My eyes went large, fear flaring. His smile flickered, telling me that he wasn’t buying the act. But that was OK. I’d made him pause. He was thinking. But I was already acting.
The obvious play was to go for Baron. The only thing was, as I went towards him, one of the others would shoot me dead. So, I stepped back. My cuffed hands were raised, as though to fend off a blast of his Taser. Then I shot forward at an oblique angle, and rammed the cuffs’ rigid spacer into Drummond’s face. His nose crunched, and blood spattered. His shout of alarm had the desired effect. Instead of anyone shooting at me, they reacted by recoiling in defensive reflex.
I slewed to one side, the penknife I’d dipped out of Charters’ pocket in my fist. My arms dropped over Petoskey’s head, and I squirmed behind him, using him as a shield before anyone in the room could make a move towards me. Next second, the blade was against his throat and I could feel his super-amplified pulse throbbing along the blade and into the handle.
‘Anyone moves and this piece of shit is dead!’
Petoskey stiffened, and I smelled a waft of fear rising off him.
There was a moment’s confusion as Baron, the two other guards and bloody-faced Drummond lifted their guns. I dragged Petoskey backwards, placing him between Rink and the others.
‘Do you want Petoskey to die?’
All four guns wavered. I’d have preferred to pull Petoskey’s gun free of his shoulder holster, but that meant giving up the advantage of the knife at his throat. While I tried to pull the gun out, one of them could easily put a round in my head.
Adding potency to my threat, I pushed the tip of the knife into Petoskey’s flesh. Blood beaded out. Petoskey screamed like I’d almost sawed his head off, yanking his face aside. As he did so, my own face made a momentary target for Baron. As fast a shot as anyone I’d seen, he lifted my SIG and fired.
The retort of the gun reverberated around the cellar, the sound amplified by the domed confines. Tatters of a paper wad sifted in the air, coming nowhere near their target. Uninjured, I smiled at Baron before tucking in behind
