He ran faster than he had in months, looking for the source of the sound. Up ahead, he spotted a break between the buildings. Just before he reached the opening, he stopped, then pressed up against the wall and listened.
Another cry. Female.
He chanced a glance around the edge. The opening was a small service corridor between buildings. There were bins and barrels piled along the side. Just beyond them, Quinn could see the driver’s back. If Jenny was with him, she was out of sight, hidden by the stacks of refuse.
Quinn cautiously moved into the small alley, keeping the barrels between himself and the man. Once he was off the street, he removed one of the SIG Sauer pistols from his bag, this time pulling out a suppressor and quietly attaching it to the end of the muzzle.
He crept forward as far as he could without having to expose him
self. Then listened again. “Yeah. Over on China Street,” the driver was saying. “Hurry up.” Quinn could hear the beep of a mobile phone being disconnected. “Our ride will be here in a minute,” the man said. “You’re done.
Do you understand? This is over, so you can cut it out!”
Quinn gripped the SIG in both hands, then quickly stepped out of his hiding place and toward the man. He only made it five feet before the driver saw him.
“Stop right there,” the man said. In his hand was a gun pointed at
Jenny. Quinn took a few more steps, his pistol aimed at the man’s chest. “I said fucking stop!” The gap between them was only ten feet now. Jenny looked over at Quinn, her eyes dull, almost defeated. After a
moment, there was a flicker of recognition, and then the hint of hope
on her face. Quinn took one more step. “Stop or I’ll kill her,” the man said. “I know you don’t want that.” Quinn knew that wasn’t true. They’d want Jenny alive. Whatever
it was they were looking for, she was the key. “Jenny, come here,” Quinn said. “What the fuck?” the man said. “Don’t you go anywhere!” “Jenny,” Quinn said. “It’s okay.” “It’s not okay,” the man said. He raised his gun a few inches,
changed his aim from her chest to her head.
Quinn was about to call out to Jenny again when a sudden movement from the far end of the alley caught his eye. He barely had time to duck down when he realized it was something flying through the air toward them.
But he needn’t have bothered. The man holding the gun on Jenny turned to see what was up instead of following Quinn’s lead. His timing couldn’t have been worse.
He probably barely registered the spiky oval object before it hit him square in the face.
The force of the blow knocked him backward, but somehow he remained on his feet as he straddled the edge of consciousness.
Quinn immediately closed the gap between them, slamming the man against the wall. This time the man’s eyes closed shut, and he slumped down to the ground.
Not wanting to take any chances, Quinn grabbed the asshole’s gun just in case. But the man was out cold.
Quinn suddenly heard footsteps following the same basic path as the object that had flown through the air. He whipped both guns around, his fingers on the triggers, ready to fire. But immediately lowered the weapons.
It was Orlando. She was wearing gloves, and in one hand she carried another of the oval objects.
He recognized it now. A durian. It was a regional fruit—green in color, about a foot long and weighing a pound or two. But the most distinctive feature of the durian was the spiky, thorn-covered husk, each point hard and unforgiving. It almost looked like a pumped-up, hard-core version of a pineapple.
Quinn tossed her the SIG with the suppressor, forcing her to drop the fruit. He nodded to the semiconscious man crumpled against the wall, then knelt down next to Jenny, knowing Orlando would have his back.
“Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head. “Just grabbed me. What... what happened? I heard a gunshot.”
“Later,” he said.
He offered her a hand and pulled her up.
“His friends will be here in a second,” he said. “You two head down to the end away from the street and wait for me.”
Orlando didn’t hesitate. “Come on,” she said to Jenny, then started running back the way she’d come. Jenny followed a second later.
Quinn knelt down next to the unconscious man and searched him.
He found a phone, wallet, and a set of keys, then put the items in his bag along with the man’s gun.
Instead of joining Orlando and Jenny, he headed back toward the street, stopping just before the alley ended at the sidewalk. He eased out enough so that he could look up and down the block.
“Hey!” a voice called from the street.
It was Blondie. He was standing only thirty feet away, and had been looking toward the alley as Quinn had stepped out.
Quinn turned and started running toward Orlando and Jenny.
“Go!” Quinn said.
