Dan got out of the car, gave Mike the thumbs-up. Mike watched his older brother disappear around the corner, the barrel of the twelve-gauge poking out the bottom of his overcoat. Mike got out of the car too, loitered near some trash cans, and kept an eye on the back door. The door was flanked by two dirty windows. He couldn?t see anything but dim light inside.
Quiet. A horn beeped out on the street. A pigeon flapped up on the fire escape.
Then the grenade. Mike felt the explosion in his feet. Shouting from within. The percussion pop of small pistols augmenting Dan?s thundering shotgun.
And even though Mike had been expecting it, he still jumped when the back door flew open. There were six of them in dark suits, ties pulled loose, bloodshot eyes. One held a bleeding shoulder. Only three gripped revolvers.
The tommy gun bucked in Mike?s hands, belching fire and raining lead. His aim went high at first, but he wrestled it down. He rattled the gun from left to right, catching the six men across the midsection. They bent in half, clutching chest and guts. One managed to get off a shot, puncturing the trash can next to Mike with a metal
He emptied the barrel magazine, shattering the windows with the last few rounds. He dropped the smoking machine gun and drew his automatics, stepped over the dead hoods and entered the building. There were two more corpses just inside the door. The tommy gun had chewed them up good. He turned left, found a kitchen. More bodies. He?d killed another man and a woman when he?d shot out the windows. He approached the bodies, pointed his pistol at the woman?s head. If either one moved, he?d need to finish them.
The woman lay facedown. Something stuck out from beneath her. A leg. A short, thin brown leg with a ruffled pink sock on the foot. Mike went cold. The room tilted. He focused on the pink sock. Somehow Mike couldn?t get his breath. He reached for the woman?s shoulder with a shaking hand, wanted to turn her over, see what he?d done. He had to see, had to know. Images of the child?s bullet-shredded face sprang to mind, and he froze. Could he stand to look?
Someone grabbed him from behind, and Mike jumped.
?What are you doing?? shouted Dan. ?Get in that other room and make sure it?s clear. I?ll check across the hall.?
?Right. Right.? Mike shook himself.
Dan crossed the hall. A second later Mike heard two more shots.
He was supposed to check the door on the other side of the kitchen but found his feet rooted to the floor. He kept looking at the leg and the pink sock and willing it to move. He didn?t even notice when the door across the kitchen opened and the man came out and pointed a gun at him.
?Mike, get down!? Dan shoved Mike from behind.
The guy fired, hit Dan in the shoulder, blood sprayed. Dan grunted, lifted his own pistol, and pulled the trigger three times. The guy grabbed his belly and doubled over. But he lifted his pistol again, his hand shaking, aimed at Dan.
Mike snapped out of it. He?d been careless, let himself be distracted. He raised his .45 and put two slugs into the guy?s chest. He took a step back, spit blood, and fell.
Mike went to his brother, who was slumped against the wall, holding his shoulder and clenching his jaw. ?Jesus, Dan.?
?Never mind. Get us out of here. White faces in this neighborhood stand out, and cops will be on this place in two minutes.?
Mike put an arm around Dan, half dragged him to the Buick. They drove out of the alley fast, zigzagged, and eased into the flow of traffic. Mike checked all the mirrors but nobody seemed to be following.
Dan looked green but forced a chuckle. ?Don?t worry, little brother. I?ve been hit worse than this.? He unscrewed the cap of the whiskey flask, fumbled it with shaking hands. The booze spilled, puddled on the floor at Dan?s feet.
?Hang on,? Mike said. ?We?ll get you to somebody. Get you sewn up real good. Don?t even sweat it.?
But Mike wasn?t worried about Dan. Since Mike had gone in with Dan, Dan had been shot four times, stabbed twice, had his ribs cracked with a baseball bat. Dan was a big, meaty, tough guy. The Ruskies could explode an A- bomb up his ass, and Dan would come out of it smiling. So Mike wasn?t thinking too hard about Dan. He was thinking about a little brown leg and a pink sock and about how nothing would ever be the same again.
