I lifted the shotgun and fired.
The whole station house filled with the thunder. The hellcat screamed, and the lead man in the doorway convulsed and pitched forward. Some guy I’d never seen before, another Jordan toady, I guessed. I pumped in another shell and fired, but the others had already retreated.
A hand came around the corner and filled the station-house with random pistol fire. I ran forward and threw myself behind the desk. Bullets
There was a lull in the gunplay, and I heard quick footsteps and muffled voices.
A bright, flickering orange blur flew threw the doorway in a low arc, landed with the sound of broken glass. The gasoline spread and a wall of flame sprang up as if by magic, washing the stationhouse in hellish dancing light, The wave of heat hit me, and I hoped there wasn’t another Molotov cocktail following the first or things would get impossible pretty damn quick.
I leaned the shotgun against the desk and grabbed the key ring, ran to the hellcat’s cell and unlocked it, swung open the door.
“Quickly, out the back!” She made to run past me.
I grabbed her wrist and hauled her back, drew the revolver with my other hand but didn’t point it at her.
“Are you insane,” She said. “The fire will spread.”
“Get that fire extinguisher off the wall over there.” I pointed with the revolver. “I’ll cover you.”
“If we run, we can make it.”
I put the gun in her face. “Get the Goddamn fire extinguisher!”
Her eyes stabbed hatred at me, but she bit off whatever curse she’d been about to offer and ran to pull down the extinguisher. There was a pin she had to pull and a handle to squeeze. She started messing with it, and for as second I thought I’d have to put down the revolver to show her how. But she got it right and pointed it at the flames and squeezed the handle, a blizzard of white whooshing out, shrinking the fire a bit at a time.
And I guess that’s what they’d been waiting for because then suddenly Clay Jordan filled the doorway with a deer rifle in has hands and brought it up to his shoulder for a shot.
I squeezed the revolver’s trigger three times. The first two shots chewed up chunks of door frame, splinters of wood flying around Clay’s head. On the third shot, Clay dropped the deer rifle and grabbed the fleshy part of his upper thigh. He threw his head back and yelled. I saw hands yank him back from the doorway.
The hellcat had half the fire out and seemed to have the jump on the rest. Maybe if—
Blinding pain erupted at the base of my skull. I staggered forward, but somehow kept my feet, turned around, trying to bring the revolver to bear, but it felt like it weighed a ton. I saw a long, flat piece of metal swing down and smack my hand open. The revolver flew away.
I saw now that it was Matthew Jordan hulking over me. In the firelight I could see one ear bloody from the bash I’d given him with the coffee pot. He was still handcuffed to the locker door which he’d ripped off the hinges and was using as a club. He cranked it back for a swing at my head.
And got a face full of extinguisher foam. The hellcat was there, thrusting the extinguisher nozzle at Matthew and running out the rest of the foam.
He coughed, pawed at his eyes. “Fucking bitch.”
“I owe you this, Matthew.” I kicked him in the balls. Hard.
He let out this little squeak and went to his knees. One hand still wiped at his eyes. The other went to his groin. His face went so red I thought he might rupture.
I picked up my revolver and slapped him in the side of the head with it. He flopped over like a dead fish. I lifted the gun to bash him again but stopped myself. I wanted to, but no.
I motioned to the hellcat. “Help me lift him. We can drag him into the cell and—”
She slammed the empty fire extinguisher into my gut. I bent double sucking for air and went down, looked up just in time to see her vanishing through the back room.
I lurched to my feet, took three steps after her and stopped. Forget it. The one that got away. She was a criminal, probably a killer. The hellcat had trafficked in human lives across the border. The star on my shirt meant I was supposed to go get her, lock her up. But she’d helped me in the instant I’d needed it, right when Matthew Jordan was about to smash my head in. That probably didn’t go very far to balance out whatever wrongs she’d done, but it would have to do for now.
And anyway I had bigger worries. More Jordan brothers who wanted to kill me. And the station house was still a little bit on fire.
I grabbed a blanket from the cell, used it to smother the last few patches of flaming floor. That put us back mostly into darkness, except for the extra street light coming through the open front door. I dragged Matthew into the vacant cell and clanked the door shut.
It was suddenly weird and quiet in the stationhouse. I couldn’t even hear Karl’s snoring anymore, and I wondered how he could have kept sleeping with all the gunfire and mayhem. Maybe he was pretending.
Let him pretend.
I drew the revolver and took a few steps toward the front door, cocked an ear and strained to listen. For a second I thought—hoped—the rest of the Jordans had pissed off. Maybe shooting Clay in the leg had stung them into giving up. But I could still hear them out there, voices raised like maybe they were arguing.
Maybe deciding what they were going to do about me. Maybe toss in another gasoline bomb.
No more waiting. I grabbed the shotgun, loaded fresh shells. Time to take it on the offensive.
Showdown.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I had to do it fast.
Any other way and I’d lose my nerve or just collapse from exhaustion. There wasn’t much left in me, but I was-n’t going to fold, not yet. This would finish it. I had to make it to the end. So I took a deep breath, dug down deep for that last burst of adrenaline, pushed away every ache and pain that throbbed along the length of my entire body.
Time to kill some guys.
I went through the backdoor and into the alley, pumped a shell into the chamber. I circled all the way around the firehouse at a slow jog, hit Main Street and turned back toward the station. I kept close to the buildings, jogging in the shadows.
I could see them up ahead, two pickup trucks, one facing in each direction, blocking Main Street, headlights on. I saw Jason and Evan standing to either side of the stationhouse door. They both held deer rifles and looked poised to charge in at me. But I wasn’t in there. I was out here.
And bringing it strong.
I ran at them fast, lifting the shotgun. I got pretty close before Clay saw me. He sat in the back of the closest pickup, foot propped up on an Igloo cooler, white bandages around his wounded leg, a red blotch seeping through. He turned his head and saw me, his eyes going big as hubcaps as I sprinted forward. Home stretch. I ran as fast as I could make myself while still keeping the shotgun up.
Clay overreached for the deer rifle in the bed of the truck and fell off his perch, rolled out of the truck and hit the street with a grunt. He stood, hopped on one foot and reached for the rifle again.
I cut loose with the twelve gauge.
The shotgun bucked in my hands, buckshot splattering across Clay’s torso. He convulsed like he’d been hit with a million volts, shrank to the ground and sat in a bulky pile of dead.
Jason and Evan spotted me. And I looked at them and our eyes met and just like that it was on, as if the eye contact had triggered some primal, animal charge.
I started running again, pumping in shells and firing and pumping. I was a screaming, running blizzard of
