game.
Livvy grinned. She loved poker, too.
Remembering Chris’ admonition, she went over to the wall of monitors and equipment and proceeded to use her Attach’n’smash to access every panel. Exposed quantum CUs were supposed to be very vulnerable to decoherence, and although she knew even less about that than she did molebiol, she did know that stale potato chips, peanut butter cups, and warm beer weren’t good for anything, so she sprinkled them liberally over the exposed CU innards. The mixture should be as effective as Chris’s gunfire, and it was a lot quieter.
She blamed her fatigue for what happened next, because otherwise she wouldn’t have made the easy assumption that the fourth man at the table was sleeping it off somewhere, and she certainly never would have set her Stinger down on the table so she could work with both hands unencumbered. She heard the man’s voice first, just an instant before he came around the corner of the door jam. He was securing his fly as he entered the room.
“Will someone grow some balls and start betting their hand before…”
The very young-looking, slight man looked up to see his fallen comrades and a second later spotted her. Fortunately, although his mouth fell open he didn’t shout – which she took as a sign that there was no one left within earshot – and he didn’t go for a gun – another good sign – but he did take off at a healthy speed. She grabbed her Stinger and took off after him for the same reason she had removed her shoes earlier. Another rule: if you are counting on surprise, gotta preserve it.
He made it down the stairs and out into the open in front of the stable before she could get her Stinger to bear, although in desperation she sent three darts after him that missed. He was well into the courtyard before she got her focus back and hit him with two duoloads, at which point he stumbled into one more step then fell forward and skidded for a foot before he stopped.
She’d had no choice but to follow him, but she knew enough not to waste time looking around before she rushed over to him and dragged him quickly into a box stall. Her shoulders tensed from the expectation of a challenge, but none came. Talking softly to the nervous horse, she listened. No shouted challenges, no running footsteps. No time to dwell on her luck. Her original plan had been to finish in the garage building and then circle behind the stable to get to the cottages, but there was no point in backtracking now.
As she left the box stall she picked up something in her foot, a piece of sharp debris, and she had to stop and pull it out. Very bad for the horses, she thought. She missed her shoes.
Chris had been focusing on Williams intently but when Bedford got up and walked over to the desk his attention was caught by movement within the idyllic scene framed by the French doors. Bedford was already at his desk and turned back into the room when Chris caught sight of a man running into view from the direction of the garage, with Livvy about six meters behind him in full-out pursuit, gaining ground. Several of the horses that had been looking out withdrew their heads. She had her pack still slung over her left shoulder and her Stinger in her right hand, and in the few seconds Chris was watching she aimed on the run and presumably shot, because the man finally went down. It was just seconds, Chris knew, but it seemed to take an inordinately long time.
Chris stopped looking directly and kept his gaze directed at Bedford, but out of the corners of his eyes he watched her efficiently drag her victim into a stable box. When she came back out, she started running across the courtyard towards the cottages, but almost immediately skipped for several steps, favoring her right foot, until she stopped completely and picked up her foot to check the bottom. Chris noticed she was barefoot and covered in mud, and he forced himself to keep his face expressionless and stop watching. When he looked again, she was gone.
Chris glanced back at Williams. He’d seen. Having turned to watch Bedford get the gun from the desk as well, he’d probably seen the whole thing. He did not, however, continue to track Livvy’s progress. When Bedford looked up again, Williams had turned back to Chris and was staring at him with an enigmatic smile. With his back to the window, Bedford returned to the side chair and sat back down. He was carrying the handgun and pointing it squarely at Chris.
Livvy was behind schedule, or to put the blame where it was due, he had not been able to think of anything that new or interesting to say to temporize. He’d made his point with Williams; to belabor it would just irritate him. He’d apparently irritated Bedford beyond the limits of his tolerance. Chris tried to think of something to say that neither of them hadn’t heard many times before. He was very tired, and the arguments were very old, and no one ever seemed to listen anymore.
Livvy must be exhausted.
Thinking of Livvy, he tried again, ostensibly addressing Bedford, but targeting Williams. “You’ve never killed someone before, have you Bedford? At least, with your own two hands. You’ve used your tools. It’s not as easy as you might think.”
“In your case, I expect not to have too much of a problem with it,” Bedford said. “It helps to think that it’s retribution for your pest of a wife as well.”
Williams glanced at Bedford and then looked away quickly.
Chris got angry, which helped. He tried to use the anger to think of something to say that would buy them some more time.
“Once you start, you’ll do it again and again whenever anyone puts a roadblock in your way. And you’ll get caught. Homicide doesn’t mind publicity.”
“Bedford, wait. He’s right.” It was Williams. “Not here. LLE may ignore and even conceal a lot to avoid cases getting to the media, but the murder of an LLE detective in your own home… If McGregor disappears and is eventually found murdered, LLE would never let up. There is too much we don’t know to be able to eradicate all evidence of his presence here, besides the fact that you must have one or two staff members on the premises. I mean, besides your security? No matter what happens with LLE, Homicide loves publicity, he’s right about that, and if you kill him here, there will be witnesses.”
“Not necessarily,” Bedford said, turning the gun towards Williams and shooting him in the chest.
He was moving the gun’s muzzle back towards Chris’ face when Chris pushed hard with his feet and threw his weight against the back of the heavy chair, sending it tipping over backwards. He continued the roll and then scrambled sideways, using his hands and knees, to reach the fireplace. It was excruciating, nauseating really, but he grabbed the poker deftly enough and used his extended arm like a spear thrower to launch it at Bedford, who had moved forward to get a clear shot. The poker hit Bedford on the right arm and shoulder hard enough to make him drop the gun and grunt, but it missed his head.
Bedford was cursing and reaching towards the gun on the floor when Chris made another awkward dive to reach Williams. The other LLE detective was lying on the floor where he’d been thrown by the impact of the bullet hitting his side, but he’d been able to draw his Stinger and he was trying to bring it to bear on Bedford when Chris grabbed it out of his hand and fired.
A Stinger dart could hit anywhere and have an almost instantaneous effect, which was part of its charm. The dart hit Bedford in the leg just as Bedford’s groping hand curled around the gun, and he folded before he could aim it. The report of the gun sounded loud in the quiet of the library, and the bullet went off into the fine cherry floor, splintering it.
By then the two guards, no doubt attracted by the first shot, were at the door and Chris had all he could do to shoot cleanly from the floor around the chair legs, hoping that their instincts to focus on a human target and fire were less finely tuned than his. Mostly they were. The first guard through the door got off one wide shot before going down with a duo-load in him. The second got off two poorly aimed attempts, one of which hit Chris in the shoulder and the other, like Bedford’s, went into the floor as the duo-load took effect.
Chris waited another minute, braced on the floor, but no one else came through the door.
“As far as I know,” Williams said harshly, “he only has the two in the house.”
Chris glanced at him. He appeared to be breathing strongly enough, but there was a spreading bloodstain on his side.
“You have a comu?” Chris asked, using a chair to lever himself to his feet. “Call it in to medical. I’m busy. Here, use this. Put some pressure on it,” he added, tossing Williams a silk pillow.
Williams was fumbling with his comu when Chris walked carefully over to each of his three victims, collected
