the situation enough times myself to recognize the look and sound of uncertainty. Finally he looked up, glowered at the two of us, and pulled out a cell phone.
I glanced over at Charlie, who was studying the floor so closely he appeared to be trying to memorize every fibre of the carpet. I knew that look. He was wondering how the fuck to get us out of here. I hoped the silly old fucker would come up with something before these boys got permission to top us.
There was a series of rapid beeps as Red Eyes punched in the number. Whoever was at the other end answered immediately. Red Eyes studied each of us in turn, giving what sounded like a description, then picked up the document and quoted a couple of chunks from it. Then he looked at us again. I didn’t understand what he was saying, but I got the drift. Whatever problems they’d expected to have to deal with in the house, they now had two extra ones, and they were less than happy workers. As if I was.
There was nothing we could do to help ourselves immediately, so I studied Stubbly’s weapon instead so I’d know what to do with it when I got my hands around the pistol grip. The power of positive thinking.
His finger was on the trigger and the safety was off; the lever on the left-hand side of the grip was down. These kinds of suppressed weapons normally had both a single-shot and semi-automatic capability. With the one, you loaded manually, pulling back the top slide and letting it go forward to pick up a new round from the magazine each time you fired. With the other, the top slide wasn’t locked in position, so you just kept firing until the magazine was empty.
I didn’t know what setting Stubbly had gone for, but something told me it wasn’t single shot.
Red Eyes was still waffling into the phone and riffling through the papers when we heard a metallic rattle from the direction of the street. He stopped in mid-sentence. There was a loud creak as the front gates swung open.
Red Eyes closed down the conversation by running out into the hall.
He was back in less than ten seconds, and not at all happy. He rolled up the folder, thrust it into his jacket, yelled a couple of instructions at Stubbly and disappeared again.
Stubbly stood his ground and raised his weapon a few inches.
There was no time to think.
I lunged at him, aiming my shoulder at his gut. He tottered backwards under the impact, hit the wall, and before he could recover I dragged him down with me, my hands flailing. I didn’t really care if they made contact, as long as they got in the way of him controlling the weapon. With any luck I’d bang against it myself.
I felt Charlie’s legs pushing against me, then heard a sound like a watermelon hitting a pavement. He’d given Stubbly’s skull the good news with his CO2 cosh.
I let go and kicked myself away. It was Charlie’s call; he could climb aboard him if he needed to.
I scanned the floor for the weapon, but couldn’t see it immediately, and didn’t have time to search.
I ran out of the room, shoving my right hand into the left sleeve of my bomber jacket as I went. Red Eyes was ahead of me, throwing out the stops. The door swung back and the hall was flooded with light.
The gates into the street were open.
Baz’s Audi swept into the courtyard.
I sprinted along the carpet as Red Eyes half ran, half tumbled down the porch steps.
There was a shower of glass as he emptied his magazine into the driver’s window and he pirouetted like a matador as the vehicle coasted past him, into the wall.
I took the steps in one, canister in hand. Leaping up before he had a chance to collect himself, I swung the heavy metal tube down onto the top of his head. The weight of my body coming back down to the ground gave the hit enough force for me to hear his skull crunch.
He dropped like a cow under a stun gun and I followed suit, brought down by my own momentum. His weapon skidded across the wet concrete. I grabbed it, turned and fired into his skull. The third time I squeezed the trigger, nothing happened. The top slide stayed back, waiting for a fresh mag to reload.
Fuck closing the gate. I dropped the empty weapon and ran back into the house in case my disco-dancing mate needed a hand.
There were gunshot wounds in Stubbly’s chest and just below his right cheekbone, and a pool of dark, deoxygenated blood spreading across the carpet. Charlie was as cool as a cucumber. He’d slipped his mask back on, and was hoisting the satchel over his shoulder. ‘Give me five,’ he said. ‘I’ll try and find the CCTV monitors. There might be tapes.’
I grabbed my own mask off the floor and pulled it over my head as I legged it back to the front door.
7
I went straight to the gates. Fuck checking outside, I just slammed them shut and got the bolts down, then carried on struggling to put on the mask. I only had one eye uncovered. I must have looked like the phantom of the fucking opera.
There was a big drum roll and a clash of cymbals from the Primorski, followed by a round of applause. If I hadn’t been so knackered, I’d have taken a bow.
Broken glass, spent brass cases, wet concrete and two pools of blood glinted in the courtyard lights. Fighting to get my breath back, I ran over to the car.
It looked like someone had thrown a bucket of red paint across the car’s interior. The driver’s body was slumped, face sideways, over the central console. It was Baz all right, and he didn’t look good. He’d taken rounds in the head, neck and shoulder, and his once-grey hair was crimson.
I checked the front end. The bumper had absorbed most of the punishment, and one of the headlamps was cracked, but I reckoned the Technik was still Vorsprung. I pulled the door open, grabbed hold of Baz’s arm and dragged him clear.
By the time I returned to the house, my throat was as dry as sandpaper.
‘Charlie!’
‘Up here.’ His voice came from the landing.
‘Dead body. Bring some bedcovers down, anything. Got to cover the car seats.’
I ran into the office and grabbed my boots. No time to do them up properly; I shoved the laces under the tongue so I didn’t trip up. Speed was everything; we had to get out of here.
Back in the yard, I rolled Red Eyes over and pulled the folder from his jacket. Charlie jumped down the steps with two multicoloured bedspreads dragging behind him.
‘Any luck with the CCTV?’
He shook his head. ‘Could be anywhere — on that PC, for all we know. Let’s just fuck off and get on the flight. You OK with that? Or stay and look some more? I’m up for it if you are.’
I stood by the car. He was right. Why waste time on a blood-filled target, with three dead bodies for company? ‘Let’s go.’
We threw the bedspreads over the front seats.
Charlie dumped the satchel in the back and I jumped into the driver’s side. I knocked the remaining shards of glass out of the window frame while Charlie checked the road.
The moment the gates were open, I hit reverse. Charlie secured the gates as well as he could, and jumped in beside me, lodging his pistol under his thigh. We started uphill, towards the blinking red lights of the telecoms mast.
As we passed the left to the Primorski, two stretch Mercs were picking up a crowd of very young women and very old men.
At last we were able to pull off our masks, and Charlie started to giggle. ‘Well, you fucked up there, didn’t you, lad?’
‘Heads up, we got police.’
Ablue-and-white had turned into our road, heading downhill towards us. It was slow, taking its time. I checked Charlie — did he have blood on his face? He checked me — if I had, it was too late. We passed them; they looked over and two red spots of heat between their lips got brighter as they sucked.
Charlie nodded at them. ‘Evening.’
