Holdren’s hand came out of his jacket with the silenced pistol Caitlin had described. Before he could level the gun, the glass mug caught him just above the right eye. It popped his head back, and the pistol made a soft coughing sound as it discharged into the ceiling.
Holdren staggered. Blood seeped from the gash in his forehead. He caught his balance and lowered the gun. John was up and closing the distance between them. Holdren brought the gun down, and John stepped to the side.
The little gun coughed again, and John felt a hot pain in his left shoulder.
He seized Holdren’s outstretched wrist with both hands and pivoted.
The gun coughed a third time. John leaned forward. His action pulled Holdren toward him then John slammed his elbow back toward the man’s chin.
Holdren twisted away, and John’s blow glanced against his temple. John shifted one hand against the silencer and bent the gun back toward Holdren’s thumb. The rotation against the weakest link popped the weapon from Holdren’s hand.
Holdren’s left arm snaked around John’s neck, and he pulled back against him in a chokehold.
John dropped the gun to the floor. He bent his knees, transferring most of his weight to Holdren’s grip. Holdren braced himself and leaned in to support the additional weight. With a quick movement, John straightened, jumping backward against his opponent.
The sudden shift swayed Holdren off balance. Together they fell toward the floor.
John continued his leap. Tucking his legs in, he pivoted against Holdren’s grip, going upside down for a moment. John’s feet met the floor. In an instant, he released Holdren’s wrist, wrapped both hands around the man’s torso, and lifted him feet first into the air.
John spun him halfway around and slung him down.
As Holdren crashed against the wood, John’s weight slammed into the man’s back, driving the air from his lungs.
Before Holdren could recover, John brought his right elbow down hard against the man’s neck.
Holdren sagged into unconsciousness.
John stood up, spotted the Holdren’s gun lying a few feet away, and scooped it up. He raised the barrel and sighted down it at Holdren’s head, but the man was unconscious.
John hesitated, took a deep breath, and then noticed that the bar was silent. John raised his gaze to scope out the patrons. No one moved. The front door was still closed. Whatever backup Holdren had was still outside.
John lowered the gun. Even if Holdren had killed the cab driver like Caitlin claimed, there was still the chance that he was a federal agent. Shooting a federal agent in front of witnesses would not be prudent.
John retrieved his hat and settled it against his head with his left hand. His shoulder burned as he did. There were times that he just couldn’t believe his luck. Holdren’s shot had missed his vest. The damn little gun would hardly have left a bruise if it had hit him in the chest. No, the SOB had to plink him just outside the edge of his vest. John could feel a warmth trickling down his biceps.
Becky caught his eye.
John gave her a half grin and touched the brim of his hat with the silencer. He turned quickly and walked into the hallway.
Caitlin waited at the back door.
“What happened?” she asked.
John stopped beside her and looked back toward the bar. “Holdren made me as being with you.”
She seemed to notice the gun in his hand for the first time. “Did...did you kill him?”
“No, just put him down for awhile. Enough time for us to get out of here.”
John popped the magazine from the little Ruger .22 caliber and checked it by the light of the exit sign. There were five more rounds. The .22 was an assassin’s handgun. It didn’t carry enough knockdown power for a serious weapon, but more than enough for putting a round in the back of someone’s head. In the hands of an expert, it could deliver a one-shot kill at ranges out to twenty yards, but beyond that luck overtook skill. He snapped the magazine back into place.
He’d hold onto it for now.
“Listen, Caitlin, my car is in the same place as last night. I’m going to it. I want you to count to sixty, and then follow me, unless I call you sooner. Understand?”
“You think there might be more of them?”
“That’s a safe bet. If so, they may or may not have a guard on the back door. We’ll see in a second.”
Caitlin nodded her understanding.
John listened. The bar sounds had returned to near normal. He opened the door casually. Keeping the Ruger down low and just behind him, he stepped out and put on a bit of a stagger.
His voice came out in a heavily intoxicated slur. “Don’t you worry ‘bout me.”
He weaved a little, spinning about as if he had trouble with the short step-down while he covered the wharf for signs of a watcher.
There was movement in the shadows at the corner of the building. One, maybe two men waited there.
John held up his keys in his left hand, ignoring the burning in his shoulder, and shook them at the closed door. “I don’t need anyone telling me when I’m too in–intoc– drunk to drive. No, sir. Not me.”
He staggered back away from the door, moving indirectly toward the corner where the watcher waited.
Twice he used the wall to steady himself.
“Damn right. Gotta drive home tonight ... ain’t in no condition to walk.”
He reached the corner and acted as if he were seeing the watcher for the first time. Swaying back on his feet,
