With all other options exhausted, I grasped the Suppression Rifle again and tried to charge it up.
“Paddy, load it!” I yelled.
“You will fucking kill us, Elias!”
“We got a better chance of surviving if we use the damn thing!”
Sinclair slammed his hand into the dash of the cockpit in anger, but still, he flipped the switch that charged the rifle. Static whines sounded from the barrel of the weapon.
As I prepared to fire again, I heard a single gunshot. I watched as the Auger, still masked, released its hold on the bulkhead and began to pivot forward. The Rotorbird almost flipped before Sinclair wrestled control at the last second. He swung the bird back several feet as the giant man fell forward and lay stone still on the concrete floor. Behind the corpse of the Auger stood Allen, the M1911 in its hand still smoking. Allen seemed stunned, almost as rigid as the dead man. It didn’t lower the gun from its firing position, but just stood there, its mouth hanging open, an expression of utter surprise on its face. I hopped out of the Rotorbird, and Sinclair pulled the aircraft up and away from us, taking out the landing gear and setting it down safely.
I walked over and peered down at a large hole in the back of the Auger’s head. Blood was leaking out from the edges of the mask, still covering the corpse’s face.
I placed a hand on the pistol in Allen’s hands, lowering it as the robot released its grip on the weapon. Allen’s fingers curled, appearing to still be holding an invisible firearm, even when I pushed its arms down.
“Allen, you okay?”
It didn’t answer.
“Allen?”
CHAPTER 17
“MAKE SURE ALLEN’S OKAY, then get Toby and get the hell out of here!” I yelled to Sinclair, who had just stepped out of the Rotorbird’s cockpit.
Peering up, I saw movement in the window of a small office up on the catwalk that surrounded the room. I snagged a pair of cuffs from Allen before Sinclair grabbed the robot and led it over to sit in the Rotorbird. I’d check on the metal man myself in a bit, but first things first.
I ran over to a stairway that led up to the catwalk, grabbed the railing, and started up. The bullet wound on my leg was giving me some trouble, especially now that the adrenalin rush was fading.
As I reached the top, two people came out of the office. I instinctively lifted the 1911 and fired two shots at them. One hit the wall inches from their heads and the other passed by their feet. “Get back in there now! Back the fuck up!”
They followed my orders as I ran forward, weapon outstretched. Adrenalin kicked in again. Both had their hands up, smart enough to leave their pieces where they were. I manhandled the one in front, grabbing his pistol and tossing it down from the catwalk before grabbing the cuffs from my back pocket. I hadn’t put cuffs on a man since ’28, so I fumbled a bit locking the first suspect to the railing of the catwalk.
The second man was lanky, taller than me, though he looked older. A square head and shallow jawline contrasted with the shaggy hair, and his rigid stance made me think that he’d once been military or police. He’d been there at Times Square, I was almost positive, but I needed to be absolutely sure that I had the right man. I grabbed him and threw him into the office, where a terminal sat on a wooden desk flanked by three chairs and a locker rack. A small telephone hung on the wall. I forced him into one of the chairs and used my foot to push both him and the seat against the lockers. The wooden chair legs creaked and squealed against the floor, and the lockers rang out from the collision of the chair against the metal. I levelled the 1911 at the man’s forehead as his chapped, drooling lips spit out some sort of excuse.
“Y-y-you don’t understand, l-look, it was simple business. All’s good now. You need money, I can get you a ton. A literal ton! Sixty percent of my profits, we call this square, and I’ll get out of town. Right, Roche?”
He knew who I was. He knew how deep in he was.
“Cory Belik?” I asked.
“Yeah?”
I kicked him in the chest, knocking the wind out of him before hitting him in the jaw. Blood sprayed across the steel locker doors.
He looked back at me with a level of fear that I’d only ever seen once before, long ago. It was pathetic. He was frailer than my grandmother, with the shaking voice and teary eyes of someone who’d rather not be threatened, no matter what they’d been through. He was weak, physically and emotionally. He looked like Allen for just a second …
Revenge and duty might have been my driving forces, but I wanted the right person to pay. Until then, there didn’t have to be any more bloodshed. Allen would be talking my ear off about that, and while it wasn’t here now, I was thinking about what it might say. Why would I kill someone if the evidence suggested that he’d little or nothing to do with what occurred at that speakeasy? I sat on the desk and did my best to make the atmosphere more comfortable for Belik. Making him hysterical wouldn’t help me get the truth out of him.
“You apparently killed two men from the 5th. But listen to me. I don’t care that you were in on something with them. I don’t care that all of you were breaking multiple laws. I couldn’t give a fuck what kind of
