“Mmph,” Demetrius said, stifling what, judging by his expression, would have been a particularly pithy curse. “All right. So Nick, here, comes up with the item that’s going to help us locate the source of the...” he threw up his hands, “infection, for want of a better way to put it.” He patted Ashton on the back. “Hell of an idea, kiddo.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“So should we go back to the office and wait for the...what was it, Nick? ‘Puff testers’?” Gorski asked.
“You two are the experienced detectives,” Ashton said, “but I don’t see the point in waiting here right now. Besides, the others might have found something in the archives.”
“Good point,” Demetrius decreed. “Let’s go.”
Sitting Ducks
Jeannie’s avatar was waiting for Gorecki, and this time she was in a bad mood. As soon as he appeared, she lit in on him.
“Do you have anybody working for you that has any patience or common sense?” she demanded. “That idiot you sent to me stayed maybe five minutes, then headed out, too bored to sit here and wait! Ashton just came back through, with two other older guys, one of which might have been the other guy you’re looking for! And numbnuts didn’t have sense enough to wait, to see if he might come back through! Even though I told him he ought to, just in case!”
“Roger? He didn’t stay?”
“No!”
“Did he say why?”
“Something about you interrupting him while he was bangin’ his girlfriend.”
“Mmph.” Gorecki scowled. “Son of a bitch. Okay. So we missed Ashton, and maybe Carter, too. Again. Dammit. All right. I’ll take care of Roger. His girlfriend probably needs to start shopping around for a new boyfriend, though.”
And Gorecki broke the link.
But Roger had thought better of the matter, and circled around until he could survey the area from a secluded spot in an alcove between buildings. He patted his pocket to make sure he was properly equipped, then settled down to wait.
He didn’t have to wait long. Ten minutes later, a trio of men in casual business wear, Ashton in the middle, rode the slidewalk through the arcade toward the commuter train station. They were on the far side of the arcade street from him, but he had a decent aim.
Bingo, he thought. Ashton and Carter. And the other guy is probably Imp City. Triple score. Take ‘em in order, Rog.
He smirked as he pulled his pistol from his jacket pocket. He rested it on his opposite hand, which was, in turn, pressed against the building façade, aimed at Ashton, and pulled the trigger.
The round hit Ashton right in the chest, and he went down.
Shocked, Demetrius and Gorski spun in the direction of the gun report, spotted the shooter, and drew down, yelling, “POLICE! EVERYONE! GET DOWN! WE HAVE A SHOOTER!” as the two detectives crouched and took aim. Pedestrians shrieked, and dove for cover.
The shooter ducked behind the corner of the building as both detectives let loose a short burst of weapons fire, then emerged once more to take another shot, going for Gorski.
“Get down, Stefan!” Demetrius ordered, and Gorski flattened himself on the slidewalk to present the smallest possible silhouette. Demetrius, already on one knee, steadied his weapon, aimed at the gunman – who was focusing on Gorski – and fired. Three times.
A cry came from their assailant, and he ducked back behind the building. That shelter was quickly eluding him, however, as the slidewalk carried the Imp City officers farther down the street, opening up the alcove in which the gunman hid.
By this time, Gorski had his own weapon brought back around and trained, as he lay flat on his belly. He took aim at the torso of the shooter, and fired three more shots.
The gunman fell backward, dropping his weapon and disappearing behind a waste bin, even as Imperial City Police beat cops came running.
“Sir!” one of them said, running up to Gorski. “Are you hurt?”
“No, but my protégé may be,” Gorski said, levering himself up and turning toward Ashton, who still lay on his back on the slidewalk, apparently unconscious. “Somebody stop the slidewalk and let’s see to him.”
“You lot! Go apprehend the shooter!” Demetrius said, pointing at a group of three beat cops.
“Yes, sir!” They saluted and headed across the street at a run.
The detectives turned to the fallen Ashton.
“Nick? Son? Are you okay?” Gorski said, kneeling beside the younger man. “Damn. I’m not seeing any blood, Gene, but there’s a hole clean through…”
“I’m…I’m okay,” Ashton panted, stirring and pushing into a seated position. “Body armor…stopped it. Hurt like hell, though. Knocked the wind outta me.”
“Yup, thank God for body armor, but you’ll still feel it,” Gorski agreed. “Did he get you with more than one round?”
“Nah, just the one.” Ashton poked a finger through the hole in his tweed jacket. “Damn. I liked this jacket.”
“Don’t sweat it. I know a good tailor can re-weave that in nothing flat,” Demetrius offered, as the police officers who had gone to investigate the shooter returned. “Where is he?”
“Gone, sir. There’s a puddle of blood, though, so you got him.”
“We should be able to track the blood drops, then, and apprehend him,” Gorski decided. “Get some blood samples, while we’re at it.”
“No time for that. Here come the Impies,” Demetrius said, seeing several Imperial Police coming through the archway on the far side of the arcade. “We need to get Nick out of sight.”
“They want him, sir?” one of the beat cops asked.
“Yes. Preferably dead. He was the shooter’s target. And he’s one of us.”
“We have this, then,” another beat cop said, as they all scowled. “Internal Imp City matter; we’ll hold ‘em up, you go.”
“We’re gone, then,” Demetrius agreed.
“Can you stand, Nick?”
