fired twice, smashing a retro-style disco ball to smithereens. Glass tinkled and a kaleidoscope of colour exploded throughout the room as the strobes refracted wildly in all directions. People yelled and screamed which provided the ideal cover for Rink to come inside.
Rink scrambled over. ‘This would be so much easier if we didn’t have to keep one of the frog-giggers alive,’ he said.
‘Yeah, that’s always the hard bit.’ We scanned the area at the back of the bar room. Now that everyone had had the good sense to dive for cover no one remained in sight. There was a doorway on one side, behind a beaded curtain. It corresponded to the position where the NYPD cruiser had jammed the door shut. ‘You think there’s another way out?’
‘I’m guessing the cops already have that covered.’
Standing up was a calculated risk but no bullets came our way.
Dropping down again, just in case I was wrong, I said, ‘I’m thinking that our Korean friends have headed upstairs.’ The Red Moon Bar was in a converted walk-up residential building. On arrival, I’d noted that it was an old structure with only two levels and a flat roof, dwarfed on either side by more modern constructions. ‘Hopefully Vince has positioned snipers to watch the roof, which means they’ll be on the upper floor.’
Rink glanced at his Glock, no doubt wishing he’d brought a Mossberg 500. The assault shotgun was always his weapon of choice for this kind of work. Heavier firepower came in handy when clearing a building while going room to room. He chewed a corner of his mouth, then waved the Glock. ‘Suppose this’ll have to do. You want me to go first?’
‘Go for it, I’ll be right behind you.’
Rink set off, using the bar for cover as he rushed to the far end. I scanned the room for any sign of danger. Rink positioned himself at the far end, his Glock levelled, and now I sprinted forward and past my friend. I made it to the back of the bar room where I rested with my back to the wall, the TV playing over my shoulder. A brawny man lay on his back, staring through sightless eyes at the ceiling. Doorman, I guessed, who’d tried his best to stop the Koreans; unfortunately his best hadn’t been good enough. Another man, a small ferret in comparison to the dead bouncer, was crouching in a nook beneath the dance stage. He pointed up, confirming my assumption that the Koreans had sought higher ground. I aimed the SIG at the stairwell. A sign tacked to the wall pointed to restrooms upstairs. A toilet was as good a place as any to find crap.
A scantily clad woman jumped up from under a nearby table, running screaming for the front door. I let her go, making my way instead into the stairwell. Rink moved to the position I’d just vacated. Then I entered a space that was one of the most dangerous for anyone tasked with clearing a building. On the stairs there was the twin disadvantage of being on the lower ground and confined in a narrow place. I went up the stairs with my left shoulder tight to the wall. Anyone above would have to exit fully from the door on the left before they would see me ascending.
Three steps down from the landing, I twisted across to the opposite wall and covered the open door while Rink came up the stairs. Down in the bar there was a rush of bodies as the staff and clientele made a break for freedom. They would be replaced within minutes by the police storming inside.
‘Where are you, you chickenshit muthas?’ Rink whispered to himself.
Normal practice would see Rink move on while I covered him, but before he could do so, I went up the remaining stairs and into the hallway. It was bad enough that Rink had followed me to his possible doom, let alone allowing him to go first. I searched the dim space ahead. Someone, probably the Koreans, had flicked off the lights. At the far end the doors to the restrooms were edged in a pale glow. They wouldn’t be cornered in there; too constricting. There was another door on the left. As I crept along I noted that there was no light on in the room beyond and surmised this was where the Koreans were waiting. Still, we couldn’t ignore the toilets. I’d have felt stupid if someone burst out from behind one of those doors and cut me down, though not for long, I thought grimly.
Using hand speak, I motioned Rink on, directing him to check the restrooms. Rink went without comment, padding silently along the hall. How such a large man could move as quietly as an errant breeze through tall grass always impressed me. I stepped out, raising the SIG to offer cover. Rink opened each restroom in turn, nodded the all-clear. I went down on one knee, crouching over to make the smallest target possible. Nudged open the final door.
Gunfire rang out, tearing up the wall above and behind me. Plaster particles drifted down. I ignored the sure death whizzing inches above my head, noting and zoning in on the muzzle flash of a semi-automatic handgun. Returning fire, I used the flashes as a gauge, and heard a high-pitched scream that was immediately curtailed when I fired another round at the source of the noise. Something thundered down, shifting stacked furniture by the sound of the resulting crash and rumble.
Rink sped to replace me at the door frame and I went inside. I got a snapshot image of the room, analysing it in the same moment I checked both sides were clear of danger. I dashed to where I’d brought down one of the Koreans, placing the ill-stacked pile of tables and chairs between me and the length of the room. The dead man had knocked over a table, which gave ample cover, and I peered round one side of it. The windows had been painted over in an attempt at sparing less-open-minded individuals getting an eyeful of what happened inside the Red Moon’s upper level. Still, the years had conspired against the coating of paint, flaking it away in places so that bars of light cut through the dim interior. Motes of dust and a trail of cordite drifted through the laser-cuts of light, giving the room the look of a haunted space. The room had been partitioned off with rails from which drapes made private enclaves. In each booth was a mattress. It seemed that some of the dancers sidelined in further acrobatics for those willing to pay for a private show.
Before we’d left Walter, the CIA man had told us there were four Koreans, though this hadn’t been confirmed. Any more than that and resistance would have been much more concerted than it had. In all likelihood therefore we had an equal number to contend with. The difficulty being, while we intended taking at least one man alive, the Koreans wouldn’t be working under such constraints.
From below came the rumble of feet as the NYPD or FBI entered the Red Moon. Time now was the issue, because they’d be coming up and maybe they wouldn’t be as indiscriminate about collateral damage this time.
Rink hollered a command in Korean. I understood enough of the language to get the gist: put down your weapons. Do that, you live, refuse, you die. The answer was much easier to comprehend. ‘Fuck you!’
‘You speak English?’ I demanded.
‘Better than your friend speaks Korean, Yankee.’
‘So you know that when I tell you you’re fucked, I’m telling the truth?’
‘If that was true, then you wouldn’t be waiting for me to throw down my gun, and come out with my hands up. Go ahead, Yankee. You think I’m finished, go ahead and see what happens.’
‘OK. But you know how this is going to end, right?’
‘Yes. I will kill you and every Yankee who comes into this room.’
‘You sound pretty sure of yourself.’
‘I am Korean.’
Rink grunted something that was a curse in any language. ‘Goddamn pussies, you’re all wannabe Japanese, but very poor copies. C’mon asshole, put down your gun, let me show you the real deal.’
‘Ha!’ said the Korean. ‘I am Kwon. I will destroy you.’
‘The Hand, huh? C’mon out here and I’ll shove it up your ass like you’re a glove puppet.’
‘I would crush you in seconds.’
‘So let’s do it. I’m guessing your Korean style is as inferior to karate as everything else.’
It would have been laughable if the situation wasn’t so dire. Listening to the loathing between two Eastern nations was no different to arguments that raged the world over. Allowing Rink and Kwon to exchange insults, I crept round the stack of furniture. Directly ahead was one of the booths and I slowly slipped the curtain aside and stepped over a futon-style mattress lying on the floor. Kwon evidently couldn’t see me, because he continued to trade insults with Rink. I was no idiot, though, and credited Kwon with as much sense. The Korean was trying to play us as much as we were playing him. Rink was keeping Kwon busy, and Kwon was happy to oblige while the fourth Korean moved to a better position. I readied myself.
Had only seconds to wait.
As Kwon screeched something in his own language, the hidden Korean came out from the next booth, levelling his pistol at Rink. I didn’t bother with a warning shout; bullets were much faster. I merely caressed the
