Chapter 16
Jet spun to the side and pitched her purse at the assailant’s head as she simultaneously blocked another blow from a second man who’d swung a hatchet at her shoulder. A third grunted as Rob executed a flying kick that caught him in the chest, snapping several ribs with a crack; he crashed against the wall, his machete falling harmlessly into the gutter. A fourth attacker stabbed at Rob with a wicked-looking stiletto, but he parried it and landed a series of rapid strikes against the man’s neck.
A gunshot rang out from down the alley, and Jet heard the distinctive sound of a bullet whiz by her left ear as she ducked, fishing into her purse as she dodged another swing of the hatchet. The knife wielder slashed at her, and she jumped back, tossing her purse to the side as she freed her pistol. She heard Rob grunt as the stiletto sliced his ribs, and then she slammed the butt of her gun into the side of the hatchet man’s head, dazing him.
The man with the knife lunged at her again, just as another shot boomed and a slug ricocheted off the brick wall beside her. She brought her weapon up and fired, blowing half the knife fighter’s face off, and then shot the hatchet man twice, point blank in the chest. Even as he was falling, she dropped to the ground and fired two more rounds down the alley at where she’d seen the shooter’s muzzle flash. Another shot rang out, grazing her leg, and she fired her final round at where she’d seen movement twenty yards away. If she’d had her Beretta, she’d have hit the shooter, but with the Sig Sauer it was dicey.
She heard a
“Move!” she yelled, and then tore off without waiting for him. She rounded the corner as more shots followed her, blood streaming down her leg from where the bullet had grazed her quadriceps. Rob was behind her and was also oozing blood: from his abdomen. Jet slowed her pace.
“How bad is it?”
“I’ll live,” he hissed. “You?”
“Same here. You have a gun?”
“Nope. Too dangerous carrying one in the club.”
“Good thing I was packing.”
He nodded. “Still got at least one shooter back there.”
“I know. In here,” she cried, then ducked down a pedestrian shopping area, the startled strollers backing away from the blood-sodden pair.
They continued running another two blocks, and then she slowed, taking cover in the shadows of a darkened building.
“What the hell was that?” Rob asked, gasping for air.
“Ambush. But question is who?”
“Lap Pu?”
“But why?”
“The kid?”
“Makes no sense. Could have been because of the money I flashed around, but that didn’t feel like a robbery. More like a hit.”
Rob frowned. “But if it was a hit, why the amateurs? Why not just gun us down by the car?”
“Good question. Did you notice that they were all pretty rough-looking? Not city rough. Outdoor rough. Their skin was like leather. I’ve seen that on Bedouins…”
“What now?”
She pulled some Kleenex from her purse; after tearing three loose for herself and pressing them against her leg, she handed Rob the packet.
“We need to get out of here.”
“I’ll call Edgar,” Rob said, pulling his phone free of his shirt pocket.
A twinge of anxiety tickled Jet’s stomach, but she couldn’t place what was causing it. She nodded to Rob, and he dialed Edgar’s number. After a few terse sentences, he hung up.
“There’ll be a car here within ten minutes. White Yaris.”
“And a doctor?”
“Already arranged. We’ll go straight there and get patched up.”
“So now all we need to do is stay alive till help gets here,” Jet said, eyes scanning the dark street. A motorcycle putted by, two locals astride it, laughing together as they bounced down the road.
When the Yaris pulled to the curb and flashed its lights, they hurried to it and slid in without a word. The driver was rolling away before they’d slammed the doors, his eyes roving in the rearview mirror, on the lookout for threats.
“Nice shooting back there,” Rob said in a low voice.
“Not too bad yourself with the Slingblade impression.”
“What I really want to do is direct.”
The little car purred along, and Jet stared out through the tinted window, lost in thought. Whoever had attacked them had known exactly where they would be, so it couldn’t have been Lap Pu — they’d gotten there before him, so at best he would have had to follow them.
The implications weren’t positive.
Someone knew their every movement.
Someone who wanted them dead.
“We’ll dress this and stitch it up, and you’ll be as right as ninepence,” the doctor, a wizened British man, assured her with a nod.
She winced as he sutured her but didn’t make a sound.
“Now, then. Let’s take a look at that stab wound, young man” he said, motioning for Jet to get off the exam table.
“Do you have a sink?” she asked. “I need to rinse out my pants. Blood and all.”
“Other room. Take your time. All right, then. What have we got here?” he asked Rob, who merely sat on the table and pulled his shirt up.
The doctor peered at the gash and flushed it out with antiseptic, Rob’s sharp intake of breath hissing as the pain hit.
“Well, it’s messy, but superficial. A few stitches for you, and the drama will be over. Hold still,” the old man instructed, then blotted the injury with gauze before threading the hooked needle. “You’re lucky I hadn’t polished off the second half of the Balentines I’d started on. As it is, steadies the hand and soothes the spirit.”
Rob ignored the banter, preferring to suffer the ministrations in silence.
“There. No worse for wear, I’d say. Just watch for swelling or redness. I’ll give you both a five-day course of antibiotics, purely precautionary, to stave off infection. I dare say you’ll be fine. Do try to avoid getting stabbed or shot, though. Bloody inconvenient to have to open the office near midnight.”
“Thanks, Doc. I’ll keep that in mind.” Rob began buttoning up his bloodstained shirt.
“No, no. You can’t go out like that. Here, let me see if I have a spare in the closet. I’m sure I do. If not, at least an exam coat.” The doctor opened an en suite door and rummaged around before emerging with a gaudy Hawaiian print rayon shirt with dancing dogs cavorting all over it. “Ah. One of my favorites. I’ll be sorry to see it go. Wear it in good health. World’s going to the dogs, and so forth…”
He handed it to Rob, who eyed it skeptically before pulling off his more conservative one. Jet returned wearing her jeans as he donned the dog shirt and strained to button it across the chest. The result was absurd, and when he faced the mirror, he joined Jet in laughing at his reflection.
“Looks brilliant, young man. Magic, really,” the doctor said without a trace of a smile.
“I wonder if they make a set of matching pants?” Rob remarked drily.
Their business with the doctor concluded, they descended the stairs to the street, where the Yaris was parked out front, the driver napping behind the wheel.
Rob pounded on the window. “Come on, wake up, you lazy…”
