Roy’s cell phone.
“Yo.”
“We’re pinned down. Sniper fire. He’s in one of the rooms on the second or third floor, east side of the building.”
“I’m on it.”
Another bang. The rear tire. Tom opened the door and climbed back into the car, keeping under the line of fire. He took a deep breath, focused his concentration, and then he snatched the rearview mirror, yanking it off its base. He slunk back out of the car, mirror in hand.
“Stay behind the rim,” he told Bert.
Tom crawled over to the front of the car, staying below engine level. He angled the mirror over the hood, looking for the sniper. He checked the windows on the second floor, one by one, hoping to spot movement or the glint of a telescopic sight. Nothing. He went room by room across the third floor and didn’t find anything either. Strange.
“I haven’t made peace with my family,” Bert said, his head covered in his arms. “I can’t die without making peace! There are things that need to be said!”
Tom ignored Bert’s apparent breakdown, and tried to concentrate on the windows. Why couldn’t he find the shooter? Tom started again on the second floor, trying to think like a sniper. A professional wouldn’t be leaning out the window. A pro would be several feet away from the window, in a dark room. Tom located him near the end of the building. A window open just a few inches. No one else would have a window open in this weather. He dialed Roy.
“Second floor, third room from the last.”
“Almost there. I’ll leave you on. Stay quiet.”
Tom put his finger in front of his lips, warning Bert to keep silent.
He turned up the volume on the cell phone, keeping both eyes on the window.
“Police! Open the door!”
In the room Tom saw a muzzle flash.
“You want some of this?” Roy’s voice, angry.
The gunshots could be heard without the cell phone, six in quick succession. Tom watched as the window flew open and a black clad figure crawled out with a rifle.
“He’s out the window!” Tom yelled into the phone. And then he was up and sprinting across the parking lot. The sniper dropped, landing in some bushes. He noticed Tom advancing and raised the rifle. Tom veered to the left and dove into the bed of a pickup truck. A bullet pierced the sidewall and missed his leg by inches.
More gunshots. Roy from the window, firing down. Tom chanced a look and saw the figure running alongside the building and cutting around the corner.
“Tommy! You okay?”
“Yeah.” Tom hopped out of the truck and held the phone to his ear. “He went around. I think it was our friend Jack.”
“Be right there.”
Roy went out the window feet first and dropped to the ground, landing on his ass.
Tom ran over to his partner, helping him up.
“You okay?”
“No. Sweet merciful Jesus! Something’s stuck!”
Roy turned around, a large branch sticking into his right butt cheek. “Oh shit. Pull it out.”
Tom winced. “We should wait for the doctor.”
“Goddamit, Tom! Pull this goddamn stick out of my ass!”
Tom gripped the stick and tugged hard. It had been buried two inches in Roy’s backside. The blood came freely, soon soaking Roy’s pants.
“Should have left it in. I’m calling an ambulance.”
“I’ll do it. Go after him.”
Tom nodded and ran to the corner of the building. He peered around cautiously. No sign of him, but there were plenty of cars for cover. Tom suddenly felt naked and out gunned.
“Do it,” he told himself.
He ran around the corner, going in low. Low saved his life. The bullet grazed his scalp, taking off several layers of skin. Tom hit the ground and rolled behind a Nissan, bringing a hand up to the wound. It came away bloody, but there was no pain or disorientation. He crawled past the car and jogged in a crouch around the perimeter, trying to get behind the shooter. Tom ran by five cars before he saw him, crouched next to a red Buick. It was Jack, all right. And the son of a bitch was
“Yo.”
“We’re pinned down. Sniper fire. He’s in one of the rooms on the second or third floor, east side of the building.”
“I’m on it.”
Another bang. The rear tire. Tom opened the door and climbed back into the car, keeping under the line of fire. He took a deep breath, focused his concentration, and then he snatched the rearview mirror, yanking it off its base. He slunk back out of the car, mirror in hand.
“Stay behind the rim,” he told Bert.
Tom crawled over to the front of the car, staying below engine level. He angled the mirror over the hood, looking for the sniper. He checked the windows on the second floor, one by one, hoping to spot movement or the glint of a telescopic sight. Nothing. He went room by room across the third floor and didn’t find anything either. Strange.
“I haven’t made peace with my family,” Bert said, his head covered in his arms. “I can’t die without making peace! There are things that need to be said!”
Tom ignored Bert’s apparent breakdown, and tried to concentrate on the windows. Why couldn’t he find the shooter? Tom started again on the second floor, trying to think like a sniper. A professional wouldn’t be leaning out the window. A pro would be several feet away from the window, in a dark room. Tom located him near the end of the building. A window open just a few inches. No one else would have a window open in this weather. He dialed Roy.
“Second floor, third room from the last.”
“Almost there. I’ll leave you on. Stay quiet.”
Tom put his finger in front of his lips, warning Bert to keep silent.
He turned up the volume on the cell phone, keeping both eyes on the window.
“Police! Open the door!”
In the room Tom saw a muzzle flash.
“You want some of this?” Roy’s voice, angry.
The gunshots could be heard without the cell phone, six in quick succession. Tom watched as the window flew open and a black clad figure crawled out with a rifle.
“He’s out the window!” Tom yelled into the phone. And then he was up and sprinting across the parking lot. The sniper dropped, landing in some bushes. He noticed Tom advancing and raised the rifle. Tom veered to the left and dove into the bed of a pickup truck. A bullet pierced the sidewall and missed his leg by inches.
More gunshots. Roy from the window, firing down. Tom chanced a look and saw the figure running alongside the building and cutting around the corner.
“Tommy! You okay?”
“Yeah.” Tom hopped out of the truck and held the phone to his ear. “He went around. I think it was our friend Jack.”
“Be right there.”
Roy went out the window feet first and dropped to the ground, landing on his ass.
Tom ran over to his partner, helping him up.
“You okay?”
“No. Sweet merciful Jesus! Something’s stuck!”
Roy turned around, a large branch sticking into his right butt cheek. “Oh shit. Pull it out.”
Tom winced. “We should wait for the doctor.”
“Goddamit, Tom! Pull this goddamn stick out of my ass!”
Tom gripped the stick and tugged hard. It had been buried two inches in Roy’s backside. The blood came freely, soon soaking Roy’s pants.
“Should have left it in. I’m calling an ambulance.”
“I’ll do it. Go after him.”
Tom nodded and ran to the corner of the building. He peered around cautiously. No sign of him, but there were plenty of cars for cover. Tom suddenly felt naked and out gunned.
“Do it,” he told himself.
He ran around the corner, going in low. Low saved his life. The bullet grazed his scalp, taking off several layers of skin. Tom hit the ground and rolled behind a Nissan, bringing a hand up to the wound. It came away bloody, but there was no pain or disorientation. He crawled past the car and jogged in a crouch around the perimeter, trying to get behind the shooter. Tom ran by five cars before he saw him, crouched next to a red Buick. It was Jack, all right. And the son of a bitch was
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