Shadows Reel (Joe Pickett #22)(83)

The headlights of the Yarak van swept the square as Geronimo turned in to reveal Axel standing next to it with an armful of long rifles and shotguns.

“That’s him,” Geronimo bellowed. “You ready?”

Joe nodded, but he wasn’t sure he was ready. Ready for what? His mouth was too dry to speak.

Geronimo steered with his left hand while he grasped his shotgun from the console between the seats. Joe reached down to assure himself where the safety was located behind the trigger guard of his Remington Wingmaster, even though he’d been familiar with it for a dozen years.

“Don’t hit the van or shoot up my birds,” Nate said from the back.

The Yarak van’s front tires bounced over the curb into the square and Joe held on. Geronimo positioned the van to block Axel’s vehicle from the front, then slammed on the brakes.

“Go,” Geronimo said as he opened his door and jumped out.

Joe looked up to see Axel frozen in place in the headlights, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly parted. He’d been caught by surprise.

Joe bailed out of the passenger side, racking his shotgun as his boots hit the pavement.

Axel still stood there. His eyes narrowed.

Joe said, “Lower the weapons and put your hands behind your head.”

In his peripheral vision, Joe saw Geronimo to his left with his triple-barrel shotgun trained on Axel. Geronimo said softly to Joe, “Aim low. He might be wearing body armor.”

Axel said, “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Here’s your one chance to get back in your vehicle and drive away.”

“Where’s your friend?” Geronimo asked Axel. Joe was glad he did. He’d forgotten that Axel wasn’t alone.

Axel chinned toward his van. “Inside. Dying.” He said it with contempt, and Joe felt a chill wash over him.

“Lower the weapons,” Joe said.

Axel sighed theatrically. “Oh, all right.”

Instead of placing the guns on the pavement, Axel dropped them and they clattered at his feet. In his right hand was a large revolver. He raised it quickly.

There was a massive BOOM from behind Joe that made him duck instinctively. The slug from Nate’s .454 caught Axel in his left shoulder and spun him around 360 degrees. Somehow, Axel managed to stay on his feet.

Simultaneously, Joe and Geronimo pulled their triggers. Both had aimed low and the combined blasts blew Axel’s knees back the wrong way. He screamed and dropped, his revolver falling from his hand.

Joe ran forward and kicked the gun away. Axel’s legs were folded under him in such grotesque angles that Joe had to look away.

Axel starting moaning and his eyes were clenched tight.

Joe looked over his shoulder.

Nate had pulled himself up so he could fire between the frame of the van and the open door.

“Not bad for left-handed,” Nate said with a grimace.

Geronimo ran up along the passenger side of the transit van while reloading. He kept low until he reached the door and then rose up with the muzzle pointing inside the cab. After a beat, Geronimo lowered his shotgun.

“His buddy’s gone,” he said. “Axel let him die.”



* * *



—

To the discordant soundtrack of Axel’s pitiful moans and the raucous exit of protesters from the park who wanted nothing to do with the firefight, Joe and Geronimo transferred Nate’s falcons from the transit to the Yarak van.

While they did it, Joe expected the police to show up any second. It was a justified shooting, but still.

No one came.

Axel continued to moan and writhe on the pavement. Joe felt strangely unmoved, as if he were in the midst of an out-of-body experience. It had been that way since he’d landed.

When they were done, Joe punched up the most recent call on his phone.

“This is the 911 emergency network.”

Remarkably, it was the same dispatcher Joe had talked to earlier. He recognized her distinctive voice.

“There are two shooting victims behind the Benson Hotel,” he said. “One is dead and the other one will be if there isn’t a quick medical response.”

“Good,” she said after a long pause. She disconnected the call.



* * *



—

Geronimo arrived at the Sea-Tac Airport in Washington State at three-thirty a.m. and cruised along the curb until he came to a stop outside the terminal entrance. There was very little traffic.

Nate and Joe were booked on the first morning flight to Denver, and then on to Saddlestring. They’d decided to avoid the Portland airport in case an alert had been issued about them.

Joe had booked the flights on his phone while they drove north. He’d used his credit card to purchase the two one-way tickets and he was grateful it had been accepted. Joe wasn’t used to spending that kind of money in one place.

That didn’t mean he was wealthy. But would he soon be? He didn’t know. He’d figure that out when he got home.

“Let’s get this guy back to his wife and daughter,” Geronimo said to Joe. “I’ll deliver the birds to you in Wyoming.”

“Just get gone,” Nate said to Geronimo through clenched teeth as they helped him out of the van. “Avoid Oregon if you can. They might be looking for this vehicle.”