Blindside(50)

I had to ask Fiore, “How’d you find me?”

“You gave me the address, you moron. You said it was across from Toit’s City.”

The FBI agent was starting to impress me.

Now shots echoed as Henry’s people fired on us. Fragments from the column burst into dust, clouding my vision. There was enough dust to make me cough. I still wasn’t going to move from my position.

I crouched next to Fiore as he returned fire, and I drew my own pistol. I wanted a quick shot at Henry. It was the old theory that if you cut off the head of a snake, the rest of the snake is no threat.

When I popped out from behind the support post, no one was on the catwalk. Henry and Natalie had disappeared.

Fiore stopped firing for a moment. I ducked back behind the post. When he looked at me, he was astonished. “Where the hell did you get a gun?”

I shrugged and said, “Just picked it up.”

I heard him mumble something foul about the NYPD. Then he started to shoot again.

I knocked down the guy with the teardrop tattoo. I hit him in the leg and then the pelvis. He flopped down onto the floor, screaming in Estonian. He ignored his gun and desperately tried to stem the bleeding next to his groin. I knew he was out of the fight.

The sound of the gunfire boomed in the big room and shut down my hearing. We still had to deal with the main killers I had seen in action before. I didn’t know where they had dropped back to. I couldn’t get a bead on them.

Then I heard Fiore grunt. I leaned back and saw blood pouring from a bullet hole in his shoulder. It also seeped between his fingers where he was holding the side of his abdomen.

He started to pant. He was losing color.

All I said was “How bad?”

He turned and lifted his hand so I could see the wound. Even through his mangled shirt, I knew it was nothing to fool around with.

“I have an idea.”

Fiore said, “Is it better than your idea to come here alone?” “Only marginally.”

“Better than nothing. Let’s hear it.”

“I’m gonna lay down some heavy fire. And you scoot out the door.”

Fiore said, “I’m not going to leave you here.”

“You’re not going to do either of us a favor by bleeding out on the floor. Go get some help. And some immediate medical attention.”

I could see him thinking about it.

Then I said forcefully, “You need attention right now. On the count of three, you get out that door. And don’t forget to get me some help.”

I counted quickly. “One, two, three.” Then I slid to the right of the post and emptied my magazine. I spread the fire around, trying to keep anyone with a goddamn gun in the room from raising his head.

One bullet struck the metal handrail along the catwalk. It caused an impressive spark. The air was thick with dust and gunpowder. The slide on my pistol locked back. I was empty. I threw myself behind the support column.

Now I needed time.





CHAPTER 72


AS I CROUCHED behind the post, I said a quick prayer for the FBI man to make it. The ploy had worked. Bill Fiore had slipped out the door while everyone’s heads were down. I couldn’t buy him any more time with the gun. But I didn’t need to surrender immediately, either.

Sweat stung my eyes. Suddenly I realized I was dehydrated. And exhausted. Gunfights can do that to you.

I called out, “Hang on, hang on. Can we talk about this?”

I was surprised to hear Henry’s voice. He was apparently up in one of the offices around the catwalk. He shouted back, “Drop your gun and surrender. Then we can talk.”

“How do I know you won’t kill me?”

“Christoph and Ollie will definitely kill you if you don’t. Now both of you drop your guns.”

I smiled at the idea that they thought the wounded FBI agent was still with me. I milked it for as much time as possible.

Finally I said, “I don’t know what you mean by ‘both of us.’ I’m the only one here.”

“Where’s your partner?”

“I don’t have a partner. That was just a guy who’d been bothering me before.”

I heard the slovenly Ollie call out from the other side of the room, “He’s telling the truth. He’s the only one behind the post.”

I slid my empty gun across the floor. Then I stepped out from behind the post with my hands up. Gunnar was, of course, still there on the floor. A giant puddle of blood had spread out around him. His eyes stared straight ahead. I guess he’d had more to worry about than closing his eyes when he bled out.

The other man I had shot in the leg was whimpering, still clutching his upper thigh. Real tears matched his tattooed teardrop. Strands of his dark hair hung across his face. His pants were soaked with blood, but he hadn’t lost a bucketful like poor Gunnar.

The two killers from New York, the ones I now considered the professionals, rushed toward me with their guns up. Christoph showed some sense when he immediately put my hands behind my back and fastened them with something. It felt like rope, but then I realized it was a pair of disposable handcuffs. I’d seen them at police trade shows. They looked like shoelaces with a sturdy plastic bracket that locked the two thin cords in place. I tugged on my arm and was impressed at how well they worked.

Ollie searched me carefully and kept my wallet, leaving behind the few euro coins I had in my trousers pocket.