I whip toward the man who fired the shot, dropping him as he runs for the door.
A smart guy would’ve stayed hidden. Instead, he gave me a bigger target.
Four down, two to go.
The iron scent of blood invades my nose and clogs my throat. The buzz of adrenaline churns through me, sharpening my senses and tingling in my skin.
I love a good fight.
One of the men who rolled behind a row of washers pops up and fires off a round.
The shots go wide, ricocheting off the wall behind me. Pocketing my Luger, I launch myself on top of a line of frontload dryers, using their slick surface, my satin bomber jacket, and good old-fashioned physics to slide down the row.
When Enforcer Number Three raises his gun again, I shoot the weapon out of his hand.
He cries out, clutching it to his chest as he stumbles and falls on his ass.
Yeah, bet that stings a bit.
I hop down from the machines and put him out of his misery. Blood splatters against cheap linoleum, the squelch familiar to my ears.
Enforcer Number Four darts through the front door. He turns and fires blindly inside, murdering a ceiling fan while I kill Number Three with a flawless head shot.
I’m not going to fire back at his big bald head and lay out a man in the street. We don’t need that kind of attention.
He’s not coming back, so I don’t bother pursuing him.
Spinning to get the hell out of here before the cops show, I stop short and smirk
“Oh?Et tu, Sal?”
Shaking like a pooch fresh out of the bath, Padovesi braces against the wall to steady himself and trains a gun on me.
Guess he wasn’t fully incapacitated after all.
I hold my hands out wide. He has a perfect target. If he aims for theGiantsscrawled across my left pec, I’m as good as dead.
Except, I see him waver. He’s not sure.
So I’m not worried.
Why didn’t this guy limp out the back door? Shot by friendly fire, and now, he’s holding a gun on the one guy who saved his ass? “Sal, put down the weapon. I’m not the one you want to kill.”
He spits on the tile floor. “Fuck you, Gallagher. You set me up.”
“I’m not the one who shot you.”
He doesn’t care. His trigger finger performs as trained, but he’s rusty and misses. The bullet flies so wide, I’m not even sure where it landed.
He’s got more ammunition, though, so no second chances for him.
I put a round straight between his eyes.
Sal collapses.
I might not care about the Giants, but why ruin that nice warm hoodie if I don’t have to? We just bought this gear, and it wasn’t cheap.
I spin in a slow circle, listening for any other signs of life.
