James

The ‘music’ is still playing, and I don’t hear the sound, but beside me, a half-empty cocktail glass shatters and Klempner, snatching at my arm, tugs me to one side. Crouching behind the bar, “That’s Finchby.”

“How d’you know it’s Finchby?”

“Because he’s a fucking lousy shot.”

“So, where’s Baxter?”

Above us, in a line on the shelves above us, the top rank of bottles shatter, exploding their contents in a multi-hued shower of liquid and shattered glass. “That’s Baxter.” Abruptly, the music cuts out…

“Thank fuck for that,” mutters Klempner beside me, inching up to look over the bar.

Another line of fire, lower this time…

Finchby’s voice. “That’s my stock you’re shooting up, Baxter…”

Klempner grins. “C’mon… They’re in the office.” His head swings. “Where’s Jenny?”

“Down the stairs. Hopefully, Michael already has her out.”

“Good. That gives us a free hand.” He checks his watch. “Right, with me… One, two, three…”

His rifle over the bar, Klempner fires blind towards the office door. It chatters then falls silent. He curses…

Out of ammo?

Jammed?

… then tugs a handgun from his pocket and fires. “Run…”

*****

Klempner

A group of half a dozen of the women mill around, seeming not to know what to do without someone telling them...

Natural slaves...

The Glock raised in my hand, “Get out!”

One blathers at me, runs up pleading, then her eyes fix on my pistol.

“Out!” I yell, pointing to the door. “Saia! Ir!”

message. Another runs

Too stupid to live…

paired hands, then...

get it.

two running the wrong

Fuck…

make after them, and there, running ahead of

Finchby…

Gotcha!

sees me coming and he brings up his pistol. He’s way too slow, yelping as I slap the hand to one

Larry…” He’s red-faced, spluttering, panicking… I plant my fist

Got the bastard!

feet. “Now move.” Dangling in my grip, half his weight pressed against the collar at the front

me. “Want

here is

Finchby’s squealing like a piglet that knows it’s

Which it is…

to you yet. If you annoy me now, we might move on to that part

hair, examining his face. “If you want him able to speak, you’d better not strangle him. You’re

Ever the pragmatist…

and bottom, and Finchby drops to the ground, landing

carry him away? Knowing I'd have thought you would have...” James points two

I need to know where he is. I’m sure our

legs, bodily, James and I drag him towards the door, kicking and struggling all

stairs, Hickman, apparently on his way out, but as he sees me, he pauses,

keeping my grip on Finchby, I straighten up. Finchby takes the opportunity to kick out and James cuffs him

hands up and away from his torso. “Hey, I'm not looking for trouble. Like I said…” He looks down to

“You bastard, Hickman. You were

You told me I was to help you with…” He meets my eye, shrugs. “Sorry, Mr Klempner.

Hickman, it seems to me

glumly. “I'd say

feel about a

eyes spark, head

“Yes, me.”

to attention. “What would you like me

me rope, tape, string, anything you can lay your hands on to get

nods, thinks, then, “I'll try his office.

“While you're there pick up his laptop and

pauses, microscopically, looking to

working for me, you take orders

“Yes, sir.”

hang around.” I check my watch. “We only have six

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