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!”

don't get the message. Another runs up, weeping

Too stupid to live…

paired hands, then...

get it. Eyes widen. Screaming,

running the wrong

Fuck…

and there, running

Finchby…

Gotcha!

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

panicking… I plant my fist in

Got the bastard!

weight pressed against the collar at the front of his neck, it’s got to be cutting off his

with me. “Want a hand

Our friend here is

squealing like a piglet that knows it’s

Which it is…

If you annoy me now,

tugs his head back by the hair, examining his face. “If you want

Ever the pragmatist…

a shame.” I release him, top and bottom, and Finchby

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

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

us, gripping him by arms and legs, bodily, James and I drag him towards the door, kicking and struggling

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

straighten up. Finchby takes the opportunity to kick out and

from his torso. “Hey, I'm not looking for trouble. Like I said…” He looks down to Finchby again, his mouth pinching…

bastard, Hickman.

I wasn’t. You told me I was to help you with…” He meets my eye, shrugs. “Sorry, Mr Klempner. It

Hickman, it seems to me that you're out of a

glumly. “I'd say

you feel about a

eyes spark, head

“Yes, me.”

Klempner.” He straightens up, almost to attention. “What would you like

string, anything you can lay your hands on to get this

“I'll try

“While you're there pick up

pauses, microscopically, looking

you take orders from him

“Yes, sir.”

don't hang around.” I check my watch. “We

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