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!”

the message. Another

Too stupid to live…

paired hands, then... “Boom...” I

it. Eyes widen. Screaming, they

two running the

Fuck…

after them, and there,

Finchby…

Gotcha!

He’s way too slow,

spluttering, panicking… I plant

Got the bastard!

weight pressed against the collar

up with me. “Want

friend here

understatement. Finchby’s squealing like a piglet that knows

Which it is…

anything to you yet. If you annoy me now, we might move

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

Ever the pragmatist…

Finchby

Knowing I'd have thought you would have...” James

right. I would. But Baxter's not here and I need to know where he is. I’m sure our friend here will be able to tell us where to find him, eh,

bodily, James and I drag him towards the door, kicking

stairs, Hickman, apparently on his way out, but

on Finchby, I straighten up. Finchby takes the opportunity to kick

torso. “Hey, I'm not looking for trouble. Like I said…” He looks down to

Hickman. You

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

Hickman, it seems to me that

nods glumly. “I'd

you feel about

eyes spark, head inclining.

“Yes, me.”

straightens up, almost to

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

thinks, then, “I'll try his office. Be right

you're there pick up his

microscopically,

working for me, you

“Yes, sir.”

my watch.

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