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!”

Another runs up, weeping mascara, at

Too stupid to live…

down the Glock, I cup my paired hands, then... “Boom...”

they get it. Eyes

running the

Fuck…

make after them, and there,

Finchby…

Gotcha!

too slow, yelping as I slap the hand to one side, banging the fingers

red-faced, spluttering, panicking… I plant my

Got the bastard!

in my grip, half his weight pressed against the collar at the front of his neck, it’s got

with me. “Want a hand

Our friend here is being

understatement. Finchby’s squealing like a piglet

Which it is…

Finchby. I’ve not done anything to you yet. If you

head back by the hair, examining his face. “If you want him able to speak,

Ever the pragmatist…

him, top and bottom, and Finchby

would have...” James points two fingers at the little

right. I would. But Baxter's not here and I need to know where he is. I’m sure our friend here

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

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

my grip on Finchby, I straighten up. Finchby takes the

looking for trouble. Like I said…” He looks down to Finchby again, his

“You bastard, Hickman.

was to help you with…” He

Hickman, it seems to me that

nods glumly. “I'd

do you feel

eyes spark, head

“Yes, me.”

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

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

try his office.

you're there pick up his laptop and phone if it's

microscopically,

me, you

“Yes, sir.”

check my watch. “We

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