Klempner

Although I can hear chaos from down the stairs, up here now, it’s quiet. There’s no-one in the dance room.

In the pool room, the only sound is the crunching of glass under my boots. I carry on to Finchby’s office.

All empty?

It seems so.

The time?

Time to go.

Except… as I’m about to turn and leave a girl, I see her; barely a teenager, some variety of Asian, Indian perhaps. Streaming tears, she skitters out from behind the desk, making for the kitchen.

I follow her and she cringes back into the corner. I offer my hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. You have to leave.”

She babbles at me in I’ve-no-idea-what language, then abruptly, her face swings up to mine and fingers outstretched, leaps up at me, clawing at my face. Reflexively, I jerk back, and she bolts past me and out, back the way I came.

Fuck!

I dash after her, but in the few seconds, she’s gone, vanished.

Where did she go?

Out?

Or somewhere deeper inside?

I check my watch… Three minutes…

Christ!

I have to find her… If she’s on the stairwell, perhaps I’ll hear her. I turn for the bar, heading for the stairs up and down, and there…

Fuck.

Baxter.

I reach for my Glock… And it’s not there.

Damn… When did I put it down?

Baxter flashes brows. And the knife in his hand. “Going somewhere?”

“I was planning on leaving.” I slip the knife from my belt. “Your friend Finchby has already left the building. I believe the money may be with him.”

“I’m not going to weep over Finchby. And I didn't do it for the cash. Well… mainly not for the cash. And I have my half anyway.”

We circle, eyeball to eyeball.

Make the first move?

Wait for him?

I move slowly, watching for the twitch of the hand. The nudge of the shoulder. The tell that he's going to stop talking and...

He slashes out… moves fast…

But it’s a feint and we both know it, calculated to draw a reaction from me.

Testing me…

My speed…

My reactions…

Younger than me...

How much by?

Ten years?

His knife...

inches. Well

Well used…

Left-handed…

Thinks that gives him an

practice against right-handers. I've

Hard. Fast.

arm. We grapple. His blade to my throat. My hand locked to

close, I

Sweat. Sour.

scent

Not excitement.

Fear.

from me and suddenly I'm overreaching…

for his neck but as

bully forward, reaching for his blade, slashing out

with my right hand and he twists away, still grinning manically, but he

The other knife...

Ambidextrous?

As he swerves away from my right hand,

rib

Got you, you bastard…

it’s her.

me and Baxter, she charges between us and I twist away to

staggering back, my foot skids on

Drinks slops?

Blood?

In slow motion...

my arms

I go down...

Baxter’s on top

as his blade

rasp of shredding

The metallic tang of

Whose?

Mine…

hovers, enjoying his moment, the knife poised

point nipping at the vein, he reaches into his jacket, he takes out

My Glock?

my forehead, he

not use the

got the balls for

elbows I swing round wildly,

There are none.

staring straight up the barrel of

Is this it?

this is how I

Of all the ways I could have died over the years, I’m taken

I didn’t

Live by the sword…

mind works at these moments. The brain

don’t think I’m

looms close and huge. The rest of the world vanishes around me. My peripheral vision grows

My throat tightens…

honey and contempt in equal measure… “A

I know that

to its

feet in the spiked heels. The matching skirt just clears the crotch

gloriously over smooth white shoulders and frames a face made up with emerald eyes painted

“Mitch?”

admit it.

So does Baxter.

a brothel. It might have been full of women offering their all. But nothing compares to Mitch

never seen her dressed like

pose. And with an eye on

zipper tag dangles, an open silver loop. She hooks a finger into the loop and tooth by tooth, slides

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