He moved to a fortified wall that separated the Guest Bedroom, where he was, from the Boardroom, where he’d noticed a light from a doorway moments ago. He worried about someone on the catwalk, but they would have to be far behind him, because the upper level here seemed to be completely caved in.
And this cave-in had given him an idea. He found a fallen cluster of boards leaning against the fortified wall, and he slipped his revolver in the small of his back and then began climbing up.
He wasn’t silent, but the rain beating down on the roof was so loud that he wasn’t worried about making noise.
He made it to the top; he was on the wall now looking down into the Boardroom. It was too dark to see anything in there, but he drew his Smith and Wesson and his flashlight and got ready.
Well aware there was someone up high, maybe twenty-five yards or so behind him, he knew he’d have to act quickly.
He flipped on the light, and immediately saw a man in a raincoat below him. The man’s gun was up and pointed towards the doorway that led across the hall and, ultimately, to the Speakeasy.
The man swung his pistol in the direction of the light. Court fired twice into him, spinning him around and out into the hall, and then Court quickly rolled over the top of the wall, off the felled piece of catwalk that he’d climbed to get here, and dropped down into the Boardroom.
A volley of at least ten gunshots followed. Someone on the catwalk was shooting at him, but he’d made it behind the fortified wall. Tires filled with dirt and railroad ties protected him from the bullets of the shooter, though he heard impacts on the other side.
Court had landed hard on a stack of timber, rolled down into the muck on the concrete floor, and found himself in some foliage here. He heard the sound of a skittering rodent taking off to find some other place to hide.
Court had two rounds in the revolver, and the enemy, an enemy that was no doubt in comms with each another, knew exactly what room he was in. The man up on the catwalk could direct others to either of the two entrances. On his right, a hallway led to the eastern side of the building, more halls and rooms, and to the left, he just had to cross a hall to get into the Speakeasy, where he assumed his dad was waiting for him.
He opened the cylinder of the pistol quickly, dropped all the shells into his hand in the darkness, then reloaded the two unspent cartridges, letting the spent shells fall to the floor. He pulled three more bullets from the strip clip in his pocket, slipped them into the cylinder, and slammed it shut with a hard flick of his right hand.
Then Court rose and moved towards the exit, in the direction of the Speakeasy, hoping he’d get lucky and find the gun of the dead man there so he would have a backup.
—
Campbell Coyle called over his earpiece, his voice as low as he could make it while still being heard over the thunderstorm that seemed to be beating the building apart around him.
“Alfie. What happened?”
“A man shined a light and fired, went over a wall. Twenty yards in front of me and to the right.”
Coyle knew this would be Court; it didn’t sound like an old man’s maneuver, so he asked his four remaining team to call in.
“Alfie moving forward on the catwalk.”
“Gavin still on the west side. Watching several exits.”
“Barry here. I’m in the hall right behind where the last shooting happened. I’m taking cover. Waiting to hear someone tell me which way to go.”
There was no response from Nolan Walsh.
Both sets of brothers had lost a member. Alfie Donnelly, Gavin Walsh, and Barry Walsh were all Campbell Coyle had left.
He considered pulling everyone back and out of the building, but the storm would end at some point, the police would arrive at some point, and Campbell knew that the fact that Court’s dad was here could be used to his advantage.
He wanted to end this, right here, and then he wanted to go back home.
Coyle said, “Alfie, I’ll come up the catwalk on your right. You keep going forward, try to see into that room the target went to.”
Coyle found a broken wooden staircase and carefully began climbing.
—
Court gave up on finding the gun the man had dropped; it must have fallen out into the hallway, and there were eight access points with a view to that area, so Court wasn’t about to hang out there in the hall with a flashlight.
Instead, he took a big breath, let it out, and then sprinted across the hall and into the Speakeasy.
Gunfire came from above and from up the hallway, two shooters, both on his left.
