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But that damned Mary is taking too long getting me that coat with the money.
“Hurry, goddammit!” Salerno said.
When Salerno looked over his shoulder at her, he saw that her one good eye had quickly looked to the door, then back at him.
Salerno looked at the door, too.
It was moving slowly open.
With his hand still squeezing Bayer’s throat, Salerno quickly pulled him from the wall and spun him so that he stood between him and the door. He put the muzzle of the pistol against Bayer’s skull, right behind his left earlobe.
“One sound,” Salerno said calmly, “and you’re—”
The door suddenly swung wide open and a man entered in a crouched position, his pistol sweeping the room.
Shit! Salerno thought.
Salerno squeezed the trigger of the tiny Colt. There was a crack, and then the slide of the pistol cycled rapidly, ejecting the spent casing—it landed on the bed—and feeding a fresh round into the breech.
Bayer started to crumple to the floor.
Mary screamed something unintelligible.
Salerno ignored it.
Using Bayer’s body as a shield, he shoved him toward the man who now was moving toward them, then dropped to the floor and rolled left.
The man fired one shot at him, then another.
Neither found their target.
Salerno quickly squeezed off four shots.
Two of them went wild, missing the man completely.
The third .25 caliber bullet hit him in the groin area—stopping him not at all.
The fourth found his right knee, however, and caused him to fall forward, over Bayer’s body and toward Salerno.
When the man hit the carpet, Salerno quickly put the muzzle of the tiny Colt to the base of the man’s skull and fired the last of the six rounds.
He then quickly reached into the front pocket of his trousers and brought out a full magazine of .25 caliber ACP ammo.
Salerno swapped the fresh magazine for the spent one, racked the slide, and aimed the muzzle right back at the man’s head.
The man did not move.
Salerno looked at Bayer. A steady trickle of blood ran from his left ear.
He was dead, too.
Neither had an exit wound; the small-caliber bullets clearly had bounced around inside their skulls, scrambling brains and bringing quick death.
As Salerno picked up the man’s pistol—Huh! A Walther. How about that?—and stuck it in his coat pocket, the man passed his last gas.
Salerno heard Mary sobbing uncontrollably.
He walked across the room looking for her, following the sobs.
