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Fiore said, “Is it better than your idea to come here alone?” “Only marginally.”
“Better than nothing. Let’s hear it.”
“I’m gonna lay down some heavy fire. And you scoot out the door.”
Fiore said, “I’m not going to leave you here.”
“You’re not going to do either of us a favor by bleeding out on the floor. Go get some help. And some immediate medical attention.”
I could see him thinking about it.
Then I said forcefully, “You need attention right now. On the count of three, you get out that door. And don’t forget to get me some help.”
I counted quickly. “One, two, three.” Then I slid to the right of the post and emptied my magazine. I spread the fire around, trying to keep anyone with a goddamn gun in the room from raising his head.
One bullet struck the metal handrail along the catwalk. It caused an impressive spark. The air was thick with dust and gunpowder. The slide on my pistol locked back. I was empty. I threw myself behind the support column.
Now I needed time.
CHAPTER 72
AS I CROUCHED behind the post, I said a quick prayer for the FBI man to make it. The ploy had worked. Bill Fiore had slipped out the door while everyone’s heads were down. I couldn’t buy him any more time with the gun. But I didn’t need to surrender immediately, either.
Sweat stung my eyes. Suddenly I realized I was dehydrated. And exhausted. Gunfights can do that to you.
I called out, “Hang on, hang on. Can we talk about this?”
I was surprised to hear Henry’s voice. He was apparently up in one of the offices around the catwalk. He shouted back, “Drop your gun and surrender. Then we can talk.”
“How do I know you won’t kill me?”
“Christoph and Ollie will definitely kill you if you don’t. Now both of you drop your guns.”
I smiled at the idea that they thought the wounded FBI agent was still with me. I milked it for as much time as possible.
Finally I said, “I don’t know what you mean by ‘both of us.’ I’m the only one here.”
“Where’s your partner?”
“I don’t have a partner. That was just a guy who’d been bothering me before.”
I heard the slovenly Ollie call out from the other side of the room, “He’s telling the truth. He’s the only one behind the post.”
I slid my empty gun across the floor. Then I stepped out from behind the post with my hands up. Gunnar was, of course, still there on the floor. A giant puddle of blood had spread out around him. His eyes stared straight ahead. I guess he’d had more to worry about than closing his eyes when he bled out.
The other man I had shot in the leg was whimpering, still clutching his upper thigh. Real tears matched his tattooed teardrop. Strands of his dark hair hung across his face. His pants were soaked with blood, but he hadn’t lost a bucketful like poor Gunnar.
The two killers from New York, the ones I now considered the professionals, rushed toward me with their guns up. Christoph showed some sense when he immediately put my hands behind my back and fastened them with something. It felt like rope, but then I realized it was a pair of disposable handcuffs. I’d seen them at police trade shows. They looked like shoelaces with a sturdy plastic bracket that locked the two thin cords in place. I tugged on my arm and was impressed at how well they worked.
Ollie searched me carefully and kept my wallet, leaving behind the few euro coins I had in my trousers pocket.
“I got twenty-eight euros in there.”
He smiled. “If you need them, I’ll give them back to you.”
“What if you’re not around?”
Ollie chuckled. “Trust me, I’ll be close by until you really won’t need cash anymore.”
