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“Just a minute,” she said.
“No hurry, take your time.”
She cocked the derringer pistol, a relic from the Old West, which had over-and-under barrels. To fire the first round, her father had instructed, she was to pull the trigger halfway; to fire the second, pull the trigger all the way. She held the tiny pistol, with its two .45-caliber cartridges, out in front of her, reached down, grasped the doorknob, and opened the door.
—
Joan looked up and saw the man coming. Her hand was already on the button, and she pressed it. The steno shelf sprang open, and she got a hand on the Government .380.
“This will all be over in a minute,” Bryce said, “and then I’ll leave you in peace.”
“As in ‘rest in peace’?” Joan asked, racking the slide and thumbing down the safety.
—
Sandy held out the derringer and pulled the trigger all the way back. The weapon seemed to explode in her hand, and her hearing went blank, then, as if in slow motion, Eddie left hisfeet and floated backward, the pistol in his hand firing into the ceiling.
—
Joan fired a round as she raised the .380 and a red splotch appeared on his chest. Then, to her surprise, the man’s face exploded, and he didn’t have a nose anymore. She fired again as he fell, just to be sure.
Stone Barrington, who had been sitting on the sofa, got up and took the man’s right ankle and felt for a pulse, then shook his head.
“Who the fuck is that?” Joan asked.
“No facial characteristics evident,” Stone replied. “Call 911.”
“Is it Eddie?”
“Could be. We’ll let the police tell us. Call 911now.”
—
Sandy sat in an armchair, gulping deep breaths, wiggling her fingers in her ears. The noise had been horrific. She yawned, then held her nose and blew. Nothing. Then gradually she began to hear things—a car door closing in the street, a bird tweeting in the back garden. She picked up the telephone and called 911. On the seventh ring, a woman answered, “911 operator. What is your emergency?”
“Uh, ah...” What to call it?
“What is your emergency?”
“Dead person, shot.”
“Are you all right? Are you safe?”
“Oh, yes. Now there’s no threat at all.” She gave the woman her address, then hung up.
—
Stone called Dino.
“Bacchetti.”
“It’s Stone. I’d like to report a shooting.”
“Did you call 911?”
“Joan did.”
“That’s two shooting calls on the East Side, inside of sixty seconds. Has war broken out up there?”
