I opened the Tic-Tacs, shook out a half-dozen, and put them in my mouth. Holding out the box to Mortay, I said, “Want some? They’ll do wonders for your breath.”
Mortay slapped the box from my hand and it landed near his driver. “Hey,” I said, “There’s no need for that.” I moved toward the box, and when my face was within a foot of the driver I rolled my tongue into a tube, took a deep breath and shot the Tic-Tacs out of my mouth like a candy-dispensing machine gun. They hit the thug in the eyes and startled him. I grasped his arm, pulled him in front of me and ran him at Mortay as the Beretta came up and blossomed flame.
I heard the Yugo start and the tires squeal. Mortay paid no attention to the car and kept firing. The bullets struck the driver like hard slaps and I could feel him jerk with their impact. One passed through his body and hit me high in the chest.
It was like a large wasp stung me. When I felt the driver sag, I used my legs to heave him toward Simon, now pulling the trigger as fast as he could. The man fell into Mortay and knocked him backward several feet. I ducked and ran behind the Suburban for cover. I could hear the Yugo’s engine whining as it sped down through the building.
Mortay yelled, “I kill you now!”
I dropped to look under the Suburban and watched his feet as he came around the front. I moved to the other side, then saw his hand and one knee come to the pavement.
The Suburban had a luggage rack on top, so I grabbed it and hopped to the roof, then rolled fast across and dropped on Simon as he rose.
I kicked his wrist as the Beretta came up and it went clattering across the pavement. Mortay spun with the kick and came to a standing position five feet from me. A long bladed knife glittered in his right hand.
He said, “I take your head to Carl. He vill reward me.”
I was in my Bi-Jong stance when he came. I slapped his thrust aside and moved in, hitting him under the chin with the heel of my palm.
He went down but hung onto the knife. I stomped at his face and got a long slice along the edge of my lower leg for the trouble. I hopped back and Mortay rose as if pulled upright by a string.
I circled to my right, moving him until his back was to the low wall at the edge of the lot. I said, “This is for my friend,” and went at him with a combination of strikes and feints with both fists and feet in an attack designed for each movement to take him a little farther off balance.
My last motion was a hard front kick to his chest, and I connected so well I felt the impact all the way through my hip. He was so skinny it was like kicking a bag of sticks.
Mortay tried to regain his balance but his legs hit the wall and he went over as his arms flailed the air.
I stepped to the wall and looked at the alley far below. Mortay lay with one leg under him and arms across his stomach. He could have been asleep except for the small red slick under his head.
I leaned against the Suburban and checked my chest. There was a large bruise where the bullet struck, but no penetration. I looked at my leg next. The blade broke the skin but was not deep. I went to the passenger door, opened it and sat in the seat, suddenly tired. Now that the adrenaline had stopped pumping through me, fatigue was setting in big-time. I could hear sirens in the distance and decided I would take a nap until they arrived.
**
After they finished questioning me and confirmed I was a good guy by talking to Vick Best, they let me go. As I left, I heard one of the police officers saying to another, “Guy was so cool he was sleeping when we got here.”
If they only knew. The taxi got me to the office in good time and I could almost understand his heavily accented English as he tried to make conversation. I tipped him and went to the office. I called the hospital to check on Hondo. The nurse said he was asleep, but doing well. The doctors had downgraded him to guarded. I thanked her, hung up, then called Hunter on her cell phone.
She answered on the first ring, “Hello.”
“How’s it going?”
“Hey, Ronny. They’ve decided to hold off on the hearing until next week.”
“Good, why don’t you fly back here. I’ll pick you up at the airport.”
“Can’t,” she said, “They decided to detail me to DC, keep an eye on me. They have me working in Headquarters until the trial. At least while I’m up here I can look a little deeper into Rakes and Mortay.” She changed the subject, “How’s Hondo?”
“I just talked to the nurses. He’s been downgraded to guarded.”
“That is good news. How are you holding up?”
“Hanging in there.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Nahh.”
“What is it?”