At seemingly the same time, the back half of the black man’s head flew across the room. He too fell to the floor in a bloody heap.
Aaron’s speed was uncanny. Seemingly before the first bullet even hit its target he had rolled into a crouch and whipped out a gun. Everything—the shots, the men going down, Aaron rolling to safety—had taken less than two seconds. Aaron came up aiming his gun at Win, who aimed his right back. Jessica stood frozen. Win must have come in through the terrace window, though how he could have gotten there and how long he’d been there Jessica could not say.
Win smiled casually and gave a half-nod. “My, my, Aaron, you’re looking rather buff.”
“I try to stay in shape,” Aaron said. “Nice of you to notice.”
The two men continued to aim their guns at each other. Neither blinked. Neither stopped smiling. Jessica had not moved. Her body quaked as though from fever. She felt something sticky on her face and realized it was probably brain matter from the man at her feet.
“I have an idea,” Aaron said.
“An idea?”
“For how to end this deadlock. One I think you’ll like, Win.”
“Do tell,” Win said.
“We both put our guns down at the same time.”
“So far it doesn’t sound very appealing,” Win said.
“I’m not finished.”
“How rude of me. Please continue.”
“We’ve both killed men with our bare hands,” Aaron said. “We both know we like it. A lot. We both know there are very few worthy adversaries in this world. We both know we are rarely if ever seriously challenged.”
“So?”
“So I’m suggesting the ultimate test.” Aaron’s grin grew brighter. “You and me. Man to man, hand-to-hand combat. What do you say?”
Win chewed on his upper lip. “Intriguing,” he said.
Jessica tried to say something, but her tongue would not obey. She just stood there, stone-faced; the thing that used to wear fishnet shirts bled without a twitch.
“One condition,” Win said.
“What’s that?”
“No matter who wins, Jessica goes free.”
Aaron shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Frank will get her some other time.”
“Maybe. But not tonight.”
“Fine then,” Aaron said. “But she can’t leave until it’s over.”
Win nodded at her. “Wait by the door, Jessica. When the fight ends, run.”
“But you have to wait until it’s over,” Aaron added.
Jessica found her voice. “How will I know when it’s over?”
“One of us will be dead,” Win said.
She nodded numbly. She couldn’t stop shaking. Both men were still pointing the guns at one another.
“You know the drill?” Aaron asked.
“Of course.”
Still holding the guns, both men placed their hand on the floor. At the same time, they twisted their weapons so that the barrel was no longer pointing at the other man. They both released their weapons at the same time. They both stood at the same time. They both kicked the weapons into a corner at the same time.
Aaron grinned. “It’s done,” he said.
Win nodded.
They approached each other slowly. Aaron’s grin spread into something fully maniacal. He got into some weird fighting position—dragon or grasshopper or something—and beckoned with his left hand. His body was sleek, all muscle. He towered over Win. “You forgot the basic premise of the martial arts,” Aaron said.
“What’s that?” Win asked.
“A good big man will always beat a good little man.”
“And you forgot the basic premise of Windsor Horne Lockwood III.”
“Oh?”
“He always carries two guns.”
Almost nonchalantly, Win reached into his leg holster, took out his gun, and fired. Aaron ducked, but the bullet still hit him in the head. The second bullet also hit Aaron’s head. So too, Jessica guessed, did the third.
The big man fell to the ground. Win walked over and studied the still figure, tilting his head from side to side like a dog hearing a strange sound.
Jessica watched him in silence.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Win continued to look down. He shook his head and made a tsk, tsk noise.
“What is it?” she asked.
Win turned to her, an almost shy smile toying with his lips. He gave a half-shrug. “I guess I’m not much for fair fights.”
He looked back down at the body and started to laugh.
36
Jessica didn’t want to talk about it. She wanted to make love. Myron understood. Death and violence do that to a person. The fine line. There was definitely something to that “reaffirming life” stuff after facing down the Grim Reaper.
When they were spent, Jessica lay her head on his chest, her hair a wonderful fan. For a long time she didn’t say anything. Myron stroked her back. Finally she spoke. “He enjoys it, doesn’t he?”
Myron knew she meant Win. “Yes.”
“Do you?” she asked.
“Not like Win.”
She lifted her head and looked at him. “That sounded a tad evasive.”
“Part of me hates it more than you can imagine.”
“And another part of you?” she prompted.
“It’s the ultimate test. There’s an undeniable rush to that. But it’s not like what happens with Win. He craves it. He needs it.”
“And you don’t?”
“I like to think I loathe it.”
“But do you?”
“I don’t know,” Myron said.
“It was scary,” she said. “Win was scary.”
“He also saved your life.”
“Yes.”
“It’s what Win does. He’s good at it—the best I’ve ever seen. Everything with him is black and white. He has no moral ambiguities. If you cross the line, there is no reprieve, no mercy, no chance to talk your way out of it. You’re dead. Period. Those men came to harm you. Win wasn’t interested in rehabilitating them. They made their choice. The moment they entered your apartment they were doomed.”
“It sounds like the theory of massive retaliation,” she said. “You kill one of ours, we kill ten of yours.”
“Colder,” Myron said. “Win’s not interested in teaching a lesson. He sees it as extermination. They’re no more than pestering fleas to him.”