He spoke into his mic. “Reel? Reel, you copy? You okay? Reel?”
He slowed, turned the corner prepared to fire, and stopped.
There were three bodies lying in pools of blood.
When Robie saw they were all men, he let out his breath.
But three?
Then it hit him. The friend. From the GameStop.
Reel stepped from around the far corner, her gun in her right hand.
He looked at her. “You okay?”
She nodded, but said nothing. Her gaze was on her friend.
Robie heard screams behind him. Feet running. Mall cops probably.
That was the last thing they needed. He was not going to fire on an unarmed young punk or retired geezer posing as the authorities.
“We’ve got to get out of here.”
“I know,” she said dumbly.
“I mean now.”
Robie looked past her. There was a set of exit doors there. Had to be a way out.
When he looked back at Reel, she was bending down next to her dead friend, wiping a lock of hair out of his face.
Robie heard her say, “I’m so sorry, Mike.”
He ran forward, grabbed her arm, and pulled her down the hall. He kicked open the exit door and the two raced through it.
Robie looked around. They were in a storage area.
“You know which way is out?”
Reel didn’t seem to have heard him.
He turned. “Jessica, do you know the way out!” he barked.
She focused, looked embarrassed, and pointed to the left. “That way, doors let out on the east side. Come on, follow me.”
They reached the outside and fast-walked back to the parking garage. They got to Reel’s car. It looked like they had made a clean exit.
Until they heard the screech of tires coming fast.
The dead men had backup.
And they were coming fast.
Robie only had time to say, “Look out.”
CHAPTER
69
REEL SMOKED HER WHEELS AND drove in reverse right at the larger vehicle. Robie braced for impact, but it never came.
He saw the front grille of the SUV for an instant. It seemed to swallow up the whole of the back glass of their car. Then somehow Reel had turned just enough to slide through a gap between the SUV and a concrete support column.
She cut a J-turn and rammed the car into drive before she had even finished the 180-degree maneuver. She left a quarter inch of tire rubber on the concrete floor of the garage and the car careened through the exit and out into traffic entering the mall.
Reel cut her wheel to the left, jumped the median, and punched the gas. The car shot to the right. She slammed into a line of orange traffic cones, cut the wheel to the right, and slid into another turn.
Robie barely managed to buckle his seat belt. His gun was out but there was nothing to shoot at.
There was traffic up ahead, but it was only on one side. Unfortunately it was on their side. Reel solved this problem by going British and driving on the opposite side of the road.
She cleared the logjam, didn’t bother to stop at the red light, slashed into oncoming traffic, managed to somehow bend the car’s path into a left-hand turn, losing a hubcap in the process, and pushed the gas pedal to the floor as she got back on the right side of the road.
Sirens were coming from all over the place now.
Robie looked behind them. “We’re good. Dial it back so the cops don’t get a clue.”
She eased off the gas, held for a second at a yield sign, and then merged into traffic. A few minutes later they were on a highway going seventy with the traffic flow.
Robie put his gun away. “Sorry about your friend.”
“I’m sorry you keep having to say that,” she replied.
“Who was he?”
“His name was Michael Gioffre. And I’m the reason he’s dead.”
“Really? I thought it was the guys shooting at you.”
“I didn’t check for an observation team, Robie. I knew there used to be one there. A legit one. I always checked. But I didn’t today.”
“How did it go down?”
“Shot from one of them ricocheted off a trash can and caught Mike right in the eye. He was dead before he hit the floor.”
“Then what?”
“I shot the guys. One round each. They weren’t very good. Came running in like I wasn’t going to even fight back. Stupid.”
“My guys weren’t that good either, actually,” said Robie.
She looked at him sharply. “I wonder why not?”
“Maybe their best guys are already in Ireland.”
Robie turned the radio on. “I want to hear if there’s anything on the news about the mall yet.”
There wasn’t. But there was another story that captured their interest. The news anchor was succinct with the details, although right now there weren’t that many of them.
When the anchor went on to another story Robie turned off the radio and stared over at Reel. “Someone murdered Howard Decker,” he said.
“They’re cleaning up loose ends, Robie. These sons of bitches are planning to pull this off and then get away scot free. But they’re not. I’m going to put a round into every single one of them. I’m going to keep shooting them over and over until I run out of bullets.”
He placed a hand on her arm and gripped it.
“What are you doing?” she said.
“I’m sorry about Mike. We can go somewhere and you can grieve for him. And for Gwen—”
“I don’t need to grieve for anybody—”
“I think you do.”
“You don’t know anything about me. So leave your damn grieving sermon for somebody who cares. I’m a killer, Robie. People are usually dying all around me.”
“But not usually your friends, Jessica.”
She started to say something, but then the words seemed to catch in her throat.
Robie continued, “I’m not playing grief counselor. Once we get to Ireland, there will be no time for you to get right in your head. So you’re either in this a hundred percent and I know I can count on you, or you’re useless to me and you can drop me at the next exit.”
Reel blinked. “You used that ploy on me once before, Robie.”
“Yemen. We lost Tommy Billups. You blamed yourself. More to the point, you checked out on me for about half an hour.”
“Until you kicked my ass.”