Private Rome

Chapter 37

What makes a good fighter? It’s a question I’ve often asked myself. I’ve seen one man defeat six, a small guy overcome someone twice his size, and I’ve come to the conclusion two things mark out a winner.

The first is spirit, an indefatigable sense that no matter how much punishment you take, you’re going to keep getting up. The second is the ability to create advantages for yourself through surprise, shock or savagery.

I combined all three by grabbing Milan’s beer bottle as I was hauled up. I smashed it over the head of the man to my right, shattering it with such force he staggered back, dazed. I turned and drove the jagged teeth of the remains of the bottle into the shoulder of the man to my left and he yelped and jumped clear.

I sensed movement behind me and heard a voice yell, “Basta! Stop!”

I wheeled round to see a grim-faced skinhead pulling a gun from beneath his T-shirt. I rushed him, clapped his ears, grabbed his wrist, twisted it until I felt something crunch, then pulled the gun from his limp fingers.

“Back!” I yelled, turning the weapon on the gangsters encircling me. “Get back!”

The crowd fell silent but bristled with menace. Milan looked at once enraged and humiliated, which made him doubly dangerous. I knew I didn’t have long.

The way to the front door was blocked by the crowd. It would be too risky for me to try and push my way through. I didn’t want to kill unless I absolutely had to, and I was pretty sure taking that way out would lead to someone’s death, mine or an attacker’s.

Instead, I moved toward the service door beside the bar, which led to the kitchen.

“Back!” I yelled, keeping those nearest me at bay.

Thrash metal blared from the speakers but there was no other sound. The roar of fast-paced music only added to the tension that gripped my stomach.

I pushed open the service door and saw a corridor lined with offices and restrooms that ended at a kitchen. On the other side of a long stainless-steel preparation counter was a fire exit.

I hurried down the corridor, aware that Milan was on his feet now, following me.

I moved faster. In the gloomy kitchen there was a smell of grease and stale fat that turned my stomach. I ran forward and sensed movement from close by my left side. I ducked just in time to avoid one of Milan’s thugs, who slashed at me with a carving knife.

He overbalanced, and I sent him flying with a swing of the hand that was holding the gun. The weighty pistol cracked the man’s skull and I saw his hate-filled eyes go blank as he fell.

The attack broke my rhythm and slowed me, allowing Milan and the others to close the gap between us.

I burst into the kitchen, leapt onto the preparation counter and slid to the other side. As I rolled off, I fired a couple of high and wide shots into the wall above the doorway.

Milan and his squad of thugs paused, and that gave me the space and time I needed to reach the fire door safely.

I pushed the bar. Nothing happened. The door remained firmly shut. I noticed a padlock and chain holding it in place and fired a brace of shots at the lock, which shattered.

Milan and his people were almost on me now.

I unwound the chain, pushed open the door and slammed it shut a second before Milan reached it. I wrapped the chain around the stem of the outer handle and threaded it through an old eyelet that would once have housed a bolt. I pulled the chain tight as the door was forced opened a crack and looped the links on themselves to hold it fast.

I turned to find myself in an alleyway behind the bar. There were footsteps approaching from left and right.

A fire ladder hung down to my left. With no desire to fight my way through Milan’s people, I hauled myself onto the bottom rung. I clambered up the rusty old fire escape to the roof of the building. Once safely behind the balustrade, I craned over the edge to see one of Milan’s men run down the alleyway and unwind the chain. He opened the fire door for his boss and the crew, who stormed out.

I watched them for a moment as Milan barked instructions. Satisfied they hadn’t cottoned on to my escape route, I backed away from the balustrade and made my way across the rooftop to safety.