Redemption

Chapter 52

“Son of a bitch!” cried out Decker.

He and Lancaster leapt out of his car, which was parked down the street and across from Katz’s building. They drew their guns and hunkered down next to the vehicle.

“There,” said Lancaster, pointing to the opposite building. “The shot came from there. I saw the muzzle flash.”

“Call in reinforcements,” bellowed Decker as he punched in Mars’s number.

It rang and rang, with no answer.

“Shit.”

“Do you think the shooter’s still there?” said Lancaster, putting away her phone after making the call. “If we go to check on Mars and Katz?”

“Right, he’ll pick us off.” He glanced at Lancaster. “It could be the same guy who killed Brimmer. You wait here for the cops to show. Keep trying to call Melvin.” He texted the number to her phone.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going after the shooter.”

“Amos—”

But he was already running down the street, keeping right next to the building where the shot came from, to make it difficult for whoever was in there to draw a bead on him.

He reached the front entrance of the building and looked it over. Plywood on the lower windows. The place looked abandoned. But it had a perfect sightline into Katz’s apartment from the upper floors.

He raced up the steps to the front entrance and noted that the large double doors were chained shut. He heaved his bulk against them, but not even his size and strength could budge them.

He hustled on down the street, turned left at the next intersection, and raced down it. He was listening at the same time for a car starting up or footsteps running away. The night air was brisk and the sky clear for once.

He could hear nothing except his own breathing.

He reached the next corner and peered down it.

Nothing. No one and no car waiting to take the shooter away.

He forced himself not to think about Mars’s fate. He had said a simple prayer that his friend was okay. And if he wasn’t, Decker was going to risk his life to avenge him.

He raced over to the rear entrance, and that was where his luck turned. The door was open. And Decker well knew why.

The shooter had entered this way.

He eased the door open and stepped through. He knew he was a big target, and he squatted down to make himself less of one.

He took stock of the situation. The shooter might have already fled, out the door, and either driven off or used his own two feet to get away.

Only Decker had heard nothing that would indicate either had happened. And he doubted enough time had elapsed for the shooter to make his exit.

That would leave the person still inside an empty building, probably with a long-range, high-powered rifle, while Decker only had his new pistol, which he had never once fired, and would not be that accurate over any meaningful distance. The shooter could nail him from a lot farther away than Decker could the shooter.

He saw a bank of elevators but knew there probably was no power turned on in the building. That left the stairs. He used his Maglite to show the way and reached the door to the stairwell.

Like Lancaster, he’d seen the muzzle flash and downloaded the image in his head, counting up the floors.

Sixth.

He cautiously opened the door and made his way up, slowly. He might meet the shooter coming down. Or the person could be up there waiting for him.

He counted the floors until he reached number six, understanding that the shooter could have gone to a lower floor, let him pass by, and then made his escape out the rear.

A moment later, he heard the sirens. Okay, the good guys were on their way. And an ambulance too, depending on what had happened in Katz’s apartment.

He opened the door to the sixth floor and peered inside.

He hesitated to use his Maglite because it would just make him a target. There was enough light from the windows to allow his eyes to adjust rapidly. The floor plan was open, which was good and bad. It cut down on the places Decker would have to look, but it also allowed him no cover while he did so.

He closed the door quietly behind him and skittered over to behind an old metal desk.

Take your time, focus, and listen.

All he heard were the sirens coming closer.

That could be drowning out any sound of movement up here. He redoubled his efforts to hear any noise the gunman might be making.

His position had been chosen wisely. If the shooter wanted to escape, he would have to leave through the door Decker had come through.

He decided to try to move the needle.

“Police. You’re surrounded. Put down your weapon and come out into the open where we can see you. Hands over your head, fingers interlocked. Do it now!”

He fell silent and waited.

The sirens outside had stopped. Any moment he expected to hear the front door being knocked open, followed by feet pounding into the building.

All he had to do was hold his position.

Come on, come on, show yourself.

If it was the same shooter, Decker didn’t fancy getting into another hand-to-hand battle with the guy. If it was the same man, he probably outweighed him by well over a hundred pounds. Yet he had grave doubts that he would win such an encounter.

That’s when he saw it.

The red dot swooping over the space, looking for him.

The guy had a laser scope.

That gave him the advantage over Decker, at least in some respects. But as Decker watched the dot flit around, the dust in the abandoned building was doing something quite remarkable. It was gathering around the light beam emanating from the scope, as though someone had clapped chalk erasers around it.

Decker quietly slid to his left, moving out into the open briefly before taking cover behind some crates. He peered over the top of the crates, but didn’t see the red dot anywhere.

He ducked back down as the shot came his way, smacking the wall behind him. The dot had apparently been on his head.

He kept moving, keeping behind the limited cover until he had worked his way to the far side of the room. He lay on his side and peered around the leg of a desk. He could see the red beam again.

This time he followed the thing to its source.

He lined up his shot. A large wooden box.

He fired five times, four through the wood, and when those shots flushed the guy, he unloaded his fifth shot at the exposed flesh.

He heard a grunt of pain.

Okay, he’d hit the guy. But it wasn’t over yet.

He looked for more red dots, but saw none. He slid forward on his belly until he had halved the distance between them.

He heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

He was sure the other guy could too. That might draw him out, make him desperate.

It did, only not in the way Decker was expecting.

A blur came out of nowhere, leaping through the air and landing on top of him before he had a chance to fire.

The pair rolled around on the floor, struggling for the upper hand. Decker collapsed on top of the guy, trying to use his far heavier weight to crush him. He felt something on his face and realized it was the other man’s blood.

Then a wedge of elbow slammed into the side of his face, stunning him.

He gripped the man’s chin with his hand and forced it back, trying to take the neck to a place necks were not designed to go.

He had not accounted for the man’s other hand, though. The fist hit him once and then twice, both pummeling shots. Decker’s grip was broken and he was forced to roll off the guy.

He saw the flash of blade and put up an arm to protect himself.

Two shots rang out.

He saw the man above him flinch once, and then a second time.

He dropped the knife. And then he fell to the floor with a thud.

Decker sat up to see Lancaster slowly lower her gun.