The Fire Witness

122

The muzzle is removed from Joona’s back. He can hear footsteps moving away and he slowly turns around.

A short man in glasses and wearing a gray suit is backing away from him. He holds a black Glock, which he is aiming at Joona. His left hand is hanging at his hip. Joona wonders if the man has hurt it, but then realizes it’s a prosthetic.

Tobias is standing behind a dirty counter. He’s holding Joona’s Smith & Wesson but doesn’t seem to know what to do with it.

To Joona’s right, the man with the blond ponytail is aiming a sawed-off shotgun at him.

“Roger,” the short man with the Glock says, “I want you and Micke to take care of this cop once I’ve left.”

Tobias’s eyes are dark with anxiety.

A young man with cropped hair and wearing camouflage pants is walking straight toward Joona, pointing a homemade gun at him. It’s a small souped-up submachine gun with ancillary parts. Joona is not wearing a bulletproof vest, but he’d rather take his chances with this gun than with the others. A homemade weapon can have the same firepower as an average automatic weapon, but usually it’s been badly built.

A red dot appears on Joona’s chest. It’s from the laser sight on the gun, the kind the police used a few years ago.

Joona says, “Lie down on the floor and put your hands behind your neck.”

The man with cropped hair smiles. The red dot slides to Joona’s solar plexus and back up to his collarbone.

“Micke, shoot him,” Roger says. He’s still aiming at Joona with the sawed-off shotgun.

“We can’t have a witness,” stammers Tobias. He runs his hand nervously over his mouth.

The man with the prosthetic hand looks at Tobias and says, “Get the boy to my car.” Then he leaves the hall.

Tobias doesn’t look away from Joona for a second as he walks over to Dante. He grabs his sweater to pull him away over the tiled floor. He is not gentle.

“I’ll be after you in a minute!” Joona yells at him.

There’s about six yards between Joona and the man called Micke with the homemade gun.

Joona moves slowly toward him.

The young man yells, “Stand still!”

“Micke,” Joona says softly, “if you lie down on the floor and put your hands behind your neck, you’ll be fine.”

“Shoot the cop!” yells the man named Roger.

“You do it!” Micke says.

“What? What did you just say?” Roger says, and lowers his rifle.