to dismantle without much effort. Even without you.”
“Gonna be the last one you plant,” Geronimo said. “Should have given it your best.”
“I’m not finished yet,” the man said.
Geronimo reached behind his sweater, pulled out a .45 Colt, and aimed it at the man. He spread his legs apart and cocked the trigger.
“Hands high,” Geronimo said, ignoring the cries of the people around him. “Where I can see ’em.”
“Anything you say, Bomb Man,” the man said.
He raised his free hand first and then slowly took the other out of the jacket pocket. Geronimo looked at the hand and raised the scope of the Colt a half inch higher, toward the center of the man’s head.
The man’s fingers were wrapped around an unpinned grenade.
“I drop this and we all die,” the man said gleefully and in a voice loud enough to be heard by the people around him.
“You’re dead before it touches ground,” Geronimo said.
“I hope so,” the man said.
A woman screamed.
Two men knocked over the wooden barricade, trying to get out of the way.
A young woman in a sweat suit pulled her baby from the stroller and stood there, shivering with fear, inches from the man and the grenade.
Two cops were up behind Geronimo, guns drawn, aimed at the man.
“They say you’re the best, Bomb Man,” the man said. “You think that’s true?”
“Let the people go,” Geronimo said. “Then we’ll talk.”
“There isn’t a bomb you can’t beat,” the man said. “That’s what I’ve read.”
“Let them go,” Geronimo said. “Make it you and me. That’s the only way for you to find out.”
“If they go, you’ll shoot me,” the man said. “And I still won’t have my answer.”
“I’m gonna shoot you no matter what,” Geronimo said. “But I promise you’ll have an answer before you die. If you let them go.”
“I want it now,” the man said. “I want to see for myself if you’re as good as they say.”
Geronimo knew the man was without fear. In the madness of his dark world, that feeling had been stripped away. More than the grenade in his hand, it was the lack of fear that gave the man the advantage.
With a smile, the man made his move.
He tossed the grenade toward the woman clutching her child.
Geronimo moved as he fired. Three quick 250-grain bullets flying at 860 feet per second landed in the man’s forehead and chest.
He was dead before his head hit concrete.
The grenade bounced off the screaming woman and fell to the ground.
Geronimo, in full leap, landed on top of it, one hand holding the metal tight, the other slapped against the medallion hanging around his chest.
Four seconds later, the grenade exploded across his body. For Delgaldo “Geronimo” Lopez, the dream he feared the most had come true.
He lost to a bomb and he lived.
5
Pins
J IMMY R YAN SAT in the backseat of an idling black Ford van and watched the woman in the red patent-leather pumps cross Madison Avenue against the light Her tight black skirt stopped at mid-thigh; her black blouse was covered by a red Lagerfeld jacket, double-breasted and snug. Her thick hair, black and curled, fell across her shoulders, swinging past a set of pearl earrings that dangled near her neck. She strolled with confidence and her figure matched her style.
Augie Calise, the young detective behind the wheel, muttered, “I’m fallin’ in love. Just sittm’ here and lookin’ at her, I’m fallin’ in love.”
Andy Fitz, the detective sitting on the passenger side, slowly shook his head. “You’re married, shmoe.”
“Your point?” Calise asked, still looking at the woman as she sauntered through the entrance of a doorman building.
Ryan snapped open an attaché case on his lap. Inside was a Sony SRS-P3 recorder, its high-frequency tape spooling from one end of the machine to the other. He turned the volume to high, sat back, and listened to the clicking sounds the woman’s heels made as she walked across the lobby toward the elevator
“Gonna be the last one you plant,” Geronimo said. “Should have given it your best.”
“I’m not finished yet,” the man said.
Geronimo reached behind his sweater, pulled out a .45 Colt, and aimed it at the man. He spread his legs apart and cocked the trigger.
“Hands high,” Geronimo said, ignoring the cries of the people around him. “Where I can see ’em.”
“Anything you say, Bomb Man,” the man said.
He raised his free hand first and then slowly took the other out of the jacket pocket. Geronimo looked at the hand and raised the scope of the Colt a half inch higher, toward the center of the man’s head.
The man’s fingers were wrapped around an unpinned grenade.
“I drop this and we all die,” the man said gleefully and in a voice loud enough to be heard by the people around him.
“You’re dead before it touches ground,” Geronimo said.
“I hope so,” the man said.
A woman screamed.
Two men knocked over the wooden barricade, trying to get out of the way.
A young woman in a sweat suit pulled her baby from the stroller and stood there, shivering with fear, inches from the man and the grenade.
Two cops were up behind Geronimo, guns drawn, aimed at the man.
“They say you’re the best, Bomb Man,” the man said. “You think that’s true?”
“Let the people go,” Geronimo said. “Then we’ll talk.”
“There isn’t a bomb you can’t beat,” the man said. “That’s what I’ve read.”
“Let them go,” Geronimo said. “Make it you and me. That’s the only way for you to find out.”
“If they go, you’ll shoot me,” the man said. “And I still won’t have my answer.”
“I’m gonna shoot you no matter what,” Geronimo said. “But I promise you’ll have an answer before you die. If you let them go.”
“I want it now,” the man said. “I want to see for myself if you’re as good as they say.”
Geronimo knew the man was without fear. In the madness of his dark world, that feeling had been stripped away. More than the grenade in his hand, it was the lack of fear that gave the man the advantage.
With a smile, the man made his move.
He tossed the grenade toward the woman clutching her child.
Geronimo moved as he fired. Three quick 250-grain bullets flying at 860 feet per second landed in the man’s forehead and chest.
He was dead before his head hit concrete.
The grenade bounced off the screaming woman and fell to the ground.
Geronimo, in full leap, landed on top of it, one hand holding the metal tight, the other slapped against the medallion hanging around his chest.
Four seconds later, the grenade exploded across his body. For Delgaldo “Geronimo” Lopez, the dream he feared the most had come true.
He lost to a bomb and he lived.
5
Pins
J IMMY R YAN SAT in the backseat of an idling black Ford van and watched the woman in the red patent-leather pumps cross Madison Avenue against the light Her tight black skirt stopped at mid-thigh; her black blouse was covered by a red Lagerfeld jacket, double-breasted and snug. Her thick hair, black and curled, fell across her shoulders, swinging past a set of pearl earrings that dangled near her neck. She strolled with confidence and her figure matched her style.
Augie Calise, the young detective behind the wheel, muttered, “I’m fallin’ in love. Just sittm’ here and lookin’ at her, I’m fallin’ in love.”
Andy Fitz, the detective sitting on the passenger side, slowly shook his head. “You’re married, shmoe.”
“Your point?” Calise asked, still looking at the woman as she sauntered through the entrance of a doorman building.
Ryan snapped open an attaché case on his lap. Inside was a Sony SRS-P3 recorder, its high-frequency tape spooling from one end of the machine to the other. He turned the volume to high, sat back, and listened to the clicking sounds the woman’s heels made as she walked across the lobby toward the elevator
Similar Books
