fucking question.”
“Yo, Sikes … easy.” Washington is at the doorway to the back room looking on.
Zaki screams, “No, really … I am knowing nothing.”
Sikes empties another round through the other kneecap.
Zaki screams, louder this time.
Washington says, “Sikes, be cool, man. The mission, man, remember our mission.”
But Sikes is standing over Zaki now, grinning with revenge. “What the fuck is it you don’t understand, rag head? Think we won’t kill you, you don’t tell us?”
Zaki raises his middle finger. “You will kill me anyway. ALLAH AKHBAR!”
Sikes drops onto his haunches, presses the barrel to Zaki’s forehead. “Guess what? All that crap about the seventy-eight virgins? One hundred percent bullshit.” And pulls the trigger twice in rapid succession, changing the angle between shots.
Washington squeezes his own temples with both hands. “Fuck! What’d I tell you. How we gonna explain this to the colonel?”
Standing, Sikes slips the gun into the small of his back. The scene could easily pass for a robbery gone bad. He dials 9-1-1 on his cell.
“Explain what? We saw the whole thing from across the street, came running over to see if we could help. Clerking in this neighborhood is fucking high risk, man.”
“You the one called in the complaint?”
Sikes jumped. Christ almighty.
A man in a black security uniform held the doorjamb with on hand while leaning into the room, gasping for breath. His belly was so big Sikes wondered when he’d last seen his dick other than in the mirror. The officer was staring at him, face glistening with sweat. A black plastic name tag just above his breast pocket showed Doolittle. Sikes couldn’t believe it.
Sikes nodded. “Yes, sir. I called it in,” he said, flashing his stone-cold dead eye.
“What’cha got?” Doolittle craned his neck to scan the area, both thumbs hitched on his belt.
“Officer Doolittle, Lieutenant Sikes. Department of Defense.” He flashed his ID. “We have an extremely bad situation.”
Eyes wary, Doolittle retreated a step. “What kind a situation?”
Sikes replaced the ID, dragging out the moment. “Double homicide,” he finally answered, with a nod toward the shattered glass window separating the reception desk from the waiting room.
Doolittle focused on that direction and did a double take before making the sign of the cross. “Holy Mary, Mother of God—”
12
M CCARTHY CRACKED THE hall door, put his ear to the opening, and listened. He heard no more voices, no sound of movement, just an eerie, echoing silence of an empty hall. He opened it further, enough to see the west elevator alcove. It too was empty.
Taking a deep breath, he leaned out far enough to look down the entire hall. Clear. Now was his chance.
Then he was across the hall and into the stairwell, carefully closing the heavy fire door with only a soft click. And realizing he was holding his breath.
Heart jackhammering, he listened for footsteps or voices but heard only more hollow stillness, as if the entire world had stopped. Then he was racing down two steps at a time. When he hit the eighth-floor landing, he grabbed the doorknob and pulled. Locked. Shit! He fumbled out his master key.
It didn’t fit.
He’d forgotten that three months ago they’d rekeyed all the fire doors after three offices had been burgled in one night. Druggies looking for product. Just great! And come to think of it, all these doors opened freely from the hall into the stairwell but not vice versa. Only the first floor and basement level doors would open from both directions.
Pound on the door, hope someone heard? Yeah, like one of Sikes’s men?
Glancing around, he wiped sweat from his forehead and tried to think.
At each end of the building a stairwell ran from the ninth floor to the ground level. But only one set of stairs continued down to the basement. How would Sikes guard the exits? Well, that depended on how many men he had, and McCarthy had
“Yo, Sikes … easy.” Washington is at the doorway to the back room looking on.
Zaki screams, “No, really … I am knowing nothing.”
Sikes empties another round through the other kneecap.
Zaki screams, louder this time.
Washington says, “Sikes, be cool, man. The mission, man, remember our mission.”
But Sikes is standing over Zaki now, grinning with revenge. “What the fuck is it you don’t understand, rag head? Think we won’t kill you, you don’t tell us?”
Zaki raises his middle finger. “You will kill me anyway. ALLAH AKHBAR!”
Sikes drops onto his haunches, presses the barrel to Zaki’s forehead. “Guess what? All that crap about the seventy-eight virgins? One hundred percent bullshit.” And pulls the trigger twice in rapid succession, changing the angle between shots.
Washington squeezes his own temples with both hands. “Fuck! What’d I tell you. How we gonna explain this to the colonel?”
Standing, Sikes slips the gun into the small of his back. The scene could easily pass for a robbery gone bad. He dials 9-1-1 on his cell.
“Explain what? We saw the whole thing from across the street, came running over to see if we could help. Clerking in this neighborhood is fucking high risk, man.”
“You the one called in the complaint?”
Sikes jumped. Christ almighty.
A man in a black security uniform held the doorjamb with on hand while leaning into the room, gasping for breath. His belly was so big Sikes wondered when he’d last seen his dick other than in the mirror. The officer was staring at him, face glistening with sweat. A black plastic name tag just above his breast pocket showed Doolittle. Sikes couldn’t believe it.
Sikes nodded. “Yes, sir. I called it in,” he said, flashing his stone-cold dead eye.
“What’cha got?” Doolittle craned his neck to scan the area, both thumbs hitched on his belt.
“Officer Doolittle, Lieutenant Sikes. Department of Defense.” He flashed his ID. “We have an extremely bad situation.”
Eyes wary, Doolittle retreated a step. “What kind a situation?”
Sikes replaced the ID, dragging out the moment. “Double homicide,” he finally answered, with a nod toward the shattered glass window separating the reception desk from the waiting room.
Doolittle focused on that direction and did a double take before making the sign of the cross. “Holy Mary, Mother of God—”
12
M CCARTHY CRACKED THE hall door, put his ear to the opening, and listened. He heard no more voices, no sound of movement, just an eerie, echoing silence of an empty hall. He opened it further, enough to see the west elevator alcove. It too was empty.
Taking a deep breath, he leaned out far enough to look down the entire hall. Clear. Now was his chance.
Then he was across the hall and into the stairwell, carefully closing the heavy fire door with only a soft click. And realizing he was holding his breath.
Heart jackhammering, he listened for footsteps or voices but heard only more hollow stillness, as if the entire world had stopped. Then he was racing down two steps at a time. When he hit the eighth-floor landing, he grabbed the doorknob and pulled. Locked. Shit! He fumbled out his master key.
It didn’t fit.
He’d forgotten that three months ago they’d rekeyed all the fire doors after three offices had been burgled in one night. Druggies looking for product. Just great! And come to think of it, all these doors opened freely from the hall into the stairwell but not vice versa. Only the first floor and basement level doors would open from both directions.
Pound on the door, hope someone heard? Yeah, like one of Sikes’s men?
Glancing around, he wiped sweat from his forehead and tried to think.
At each end of the building a stairwell ran from the ninth floor to the ground level. But only one set of stairs continued down to the basement. How would Sikes guard the exits? Well, that depended on how many men he had, and McCarthy had
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