human nature to aim for what’s easily seen. He slammed himself into the open space between the front and back seats as if trying to break it open. He felt the spot on the floor give and heard something crack under the carpet.
Amit had been testing the spot with his feet while talking to Jason Alfero, feeling the weakness imparted by the hydrofluoric acid he’d squirted on the metal belly when the family went to the mall. A nasty task. Not only had it scarred the parking lot and raised some questions, but he’d been fairly certain that the mixture would burn his face off. It ate through his gloves as he wrapped the frame in soaked cloths. But he’d suffered no burns, and the vehicle’s floor held together well enough until now. Amit wasn’t exactly skilled with automobiles, and he’d given himself a 50/50 chance on accidentally dissolving something essential, leaving the vehicle in pieces when Alfero drove to meet him.
Above him, Jason Alfero was shredded confetti. His corpse didn’t just bleed; it erupted like a ripe watermelon struck by a sledgehammer. Amit looked up as he crouched on the floor, now using his small knife to finish the job of cutting the Escalade’s carpet, and watched as the gangster’s head burst like a gourd. Something grayish-red landed on the seat where Amit had been sitting, steaming as if pulled from an oven.
Amit slammed his shoulder into the carpet’s weak spot.
He had to stay calm, and couldn’t afford to surrender control. He was in charge.
Perhaps five seconds had passed — an eternity when balled on the floor of a vehicle getting riddled with bullets. The windows had cracked and shattered in the first couple of seconds. Alfero (who hadn’t ducked; apparently, he’d made his peace with death after the ricin scare then again after meeting Amit) was dead in that same interval. The seats pocked and spit stuffing in the second and third seconds. Bullets had begun to rip through the vehicle’s sheet metal doors by the fourth. Amit, who’d lived without TV and movies from the time he’d joined the Sri until meeting Nisha, had binged during his last week in the hotel. While he continued slamming his body into the floor, his calmer mind took a moment to be amused by popular film, and how the cops always hid behind their car doors as if they weren’t as insubstantial to bullets as foil.
The gunmen had probably never riddled a car with bullets before — few people had, Amit reasoned — but he had to give them credit for not hesitating to ventilate their boss after he’d given permission. They wouldn’t stop firing until their guns were empty, but they’d only work their way toward the floorboards at the end. Of course, a person could ball up and hide. But there were a lot of bullets, and going for body shots — not to mention the shock and awe — was an obvious first step.
Amit had known that Alfero would come alone. Of course, he would; he’d think he could save his family. His hypochondriac mind (thank you, Doctor Altieri) would immediately decide he was poisoned and begin manufacturing symptoms — and because a hypochondriac mind always believed the worst, he’d assume that death was seconds away. Even if he knew the facts about ricin poisoning, he’d believe it was possible to die within the first hour. Who knew how much had been sprinkled on that pizza? And what would a man who believed himself dead do to gain the upper hand? He would make things quick, and take the poisoner with him.
He slammed his shoulder into the deck, now feeling the passage of bullets begin to riffle his robe. He had a moment to wonder if he hadn’t been thorough enough and was trapped, then the weakened metal gave out, and Amit spilled down, headfirst.
There was plenty of space beneath the massive SUV; it was one of the things he’d made sure of in the mall parking lot before committing himself. He was on his hands and knees but able to crawl sideways, toward
Amit had been testing the spot with his feet while talking to Jason Alfero, feeling the weakness imparted by the hydrofluoric acid he’d squirted on the metal belly when the family went to the mall. A nasty task. Not only had it scarred the parking lot and raised some questions, but he’d been fairly certain that the mixture would burn his face off. It ate through his gloves as he wrapped the frame in soaked cloths. But he’d suffered no burns, and the vehicle’s floor held together well enough until now. Amit wasn’t exactly skilled with automobiles, and he’d given himself a 50/50 chance on accidentally dissolving something essential, leaving the vehicle in pieces when Alfero drove to meet him.
Above him, Jason Alfero was shredded confetti. His corpse didn’t just bleed; it erupted like a ripe watermelon struck by a sledgehammer. Amit looked up as he crouched on the floor, now using his small knife to finish the job of cutting the Escalade’s carpet, and watched as the gangster’s head burst like a gourd. Something grayish-red landed on the seat where Amit had been sitting, steaming as if pulled from an oven.
Amit slammed his shoulder into the carpet’s weak spot.
He had to stay calm, and couldn’t afford to surrender control. He was in charge.
Perhaps five seconds had passed — an eternity when balled on the floor of a vehicle getting riddled with bullets. The windows had cracked and shattered in the first couple of seconds. Alfero (who hadn’t ducked; apparently, he’d made his peace with death after the ricin scare then again after meeting Amit) was dead in that same interval. The seats pocked and spit stuffing in the second and third seconds. Bullets had begun to rip through the vehicle’s sheet metal doors by the fourth. Amit, who’d lived without TV and movies from the time he’d joined the Sri until meeting Nisha, had binged during his last week in the hotel. While he continued slamming his body into the floor, his calmer mind took a moment to be amused by popular film, and how the cops always hid behind their car doors as if they weren’t as insubstantial to bullets as foil.
The gunmen had probably never riddled a car with bullets before — few people had, Amit reasoned — but he had to give them credit for not hesitating to ventilate their boss after he’d given permission. They wouldn’t stop firing until their guns were empty, but they’d only work their way toward the floorboards at the end. Of course, a person could ball up and hide. But there were a lot of bullets, and going for body shots — not to mention the shock and awe — was an obvious first step.
Amit had known that Alfero would come alone. Of course, he would; he’d think he could save his family. His hypochondriac mind (thank you, Doctor Altieri) would immediately decide he was poisoned and begin manufacturing symptoms — and because a hypochondriac mind always believed the worst, he’d assume that death was seconds away. Even if he knew the facts about ricin poisoning, he’d believe it was possible to die within the first hour. Who knew how much had been sprinkled on that pizza? And what would a man who believed himself dead do to gain the upper hand? He would make things quick, and take the poisoner with him.
He slammed his shoulder into the deck, now feeling the passage of bullets begin to riffle his robe. He had a moment to wonder if he hadn’t been thorough enough and was trapped, then the weakened metal gave out, and Amit spilled down, headfirst.
There was plenty of space beneath the massive SUV; it was one of the things he’d made sure of in the mall parking lot before committing himself. He was on his hands and knees but able to crawl sideways, toward
Similar Books
