The Killer II by Jack Elgos Page B

rose to his full height and slammed his boot on the man’s knee. ‘Now where the fuck is Moore?’
    His captive flopped before him, unmoving and silent. Shite, the pathetic turd had passed out. ‘Some fuckin ’ hard man you are,’ Liam cursed as he dragged the man to an upright position and started slapping his face. ‘Wake up you bastard,’ he hissed. ‘You’re not getting off that lightly.’ Gradually the man’s eyes flickered as he came round to immediate agony. His scream was stifled by the obstruction in his mouth and Liam waited until it died in his throat and then bent his head close and loosened the gag just a fraction. ‘Which room?’ he hissed.
    ‘Twenty-one,’ came the barely audible reply.
    ‘Thank you,’ said Liam as he pushed the man back and plunged the knife into the soft flesh of his belly, drawing the blade upwards in a long arc. Mad Dog struggled for a few seconds as Liam looked deep into his eyes, and then he passed out again. It was all a little too quick. Liam had wanted him to suffer more, but he had the information he needed and time was short. Quickly removing his blade from the man’s stomach he tilted back his head and slashed the throat to the bone.
    ‘See you in Hell, Mad Dog.’
    He wiped down his blade and checked that he had avoided the blood splatter. He was good at doing that, apart from the recent incident with McKee where he’d mis -timed matters, but he didn’t want to think about that. Yes, he was clean enough. He glanced back at the pathetic piece of flesh on the floor. ‘That’s one down for you Mam,’ he said and then slipped quietly back out into the corridor.
    He saw immediately that the dead guard was positioned outside room twenty-one, which made sense. ‘Should have guessed,’ thought Liam and he approached the door just as the slump-posed body decided to slump for real and fell to the side, a gun falling from its pocket and landing with a heavy thud. ‘Shite!’ In an instant Liam was down the corridor and back round the corner to the stairs. He heard a door open, a second of silence and then – well he didn’t hang around to find out. He was pretty sure “all Hell broke loose” would probably cover it.
    A sash window opened easily and he jumped through it without thinking. Some handy bushes cushioned his two-storey fall and he was on his feet and heading back to the Granada as lights were coming on in the hotel. He arrived at the car just as shouting began in the street and he reached for the keys in his pocket, pulling them out quickly – and then he dropped them. ‘Oh fuck! Oh fuck!’ He ducked behind the car and searched frantically with his hand. Nothing. The shouts grew louder and he heard feet running in his direction. They ran right past and he heard a car engine start nearby. Then more feet, then another engine, then squealing tyres – and then he found the keys.
    Within seconds he was in the car and ducked low in the seat. The clock on the dash showed five minutes past two so he was already late for the chopper. But it would wait for him. It must wait for him. He’d warned that fuckin ’ soldier that it had better wait for him. Christ there were plenty of hours of darkness left to get a helicopter out unseen.
    He waited a further five minutes until the noise in the street lessened and he guessed that anyone who hadn’t gone off in a car would be searching round the back of the hotel. It was now or never and he started the engine, coasting away quietly, his lights off, until he reached the crossroads. He was just about to turn left when he saw headlights coming from that direction at immense speed so he shot across the junction and was out of sight in the shadows as he heard tyres screeching behind him and heading back towards the hotel. He had only heard one car so he waited a few seconds to make sure there was no more traffic and then a careful reverse manoeuvre had him on the main road and accelerating away in the direction of the