the Prostitutes' Ball (2010) by Stephen - Scully 10 Cannell Page B
Authors: Stephen - Scully 10 Cannell
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all the side exits, they asked if we could help by covering the parking lot in back."
"Works for me."
I walked out with the bartender.
A SWAT entry team crossed the street heading toward the bar. As they deployed out front Hitch and I went around to the back. We were all carrying walkie-talkies set on tactical frequency six.
Two guys from SWAT covered the windows in the front. The rest of the team, all wearing ballistic body armor and helmets and carrying 9 mm H&K MP-5 submachine guns, headed across the street toward the entrance.
The MP-5s could be set on semi - or full-auto fire. They were great weapons, which only SWAT used to have, but in 1997 we persuaded the city to authorize them for regular cops because of how badly we got our asses kicked in the North Hollywood Bank shoot-out.
Hitch and I had found good cover positions in the back and on the side of the bar. There was a metal door in the center of the clubs back wall. Hitch wanted to cover that so I took the west side of the building, which ran along an alley that separated the strip club from Lili St. Cyr's Exotic Lingerie.
This was the way I liked to serve warrants on machine-gun - wielding psychopaths. Let SWAT do the rough stuff. I'll cover the back every time.
Then it went down. The SWAT team had intended to kick the office door, swarm in, and take Karel by surprise, but something went wrong because we suddenly heard shouting, then shooting inside. The MP-5s made a unique short burping sound produced by their three-shot bursts. This was followed by the longer, louder retort of the Bizon machine pistol.
From my position in the alley I couldn't see Hitch, who was somewhere in the parking lot behind the back door. I was beginning to worry about him.
Obviously SWAT hadn't been able to take Sladky by surprise, and the odds were now pretty good that he would try and escape the club through the back door, leaving Hitch alone with only a pistol against a fully automatic machine gun capable of putting out 800 rounds per minute.
I could hear the Bizon chattering. Sladky was putting up a deadly fight.
I left my position and moved to the rear corner of the building where I could see the back exit and the parking lot, but I couldn't see Hitch.
Where the hell was he?
"Hitch, cover your position!" I whispered into my walkie. "I got the left side."
Two squelches came back as he acknowledged my transmission, but I still couldn't see him.
I moved into the lot with my pistol up, aimed at the back door. The Springfield XD(M) automatic had a four-and-a-half-inch barrel and was not very accurate at a distance. If Sladky came out that back door I needed to get a lot closer to be effective.
I sensed movement behind me and spun around. While I'd been creeping into the parking lot with my back to the alley windows, Karel Sladky had silently slipped out of one and had moved up directly behind me.
He had the drop on me with that monster Russian ventilator.
I dove facedown on the pavement just as he let loose with a stream of bullets. The 9 mm slugs dug into the black tar asphalt surface in front of me.
I had just barely survived the first burst, but was in a terrible predicament. I was facedown, ten feet from the shooter, seconds from death.
Then I heard three shots ring out. They sounded like balloons popping in contrast to the roar of the Bizon.
I looked up just in time to see Sladky fly backward. Three red spots blossomed on the front of his white shirt. He landed on his back and the Bizon fell harmlessly from his hands.
I turned and saw Hitch. He'd taken cover inside the trash Dumpster. When Sladky fired at me, Hitch had jumped up, exposing himself. Then he'd taken the Czechoslovakian down with three well-placed shots.
Hitch climbed out of the Dumpster. Coffee grounds and orange rinds stained the cuffs of his beautiful rust-colored suit. I wanted to kiss the guy.
"Good shooting," I said, my voice a croak.
The back door burst open and two gun-wielding SWAT
"Works for me."
I walked out with the bartender.
A SWAT entry team crossed the street heading toward the bar. As they deployed out front Hitch and I went around to the back. We were all carrying walkie-talkies set on tactical frequency six.
Two guys from SWAT covered the windows in the front. The rest of the team, all wearing ballistic body armor and helmets and carrying 9 mm H&K MP-5 submachine guns, headed across the street toward the entrance.
The MP-5s could be set on semi - or full-auto fire. They were great weapons, which only SWAT used to have, but in 1997 we persuaded the city to authorize them for regular cops because of how badly we got our asses kicked in the North Hollywood Bank shoot-out.
Hitch and I had found good cover positions in the back and on the side of the bar. There was a metal door in the center of the clubs back wall. Hitch wanted to cover that so I took the west side of the building, which ran along an alley that separated the strip club from Lili St. Cyr's Exotic Lingerie.
This was the way I liked to serve warrants on machine-gun - wielding psychopaths. Let SWAT do the rough stuff. I'll cover the back every time.
Then it went down. The SWAT team had intended to kick the office door, swarm in, and take Karel by surprise, but something went wrong because we suddenly heard shouting, then shooting inside. The MP-5s made a unique short burping sound produced by their three-shot bursts. This was followed by the longer, louder retort of the Bizon machine pistol.
From my position in the alley I couldn't see Hitch, who was somewhere in the parking lot behind the back door. I was beginning to worry about him.
Obviously SWAT hadn't been able to take Sladky by surprise, and the odds were now pretty good that he would try and escape the club through the back door, leaving Hitch alone with only a pistol against a fully automatic machine gun capable of putting out 800 rounds per minute.
I could hear the Bizon chattering. Sladky was putting up a deadly fight.
I left my position and moved to the rear corner of the building where I could see the back exit and the parking lot, but I couldn't see Hitch.
Where the hell was he?
"Hitch, cover your position!" I whispered into my walkie. "I got the left side."
Two squelches came back as he acknowledged my transmission, but I still couldn't see him.
I moved into the lot with my pistol up, aimed at the back door. The Springfield XD(M) automatic had a four-and-a-half-inch barrel and was not very accurate at a distance. If Sladky came out that back door I needed to get a lot closer to be effective.
I sensed movement behind me and spun around. While I'd been creeping into the parking lot with my back to the alley windows, Karel Sladky had silently slipped out of one and had moved up directly behind me.
He had the drop on me with that monster Russian ventilator.
I dove facedown on the pavement just as he let loose with a stream of bullets. The 9 mm slugs dug into the black tar asphalt surface in front of me.
I had just barely survived the first burst, but was in a terrible predicament. I was facedown, ten feet from the shooter, seconds from death.
Then I heard three shots ring out. They sounded like balloons popping in contrast to the roar of the Bizon.
I looked up just in time to see Sladky fly backward. Three red spots blossomed on the front of his white shirt. He landed on his back and the Bizon fell harmlessly from his hands.
I turned and saw Hitch. He'd taken cover inside the trash Dumpster. When Sladky fired at me, Hitch had jumped up, exposing himself. Then he'd taken the Czechoslovakian down with three well-placed shots.
Hitch climbed out of the Dumpster. Coffee grounds and orange rinds stained the cuffs of his beautiful rust-colored suit. I wanted to kiss the guy.
"Good shooting," I said, my voice a croak.
The back door burst open and two gun-wielding SWAT
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