One of them, who was pasty, slightly overweight, and wore a baseball cap backward, aggressively pushed him off while shouting, “Watch it, asshole!”
He staggered and managed to turn around just as the woman in black leaped for him and swung again. Lewis barely managed to dodge her flying fist, but she delivered a roundhouse kick to the side of his abdomen and he crumpled to the floor, landing on his hands and knees.
The crowd finally took notice of the altercation and began scattering back, a circle forming around Lewis and Caruso to watch the violence. Ignoring the pain in his left shoulder, Lewis got back on his feet and began pushing his way through the crowd to find Jackson and Jenna.
It was then that a gunshot erupted behind him, and the crowd began stampeding toward the exit. He spun around. Caruso was grappling with another figure for her pistol, the weapon discharging into the air multiple times. A burst of neon green strobe lights flashed across her attacker and Lewis saw the determined face of Sara Gonzalez.
As he watched, she slammed the heel of her shoe down on top of Caruso’s foot, and the black-suited woman slackened her grip on the handgun just long enough for Gonzalez to pry it out of her fingers, twirl around while swinging the pistol in a wide arc, and smash it into the side of her head. Caruso went down hard onto the glowing tiles as bystanders continued to rush for the stairs.
It all happened quite quickly. He spun around to locate his girlfriend and her captor and saw Jackson attempting to haul her away from the top of the stairs, away from the rush of fleeing visitors. She was putting up quite a fight and Jackson had difficulty restraining her.
Lewis went up the stairs behind the others. He glanced up at the struggling figures. Jenna bit down on Jackson’s hand. The man let go of her in an instant and she ran toward the charging crowd. She almost made it. Blackwell, blood from the forehead wound running down the side of his face, appeared seemingly out of nowhere and grabbed her roughly by the arm.
Another gunshot rang out behind him. Halfway up the stairs, Lewis turned back. Gonzalez was firing at the two men in black with Caruso’s pistol. Both ducked, enabling Jenna to break free and slip into the crowd. By now most of the throng was gone, the bouncers motioning them out into the concourse just past the main entrance. Lewis guessed the cops had been called and the staff were trying to contain the situation until they arrived.
He almost made it to the top of the stairs with the last few stragglers when he saw Blackwell turn toward him with his pistol in hand and pull the trigger. The bullet sailed right past his head and Lewis spun around to the grab the railing, everything a blazing blur in the strobe lights. He had no cover. The next shot would take him.
Thinking quickly, he flipped himself over the railing and somehow managed to land on his feet. The impact drove the breath out of him, but it was a smoother landing than when he’d jumped in the atrium. He took cover underneath the stairs and looked out between the metal slats at the gunfight unfolding.
Gonzalez had taken refuge on the other side of the bar counter and occasionally popped up to shoot another round or two. Caruso’s body lay unconscious on the empty dance floor. Jackson and Blackwell, unseen, returned gunfire from above. Lewis backed away from the stairs, his pulse racing. He hoped Jenna had managed to slip out with the crowd.
A figure began running down the stairs, illuminated by the strobe lights in quick bursts. More gunshots fired above. One of the men in black was advancing while the other provided covering fire. Lewis seized the opportunity. He ran forward as fast as he could and reached both of his hands through the stairs just as the agent’s foot touched down, wrapping his fingers tightly around the boot.
It almost seemed to happen in slow motion. The figure tripped and flew headlong toward the dance floor, barely having enough time to put out their hands before they smashed onto the illuminated tiles. The next burst of neon light showed him Jackson scrambling to get back up, raising up onto his knees and swinging the handgun toward the bar, an enraged scream tearing from his lips as Gonzalez leaned out from cover.
He wasn’t fast enough.
The FBI agent squeezed the trigger before Jackson could get an aim, her bullet tearing through his forehead and out the back of his skull. Blood splattered across the floor and stairs and Lewis wheeled back, trying to brush the crimson drops off his face.
He tripped over a drinking glass someone had left on the ground and fell over backward. Grimacing, Lewis did his best to ignore the pain in his shoulder and crawled back away from the underside of the stairs.
After a few moments, he realized no more shots had been fired. The club was quiet save for the music. From here, it appeared the DJ had vacated the booth but left his equipment playing. Lewis slowly got back up and waited, listening carefully.
When he heard nothing, he cautiously inched forward out into the open, away from the staircase, and looked back up to the second level. Blackwell was gone.
“Lewis!”
He turned. Gonzalez slid over the counter and began jogging toward him, her gun still at the ready. “Don’t worry, I saw him duck out once I iced his friend.”
“Nice shot,” he said, glancing back where the dead man lay.
“Good thinking tripping him through the stairs. I would’ve been toast without that. Thank you.” She tucked her gun back into her holster and pulled out her FBI badge. “We’re probably gonna need this in about thirty seconds.”
“We’ve gotta move,” Lewis said. “Blackwell must’ve left to chase Jenna. She’s who they really want.”
They sprinted up the stairs, but as they reached the top, something caught Lewis’s eye. Jenna was climbing out from behind one of the upper floor’s corner bars, looking suitably shaken and rubbing one arm with her other hand. He grabbed Gonzalez’s shoulder and stopped them both, pointing.
“When you started firing,” Jenna said to her, “the two of them were distracted. I figured hiding would be better than slipping out like they’d expect I would.”
Gonzalez nodded. “Smart.” She looked around. “Well, we finally have the group all together.”
“Fucking FREEZE!”
The trio turned in unison as numerous S.W.A.T. officers rushed in through the front entrance wielding assault rifles. “Hands where I can see them, on your knees, now!”
They did as they were told, but Gonzalez turned her badge toward them. “Sara Gonzalez, FBI. These two are with me.”
The lead officer took her badge, looked it over, and handed it back to her. “Thank you. So what the hell happened here?”
All three of them got back to their feet. “These two are witnesses in a political corruption case. Three hitmen have been trying to kill them all evening. Two are downstairs, one dead and the other unconscious, but the third one got away.”
A cop leaned over the railing and looked out across the dance floor. “I only see one body,” he shouted over the music.
Everyone froze for a moment, then walked to the top of the stairs. Lewis had to peer over someone’s shoulder just to get a good look. In the light of the flashing strobes, he could see Jackson on his back with his brains scattered across the floor, but where Caruso had fallen, there was nothing but glowing pink and blue tiles.
29
Camera bulbs flashed all around the interior of the nightclub. The music had been shut off with the strobes, and now the main lights glared overhead as the police worked to turn Solaria into a crime scene. Jackson had been placed in a body bag and taken out minutes ago, but the blood remained next to a yellow A-frame marking tent labeled “2.”