10
If it hadn’t been for the reflection in the silver lenses of the hooker’s sunglasses, Loving never would have seen the barrel of the machine gun emerge from the rear window of the black sedan in time. As it was, he barely had a second to react, but that second was the difference between staying alive and becoming as porous as an SOS pad.
“Duck!” Loving shouted, but the poor hooker, her reflexes undoubtedly slowed by whatever she was taking this week, didn’t obey. The machine gun fired, a sweeping rat-a-tat-tat that cascaded across the sidewalk and ricocheted against the brick buildings behind them. Two bullets hit her in the back and she fell.
Loving caught her in his arms. She was already dead. Blood poured out of her wounds, spilling onto his arms and face. Damn! She was a junkie and a hooker and it was entirely possible she was HIV-positive. Before he had a chance to worry about that, however, he noticed that the sedan was still within firing range. Another shower of gunfire burst out of the rear window. He held the woman’s body up to shield himself until the sedan was out of range. An awful thing to do, but it wasn’t as if the bullets could hurt her anymore.
Two men emerged from opposite sides of the backseat of the sedan, both of them wearing dark pants, dark T-shirts, and long dark dusters. One of them, like the woman he held in his arms, was wearing sunglasses, even though the sun had set and the Georgetown street lamps barely emitted enough light to see ten feet in front of your face. He was tall, purposefully nondescript, and carried what appeared to be a Sig Sauer with a silencer. He was a professional, an enforcer. Loving could tell just by looking at him; he was the spitting image of Leon in that movie. The other man was shorter, fair-haired, pretty, hair combed back and every lock in place. He wasn’t an enforcer; no professional would use an automatic weapon on the streets of Georgetown. Probably a personal representative of the client, tagging along to make sure the job got done.
They were moving toward him.
Loving dropped the corpse and ran. Hated to be unceremonious about it, but under the circumstances, he figured God would understand. As soon as he moved, a hail of lead cascaded down all around him.
He dove, flinging himself flat on the pavement. That wouldn’t get him anywhere fast, but it would get him out of the line of fire. For a little while. He hugged the concrete, hoping the darkness would give him a few seconds before they adjusted their aim.
It worked. The gunfire stopped, and the instant it did, Loving dove into the alleyway to his left. Out the corner of his eye, he saw the two men moving toward him, Leon on the left, Pretty Boy on the right. They were maybe fifty feet away—more than close enough to connect with either of their weapons.
Loving raced down the alley, kicking empty soda cans and up-ended trash cans all the way. For a man as large as he was, he could still move fast when he needed to, which was a good thing, because his pursuers were not far behind. Loving had used this passageway to meet the hooker, who supposedly had a lead on a friend of the woman who was murdered at the Roush press conference. He knew it would lead to the NorthPoint shopping mall, where Loving had left his car. If he could only get there in time, there was some slim chance he might survive. On foot, he was a dead man. It was only a matter of time before one of those slugs connected, and then—game over.
Another round of gunfire sent splinters of brick and mortar flying past his head. Guess they’d figured out where he went, not that he was surprised. He’d thought he was running at top speed, but somehow he managed to triple it as soon as he heard the bullets dancing about. Funny how that worked.
It was a long, dark, narrow stretch. The dark part worked to Loving’s advantage; the narrow part did not. Even if his two assailants couldn’t see exactly where he was, all they needed to do was spray the width of the alley and wait to get lucky. He had to get out of there.
Ahead of him, Loving saw, both literally and metaphorically, the light at the end of the tunnel. He focused his eyes and ran hard—so hard he didn’t see the trash can lying across his path. He hit it full speed and went flying, landing in a pile of refuse and human waste. His head banged against the brick side wall. He could tell he was getting woozy. Consciousness was fading…
The clanging sound of bullets riddling the trash can brought him back around. The damn thing might have practically crippled him, but it had undoubtedly saved his life. Loving supposed that made it a draw. He pushed himself to his feet and resumed running.
He bolted across the street and made a beeline for the side entrance to the mall. Surely his pursuers wouldn’t be insane enough to fire when there were so many innocent bystanders. Maybe he could even lose them. All he needed was enough time to get to the parking garage…
He burst through the glass-paned doors and headed toward the escalator. There were still people in the mall, but it was far from crowded, damn it. Too close to closing time. He pushed past several people, muttering his regrets, and jumped onto the fancy acrylic-sided escalator.
Leon and Pretty Boy opened fire. All at once, the mall was blanketed with screams. Shoppers dove one way or the other to get out of danger. Panic seized everyone in the vicinity. The people on the escalator—those who weren’t wounded—began stampeding to the top amid the frenzied cries. Loving ducked, but there was only so much he could do, stuck on the escalator with two assassins at the bottom. He was swept along by the rising tide of humanity, unable to do anything to help or escape. In effect, they were creating a barrier around him—but a barrier that might well cost someone their life.
At the top of the escalator, he almost crashed into a blond woman in her early thirties pushing a stroller. The baby girl inside couldn’t have been older than six weeks. The mother was in shock, frozen in place.
“Get outta here!” Loving shouted, checking over his shoulder to see if Leon and Pretty Boy had made it to the top.
The woman did not move.
Loving slapped her. A bit brutish, even for him, but it always seemed to work in the movies, right?
She didn’t budge.
Like he had time for this. Loving grabbed the handlebar of the stroller. That seemed to snap her out of it a bit.
“Are you gonna push this thing, or am I?” Loving shouted.
“I—I—”
Loving pointed the stroller toward a nearby shoe store and gave the mother a push. “If you stay in there, you should be safe. They’re following me.”
The mother moved rapidly toward the shoe store. Loving bolted in the opposite direction. Leon and Pretty Boy announced their arrival on the second floor with another round of gunfire. Loving dove into a nearby department store occupying a corner slot. The display window smashed into pieces and Loving was almost buried beneath a shower of safety glass. He kicked a mannequin out of his way and kept running. The store had another entrance on the opposite end of the mall. From there, it was a short sprint to the parking garage. His only hope.
He raced down an aisle of perfumes he didn’t have time to sniff. Bottles and display items crashed and exploded all around him. He’d been lucky so far, but he knew that couldn’t last forever. The two men were stalking him, and at least one of them knew what he was doing. Loving would never make it to the parking garage at this rate. He had to take them down or get the hell away from them. The trouble with taking them down was—there were two of them, and they had guns. The trouble with getting away from them was—
A bullet creased Loving’s thigh. Searing pain radiated through his body. He cried out, stumbled, then rolled to the floor. He clutched his leg and took another roll, dodging behind a makeup counter. The wound didn’t feel serious, but it would make it seriously difficult for him to outrun two thugs determined to kill him, regardless of who got hurt along the way.