Suddenly Napier contorted out of the bedroom and loosed a couple of rounds off with the heavy pistol in his hand, somehow catching Shannon at the back of the line, one bullet grazing along his forearm. Napier managed to duck back into the room before Vincent could fire the shotgun again, which he did, splintering off a chunk of door frame.
Shannon fell back with a scream, clutching his arm. ‘He fucking shot me!’
Vincent ignored him, ran on low, then pivoted as he passed the bedroom, catching Napier completely by surprise, not expecting such a fast and aggressive move. He had only stepped back a couple of feet into the bedroom, working up the courage to lean out again and have another couple of shots.
The shotgun was aimed low and the blast smacked into Napier’s lower belly and groin, hitting him like a steam hammer. The blast doubled him over and sent him back across the room where he sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, looking down at his wound with disbelief. This was replaced by agony and he fell back, screaming and writhing in agony, his hands covering his guts.
Vincent’s momentum carried him on past the door, almost tripping over Riddick’s convulsing body. He stopped, flattened himself against the wall next to the bedroom door. Henderson took up a position on the other side of the door, with Shannon still on his backside, desperately holding his wounded arm.
‘You want us to come in, Jonny?’ Vincent shouted.
‘Go fuck,’ Cain said from the bedroom.
‘You want to know what happened to H. Diller and Haltenorth? I stuck ’em in a crusher, now they’re in the foundations of a motorway bridge.’
‘That’s supposed to make me want to come out?’ Cain said. He was on one knee behind the bed. Napier was rolling and moaning back and forth across the bed, spreading vast amounts of blood across the sheets and calling for his mother.
‘If you come out, we can talk.’
‘About what? You owe me money, end of. I want it back.’
‘You’re not going to get it.’
‘Figured that. So what’s to talk about?’
‘Not much, I guess. Other than to tell you you’re out of business and we’re taking over.’
‘We?’
‘Yeah, me and Tom.’
‘Your tame cop?’
‘Whatever — anyway, the choice is yours. You can walk out of there alive if you want and then walk away, or we’ll just come in on the count of three and blast fuck out of you. You won’t even get the chance of a lucky shot.’ As he was talking, Vincent was expertly reloading the shotgun — back to a full load of five in the magazine and one in the breech.
‘I’ll walk out of this alive?’ Cain said. In front of him, Napier stopped rolling. His agony had passed now. He was dead.
‘It’ll make our takeover easier.’
‘Maybe I don’t want you to take over… and whatever happens here, pal, you’re dead men anyway.’
‘OK, fine,’ Vincent said, not really taking in the meaning of Cain’s words. ‘I’m going to start counting now, Jonny. I don’t do small talk. You get up now and throw your shooter down and come out and you’ll live. That’s it, chatter over… One… two…’ Vincent eyed Henderson, who was obviously ready.
Cain shouted, ‘I’m coming out.’
Vincent backed away from the door, stepped a third of the way across the width of the corridor, and trained the shotgun on the open door. Henderson mirrored his actions, so the two of them had weapons aimed diagonally at the open door.
Cain came to the door, hands clasped behind his head.
‘Face away from me,’ Vincent ordered.
With no fear in his face, Cain turned around. Vincent stepped smartly up behind him and smashed the butt of the shotgun on to the back of Cain’s closely cropped head, splitting the skin and sending him straight down to his knees. He followed this with another blow which pivoted Cain on to his face, but still did not knock him unconscious. The next four blows managed to accomplish this feat.
Another strong coffee in hand, two more painkillers down his throat, Henry sat on the dining chair that Flynn had positioned for him in the office doorway. The coffee was in a mug resting on his thigh and tasted wonderful, but even the caffeine wasn’t having the desired effect of keeping him alert. It worked for a moment, giving him a quick energy burst, but then his overwhelming tiredness cut in and rushed through him, unstoppable.
His head fell. He jerked it up with a mumble and tried to keep his eyes open, and glanced at Tom James who was watching him carefully. Tom hadn’t dozed, but seemed to be waiting for Henry to do so.
Henry was suddenly envious of Karl Donaldson, who he imagined to be curled up in Ginny’s comfortable warm bed, snoring contentedly.
‘You can’t afford to drop off,’ Tom warned him.
‘Don’t intend to.’
‘Neither does the car driver who falls asleep at the wheel. Then look what happens — a fatal.’
Henry sighed deeply and masked a yawn. The sudden inrush of oxygen brought him round a little, but he knew what Tom said was true. The way things were going he’d be asleep before he knew it, although the excruciating pain in his shoulder did help to keep him awake.
‘Top up?’
Alison had returned from the kitchen with a jug of newly filtered coffee. Henry downed what was left in the mug and held it up for a refill. She poured carefully, holding the cup in place, giving Henry a hidden smile.
‘Thanks.’ It was hot and strong. ‘Where’s Flynn?’ he asked quietly. Alison gestured with an upward spiralling movement of her head — upstairs.
‘He thinks we’re under siege,’ she said.
‘It sort of feels that way for some reason.’
Alison took the coffee back to the kitchen and returned with another chair, placing it next to Henry but out of line of sight of Tom.
‘You look whacked,’ she said, keeping her voice low.
Henry angled slightly towards her and their knees brushed gently. ‘I have never been so utterly knackered in my life.’
‘How’s the shoulder?’
‘Stiffening up. Getting sore, despite the drugs. Hurts.’
Alison leaned forward to check on Tom, whose forehead was now resting on his up-pulled knees. This meant she was touching Henry and their faces were just millimetres apart. She stayed in the position longer than necessary and Henry could smell the aroma of her hair, which almost touched his face. He could see the skin of her neck and feel the softness of her breast just touching him. His heart missed a whole bar of beats, but at least the contact brought him wide awake again as probably the last shot of adrenalin left in his system spurted out.
She sat back up. ‘I don’t throw myself at men,’ she whispered. ‘But after this is over, do you think we could meet for a coffee somewhere?’
‘I’ll have to come back for statements.’
‘Good,’ she smiled — and Henry suddenly felt very stupid. He knew there was no chance of anything going anywhere with her. He was happily married, second time around to the same woman, and he was going to do nothing to spoil that. But there was something in him that found it very hard to say no, something still quite juvenile and reckless. He harangued himself internally for even thinking about kissing another woman than his wife.
His thoughts were interrupted when from upstairs there was a crash of a door slamming shut and the sound of Flynn’s heavy footsteps. Tom raised his head, a sly, knowing look on his face. Flynn thundered down the stairs.
‘Henry, problem. Two guys approaching, blacked up, weapons,’ he said urgently, then explained, ‘I’ve been watching from an upstairs window.’
A bleary-eyed Laura Binney appeared at the top of the stairs, squinting as though she had just woken up. Roger was at her legs.
The phone in the office started to ring.
‘You sure?’ Henry said.