I heard Kelly crying in the background. She must have been in the car. Fuck knows how she got there, but at least I knew where she was. The man behind me continued with the search and placed my stuff in the bag.
The hot-dog seller was being quite good with her; he didn't sound too aggressive or rough. Maybe he had kids of his own.
"It's OK, it's OK," he said.
"What's your name?"
I couldn't hear her reply, but I heard him say, "No, little lady, I don't think your name's Josie, I think your name is Kelly."
Good one, mate, at least you tried!
Car lights stopped on the main road about 150 yards farther down, at the end of the alley. Then the red lights of a car in reverse were coming toward me.
By now all my stuff was in the plastic bag and being held by whoever was behind me. I was still on my knees, hands on head, with Mr. Armani hovering to my right.
There were noises of more people behind me. Hopefully they were passersby who would report us. But to whom? My hopes collapsed as I heard the driver get out of the Caprice and start to speak.
"That's OK, folks, everything's under control. There's nothing to see here."
I was confused. How could they just move people on unless they were law enforcement? Maybe there was a glimmer of hope; maybe I'd be able to talk my way out of this one. I still had the backup disk hidden. Maybe I could bargain with it.
The reversing car stopped about five yards away and three people got out the driver from the left-hand side, and two out of the back. At first they were in shadow and I couldn't see their faces, but then one walked into the glare of the other car's headlights. And then I knew I was really in for it.
Luther was looking a little the worse for wear, and he wasn't blowing me kisses. He looked like a pissed-off devil with a large gauze dressing. He was still in a suit, but he wouldn't be wearing a tie for a while. I could tell by the smile on his face that he had a few tricks saved up for me. I guess I'd earned them. He walked toward me. I thought he was going to make a point. I closed my eyes and got ready to take the hit, but he walked straight past. That scared me even more.
Luther started to talk as he got to the car.
"Hi, Kelly, re member me? My name's Luther."
There were some mumblings in reply. I was straining to hear the conversation, but only the adult voice was audible.
"Don't you remember me? I came to pick your daddy up for work a couple of times. You have to come with me now, because I have been sent to look after you."
I could hear protests from the car.
"No, he's not dead. He wants me to collect you. Now come on, move it, you little bitch!"
Kelly screamed, "Nick, help! I don't want to go!" She sounded terrified.
Luther walked back to his car with her. He had his arm around her tight to stop her from bucking and kicking. It was all over in a few seconds. Once Kelly was secure in the back of the car, all three drove off. I felt as if I'd been taken down by the fire extinguisher again.
"Get up." My hands were still on my head, and I felt someone's hand grip onto my right triceps and lift me up. I heard the car behind me move.
I looked to my right. The short guy had hold of me with his left hand; in his right he had the plastic bag with Kev's mobile, my weapon, wallet, passport, ATM card, and loose change. He turned me around to face the car, which had just finished parallel parking in the road, pointing toward the right. Mr. Annani had me covered.
I'd stayed calm so far. But I had to get out of this shit now. I was going to be killed, it was as easy as that. The engine was running, and I had about ten yards in which to do something.
Whatever I did, there would have to be a lot of speed, aggression, and surprise. And it must work the first time; if not, I was dead.
The guy who was holding me was right-handed or he wouldn't be dragging me along with his left, and therefore, if I started fucking around, he would have to drop the bag and draw his pistol. If I was wrong about that, I would soon be dying. But I was dead anyway, so fuck it why not go for it?
There were about three yards left between me and the car. By now Mr. Armani had glided to the rear door to open it and, as his eyes glanced down for the door handle, I knew it was time.
YAAAAAAHHHHHHH!
Screaming at the top of my lungs, I brought my right hand down hard, half-turned my hips, and hit his left shoulder as hard as I could.
I had surprise on my side. All three now had to take in what was going on and make an assessment. It would take them little more than a second to turn that assessment into reaction.
As I hit him, I started to push in an attempt to spin him to his left so that his right side would come toward me. We were both screaming now. He'd already made his assessment. He dropped the bag and was going for his weapon.
I knew that for him also it was happening in slow motion. I could see the saliva spray out of his mouth as he shouted a warning to the others. There was nothing to worry about with the other two at the moment; if they were quicker than me, knowing about it wouldn't make it any better.
Looking down on his belt, I could see the pistol moving slowly toward me as he spun around. Nothing else mattered. I kept my eyes on it. I heard the other two screaming. We were all at it.
The Colt .45 is a single-action weapon, which means that all the trigger does is release the hammer. To cock the hammer in the first place and chamber the first round, you must first rack back the top slide by pinching in with the fingers and thumb of the left hand against its serrations, pulling it back firmly to the rear, and releasing. The pistol can be carried "cocked and locked" hammer back and safety on, with a round in the breech. The Colt has both a manual safety and a grip safety. Even if the manual safety is off, your hand must be firm enough on the grip to keep the grip safety depressed or the weapon won't fire.
I grabbed the pistol with my left hand, I didn't care where.
At the same time I brought my right hand down, with four fingers together and my thumb stretched out to present a big re cess for the weapon. I pushed onto it with the web of my hand, taking the manual safety catch off with my thumb and using the web of my hand to release the grip safety by holding the weapon correctly. I couldn't see if the hammer was back. And I had no way of knowing if the weapon had a round in the chamber. With my left hand, I racked the top slide back to cock it. It had already been cocked. A brass round spun out of the ejection port, glinting as it tumbled in the street lights. It didn't matter losing one round; at least I wouldn't get a dead man's click.
I knew the first threat was Mr. Armani. He had a weapon in his hand.
I kept turning in the direction the shoulder hit had taken me, and as I did I came up into the aim, firing low because these fuckers wore armor. Armani went down. I didn't know if he was dead.
I kept on spinning and dropped the short guy, moved for ward, and looked at the driver. He was still in his seat, but in a crouched position, screaming and writhing.
I ran to his side of the car, pointing the pistol.
"Move over!
Move over! Move over!"
I pulled the door open and, keeping the pistol on him, kicked him with my right foot. I wasn't going to start dragging him out; it would take too long. I just wanted to get in the car and go. I shoved the muzzle into his cheek and pulled out his weapon, kept it, and threw mine out--I didn't know how many rounds were left.
The injury was to his upper right arm. There was a small entry hole in the material, but not much blood around the site.