It was a short trip to the boardroom really, nun in the middle, Driver on her left and Bloody to the right.
Morgan stepped up and opened double doors onto a big room. A long wooden bar with red stools ran the length of it. Tiny sat there at the far end-his lips stuck to a big glass something. The salesman set the drink down smiling.
“Hey brothers!” His face looked a little pale. He wiped a knuckle under his nose, turned the glass with his fingertips, and then walked toward them. Signals. That meant get Bloody into position.
“Hello brother!” Driver walked up to Tiny, nodding. “Hey. The Prime knows how to live.”
“Oh yes.” Tiny slapped Driver on the shoulder four times, used his other arm to sweep the expanse of the room. The salesman’s hand rolled over onto its back as it passed a pair of glass doors. Four guys on the patio. “This is living boy!”
Morgan and Turner stood at the entrance. “The Prime will join you shortly.” They pulled the doors shut and left.
“Well, Driver, what are you drinking?” Tiny walked behind the big bar with the Texan. It would provide cover. Driver winked at the big gunman who left the nun by a barstool. He came around opening his coat.
“Any damned thing I want.” Driver talked. “The tequila looks like it was drug all the way up the Rio Grande.”
“You’ll all die here,” the nun groaned, her eyes frantically searched the room. “Operatives are colored wrong. They don’t trust the Prime.”
“Cheery.” Driver gave her a tight-lipped smile with lots of teeth.
Bloody pulled his shirt open and Driver yanked the duct tape aside that closed the vertical incision they’d made in his abdomen.
“We’re all going to die.” Cawood’s face flushed as she stared around the room. “I can see the color of death.”
“Don’t care about the color, as long as I go down in a blaze of glory,” Driver whispered, reaching in and pulling a package out of Bloody’s torso-a plastic-wrapped. 357 magnum, then his. 9 mm’s. He set them under the bar. Tiny got to work on his. He pulled out Bloody’s gun, ripped the plastic off it and stuffed it in the gunman’s holster. He drew out another package containing a lump of C-4 explosive. He flicked a switch on it and set it amongst the bottles under the bar. The alcohol would give it a little extra kick. Driver pulled the tape back over the incision then unwrapped his guns. Bloody closed his shirt.
The doors opened. A big man in a black suit strode in with a gangly chap, skinny as a twist of barbed wire. The big guy had a plain face with saggy pig jowls under a stupid straight bang. The second man was obviously dead. His clothes were tattered, and had bullet holes all through them. Morgan and Turner followed.
“Able!” the nun cried, and she ran toward him. The dead man cracked a leathery grin and opened his arms. They embraced. Two more Operatives entered. They closed the door behind them.
“Mr. Prime,” Tiny began. “These are my partners, Driver from Texas, and the big fellow’s Bloody.” The salesman walked around the bar after the Texan. Bloody followed.
The Prime moved toward them. He ran his eyes over Driver, turned to Bloody. Something wasn’t right though.
“A dead man?” The Prime glared at Bloody.
“ You got one!” Driver gestured to the skinny fellow.
“We are at war with the dead.” The Prime’s voice quavered. Driver kept his eyes on the Operatives who had come in. They had taken up position, two on each of the Prime’s flanks.
“We’re just catching up on that part.” Tiny smiled. “But a loyal gun’s a loyal gun.”
The Prime’s eyes glimmered from cavernous sockets. “Of course.” He looked at the nun. “Reverend Stoneworthy, I wish to thank you.” The Prime walked over and bulldozed the two apart-slipping an arm over the nun’s shoulder. “Sister Cawood, I am so pleased to finally make your acquaintance. Or shall I say, reacquaint myself. For we have met before, on occasion over the years. You and I have much to talk about.”
When the nun looked up at the Prime her mouth dropped open in horror. A terrible grin spread across the leader of Westprime’s fat face.
The dead man stepped up to him.
“You have no right to hold her.” Stoneworthy’s voice rasped-weary and sad. “She has been through enough…”
“Oh, don’t misunderstand.” The Prime turned to the dead man. “After a thorough debriefing, she’ll be released. And of course, how she cooperates with the investigation will have a direct bearing on your case. Treason is a serious offence.”
“That is my offense,” Stoneworthy said. Driver admired the stick man’s pluck. “Release her!”
“ You can’t make demands.” Then he looked over at Tiny. “Mr. Tiny. You have said that you and your partners would do anything for me. Here is your opportunity. Remove the minister’s arms if he opens his mouth again.” The nun screamed. Stoneworthy took two quiet steps back shaking his head.
“Sure,” Tiny said, smiling and shrugging at Driver. “ After, we can talk turkey and get this deal done.”
“Do that and consider it done.” He glared at the nun.
“Why are you doing this?” The nun’s expression was disbelief and horror.
“I will need your cooperation.” The Prime’s eyes gleamed with power.
“I’ll cooperate!” She grabbed at his arms.
“Karen, no!” Stoneworthy stepped up.
“You don’t have to do this!” the nun screamed.
“You’re easily broken.” The Prime chuckled. “And with only a threat.” The big man looked at Tiny. “Remove one of his arms.”
The nun screamed.
Tiny gestured for Driver and Bloody to follow him.
“Don’t matter to me!” Driver shrugged, wondering how he’d remove the dead man’s arm. Messy. He winced, wiped his hands against his coat. “Tiny, I reckon if you hold the feller I can pry one loose.”
The Prime smiled like a predator, sliding one hand around the nun’s waist. Something was agitating the man-he was almost hopping. The woman leaned away from his bulk. “I’ll escort Sister Cawood to the debriefing. Bring the arm.” He pulled her to him. She screamed. Stoneworthy stepped forward. The Prime sent him sprawling with a powerful shove.
Tiny stepped up, grabbed the dead man and pulled him over to the bar, pushed him hard against it. Driver’s eyes jumped around the room. Once the pushing starts. Shit!
“Stop!”
The Texan froze.
Operative Morgan had stepped back behind his partner, a small machine gun jumped in his hands. The Prime whirled on him.
“Put that away!” he commanded.
“I can’t be part of this.” Morgan’s voice was uncomfortable with the emotion it held.
“You take my orders.” The Prime held the nun like a shield.
“I take orders to ensure the safety of Westprime’s citizens.” He kept the gun on the Prime.
The Texan took a deep breath, relaxed his arms to let the blood pool in his hands. He watched the Operative’s chest. There was a fairly clear shot under his right arm. Might not get the heart, but he could knock a hole in his breastbone.
He drew.
Morgan swung his gun toward Driver. That just opened up his chest to gunfire. He had the sense to drop, but three of Driver’s. 9 mm slugs ripped his shoulder and neck.
The Operative’s gun opened up, firing across the bar. A bullet grazed Driver’s calf. Something thumped a few times and Bloody grunted.
Driver rolled. Morgan’s machine gun swung back to the Prime. The Texan fired at his hand-so did Tiny. The gun and hand flew away in a spray of blood and chopped flesh. Turner fired at Tiny. The salesman took a burst in the stomach, jerked to the side still firing. Stoneworthy took a damaging spray to shoulder and throat. One of Tiny’s shots took an eye out of the Operative on the Prime’s right. The man dropped weeping blood.
Driver drew another. 9 mm. He put two bullets into Turner’s temple.
The glassed doors to the patio burst open, and four Operatives ran in with assault rifles. They wore full body armor, visors and the whole bit-but they were off their pace a little. Weren’t prepared for the hidden guns!