“Let’s see if you like the dark,” Payne said as he turned off the lights.
The gunman replied with a blitzkrieg that tore through the tiny shop. Glass, wood, and plaster erupted into the air as the sightless sniper relied on blind luck and sheer volume to hit his targets. A second wave followed quickly, which shattered the front door and showered the room with a stream of razor-sharp confetti, but Payne remained calm, keeping his face covered and his body against the base of the thick front wall.
“I guess not,” he sneered.
When the violence subsided, Payne risked a quick peek into the back of the shop. Things were blurry at first because of the lack of light and a cloud of dust, but after a few seconds, he realized the counter that shielded Jones had taken more hits than a hippie at Woodstock.
“D.J.,” Payne whispered, “are you all right?”
“Yeah, and very lucky. I don’t know how that last batch missed me.”
“Me, either.” Payne glanced around the shop and realized they couldn’t stay there much longer. “We have to get out of here. If we stay put, he’s going to hit us eventually.”
Jones agreed. “He did us a favor by knocking out the door and window. If you want, I can fire a few clearing shots so you can bolt outside.”
Payne nodded. Even though Jones wouldn’t be aiming at the sniper, he would minimize the risk of return fire, which would allow him to slip outside. Of course, the drawback to the plan was the possibility of more than one gunman. If someone was waiting near the door, he’d shoot Payne rather easily.
But it was a chance they had to take.
“Are you ready?” Payne asked as he peered through the darkness. “On the count of three, shoot through the window as I head for the door.”
“You got it.”
“One,” Payne whispered as he adjusted the Glock in his sweaty right hand.
“Two,” muttered Jones as he peered at his glassless target.
“Three!” they yelled in unison.
With a burst of adrenaline, Payne leapt from the ground and sprinted out the door while Jones aimed his gun at the window and fired. Or at least tried to. Unfortunately, nothing came out when he squeezed the Glock’s trigger, which left his friend in a very precarious position.
The concrete under Payne’s feet exploded in wispy puffs of smoke as the gunman opened fire from the roof across the street. With nowhere else to go, Payne cut sharply to his right and dove behind the closest car he saw, a maneuver that tore most of the skin from his knees. In Payne’s mind, it was a fair trade. He definitely preferred scabs to bullet holes.
“Are you all right?” Jones called from inside.
“I’m fine!” Payne snarled. “Where the hell was my cover fire?”
“Sorry. I had a misfire. The damn gun wouldn’t shoot.”
“What do you mean it wouldn’t shoot? You have to pull the trigger, you know.”
Jones grinned, countering the insult with a fact that Payne had overlooked. “Don’t be mad at me, be mad at the source. Remember, you got your gun from the same place as me.”
Growling softly, Payne focused his attention on the weapon in his hand. If it had the same malfunction as Jones’s, he wouldn’t have a chance against the sniper. The truth was he had slim odds to begin with, but with a broken firearm, he would be in serious trouble.
“Shit,” he mumbled to himself. There was only one way to find out.
Payne pointed his Glock toward the building across the street and squeezed the trigger. But nothing happened. No explosion. No discharge. Just a quiet click.
In situations like this, Payne was taught to use a simple corrective technique known as “tap, rack, bang.” He tapped the bottom of the handle to make sure his magazine was properly engaged. Then he racked the gun, ejecting the misfired round and chambering the next one. Finally, he pulled the trigger again, hoping to hear a bang.
But in this case, the only sound he heard was another click.
“Well?” Jones called from inside the shop. He had tried the same technique without any luck.
“We’re so screwed we should be wearing condoms.”
Jones grinned. “Don’t give up hope yet. What kind of shot is this guy? Any good?”
Payne glanced at the holes in the sidewalk and sighed at the damage that had been done. “Not really. If he was, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now.”
“And he’s probably working alone, huh?”
“If he wasn’t, his partner would’ve nailed me by now.”
“If that’s the case, then what are we afraid of? Are we going to let some redneck knock off two of this country’s best soldiers, or are we going to come up with a plan to take this guy out?”
“If I was a betting man, I’d put my money on the redneck.”
“I’m serious! We’ve been in several situations worse than this, and we’ve always made it out.”
Payne grunted as he stared at his broken Glock. “Fine, let’s list everything that we have, and maybe a plan will become obvious.”
Jones nodded. “As far as I can tell, we have two defective handguns and . . .”
“And?” Payne muttered, hoping that he was forgetting something important.
“And that’s about it! As far as I can tell, we have two broken Glocks.”
Payne leaned his head against the Chevy Celebrity that protected him and groaned. Their current inventory wouldn’t stop a mugger, let alone a well-placed sniper. “Is there anything else in there that can be used? A gun behind the counter? A telephone? A flashlight?”
“Oh, shit!” Jones suddenly shrieked. “I just thought of something big!”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“Levon!”
The answer stunned Payne. Somehow he had completely forgotten about Greene. “Holy hell! Why don’t you see where that badass is hiding?”
“Be back in a flash.”
Payne snuggled up against the car the best he could, trying to conceal his body under the maroon frame. He realized if the sniper attempted a ground assault, the only way he could protect himself was by hiding under the car. Thankfully, before that was necessary, Payne detected a sound in the far-off distance. At first he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not, but after a few seconds of listening, he knew that he wasn’t. It was the wail of sirens, and they were headed his way.
“Jon?” Jones shouted from the back of the shop. “Is that what I think it is?”
Payne peered underneath the Chevy and saw several squad cars pulling onto his street. “Yes, Mr. Jones, the cavalry has arrived!”
“Thank God.”
“You said it.” Payne leaned back on the sidewalk, his legs still underneath the car for protection. “By the way, how’s Levon doing?”
Instead of shouting his response, Jones scrambled out of the store and took a seat next to his friend. Once he was safely behind the car, he turned toward Payne and looked him dead in the eye. “You’re not going to believe this. You’re really not.”
“What now?”
“I don’t even know how to start, but . . .” Jones struggled for the right words to break the news to his friend. “Levon is gone.”
Payne sat upright, the color draining from his face. “Oh, my God! How did he-”
“No,” Jones said as he grabbed Payne’s arm. “He’s not
dead
gone. He’s
gone
gone. I don’t know how he did it, but that slippery son of a bitch managed to escape.”
CHAPTER 22
AS
the police pulled to a screeching stop in front of Sam’s Tattoos, Payne stared at Jones, trying to determine if his best friend was serious. After several seconds, Payne decided that he was. “Levon has disappeared?”