Suddenly there was a flurry of activity. The drug dealer’s right hand appeared from his side clutching something. Stone shouted ‘Gun’, and tried to dive forward into the narrow gap between the seats. In the tight space of the car, Carter ineffectively jabbed sideways with the shotgun. Restricted by the seat back, and at the extreme limit of his reach, Stone grabbed Stephens right wrist, squeezed hard and twisted sharply. There was a single gunshot, deafeningly loud in the confines of the car. Before Stone could improve his grip, Stephens managed to wrench his arm away and then he flung open the door and jumped from the car.
Stone scrabbled at the unfamiliar handle for a second, before he managed to open the off-side rear door of the Mercedes, so he was already several paces behind Stephens when his feet hit the gravel. As he sprinted across the parking lot, Stone realized that somewhere during the struggle in the car, he had dropped Markov’s pistol. The drug dealer’s first instinct had been to run, but in his panic, his chosen escape route had taken him away from the road and directly into the shallow waters of the lake. Realizing that either he must surrender, or fight, Stephens chose to do the latter. He turned towards Stone and raised the gun.
There was just one chance, one tiny glimmer of hope. Stone knew that if he stopped or tried to turn, he would surely die. It’s quite easy to shoot a target that is static, or moving laterally to your eye line, but it’s much more difficult to shoot someone who’s running directly at you. Many well-armed hunters have been killed by charging Lions, simply because they lost their nerve and fumbled the shot. Stone knew this — he knew that it was his only hope. He let his momentum carry him unswervingly forward, and he prayed that Anton Stephens would fumble his shot.
As Stone’s feet hit the water, Stephens panicked. Suddenly realizing that his target was approaching very fast, he tried to step backwards to widen the gap. As the water resisted his legs, the drug dealer lost his balance and, in desperation, pulled the trigger. The shot went high and wide, missing Stone’s head by a couple of inches. Stephens was still staggering backwards into deeper water and trying to lower the gun, when Stone hit him with a flying tackle to the neck.
Stunned by the massive impact, Stephens fell backwards into the water, with Stone landing squarely onto his chest. He grabbed the drug dealer’s right hand, which was still holding the gun, and pushed it safely under the water. Then he seized a handful of Anton Stephens’ hair and forced his face under the surface.
The cold water instantly revived Stephens, who took an involuntary lung-full and then started to struggle as he realized what was happening. Twisting the gun hand, and simultaneously pushing down on his head, Stone held firm with gritted teeth, as the man struggled for his life. At first, he fought violently, kicking and bucking wildly in a desperate effort to raise his face from the water, but Stone had the upper hand and in less than a minute Stephens lay still. Stone waited for another minute to make sure that he was dead then he slowly dragged the limp form out of the water and back towards the car. Carter was waiting, his face a grim mask.
“You hit?” Stone asked, panting for breath.
“I don’t think so.” The gun was still clutched in Stephens’ dead hand. Carter reached down and prized it free. “Where the hell did this come from?”
“Must’ve been stashed down the side of the seat — are you sure you’re not hit?”
“No, I’m fine… it looks like there’s a decent hole in the door though.” Carter pointed at Stephens. “What are we going to do with him?”
Stone shrugged noncommittally.
“Was there anything else you had wanted to ask him?”
“Not a word — nothing,” Carter replied, shaking his head. “It’s a bit late now, even if I did.”
“Perhaps we can get something more useful out of Markov,” Stone suggested.
“Unlikely,” Carter said grimly, “Markov’s dead. His neck’s broken.”
“Sorry — lucky punch I guess.” Stone said pulling an apologetic face. “He sensed me coming and started to turn, I had to hit him harder than I’d intended.”
“You won’t see me shedding any tears.” Carter gave a somber smile. “Before anyone else turns up, we should put them back in the car and push it into the lake. If they ever find the car, the local police will probably think it’s just a drug deal gone wrong. Then they’ll probably all go out and have a party to celebrate.”
“Ok,” Stone nodded.
“First though, you’d better search the car, just in case there are any clues to be had. I’ll search these two. Take any cash and valuables, watches, cell phones, take the lot,” Carter instructed, “but leave any drugs you find. The water will take care of that.”
“Shouldn’t we go and search his house as well?” Stone asked.
“I wish we could, but I think it’s just too risky — given… ” Carter waved a hand vaguely at the two bodies. “Anyway, in my experience, this kind of low life rarely works from an office at home, or keeps tax records in a neat file. If there’s anything, it’s here in the car. This is his office.”
“Ok, you’re the boss!”
Five minutes later, they had searched both bodies and carefully wiped the car clean of fingerprints. Between them, they had filled a shopping bag with a substantial haul of cash, two Rolex watches, two billfolds, two cell phones, some rings, and several parking tickets. Carter turned to Stone and pointed towards the rear of the car.
“We had better put them in the trunk.”
Stone popped the release, then walked to the rear of the car and lifted the trunk. He stood stock still for a moment, reflecting that suddenly he didn’t feel so bad about taking two lives after all. Curious at the delay, Carter walked to his side and stood staring — open-mouthed. Eventually Stone broke the silence.
“Well there’s something you don’t see every day.”
Becka was not happy. She had some information that she needed to give to The Fixer but she was of the opinion that he would see the information as bad news — and The Fixer had a reputation for receiving bad news very poorly. She had tried to apply the corporate ethos, ‘Don’t give me problems, bring me solutions’, but the information was new and too important to delay until she had a solution to offer. She took a deep breath and walked along the corridor to The Fixer’s office. Bunny was acting as sentry, sitting casually on a chair outside the office door. As usual, Kitten would be outside patrolling the grounds. As she approached, Bunny got up and stood with his arms folded and legs wide, completely blocking the corridor.
Becka hated and feared the two bodyguards. In her considered opinion, they were both violent morons who smelled of cheap aftershave and sour body odor. More than anything, she particularly despised Bunny. Although he was probably impotent because of his excessive use of steroids, he liked to cop a feel whenever he could. Some time ago, she had realized that The Fixer was aware of what Bunny was up to and, although he didn’t actually encourage it, he certainly did nothing to stop Bunny’s repeated groping.
Perhaps he was secretly afraid of his two bodyguards, and rather than risking confrontation, he permitted Bunny to grope Becka as a sick category of employment benefit. Some people had a dental plan; Bunny was able to grope her tight young body whenever he wanted. Bracing herself for what was to follow, Becka walked forward until she was face to chest with the giant bodyguard, but just out of groping range.