don’t
tell you about their posse. Well, you don’t have to be Alex Trebek to see that I’m in jeopardy.”
“Jeez,” Payne said. “That jeopardy comment was pretty funny.”
“Did you like that?” Sam asked, hoping to lighten the mood. “I just made that up.”
“You did?” Payne grunted. “Well, unless you want it to be the last clever thing you say, I think you should start talking. What’s the name of the gang?”
Sam closed his eyes in thought. After thinking about all of the consequences, he figured it was better to possibly die later than to definitely die now. “The Plantation Posse.”
Payne lowered his weapon. “And what can you tell us about this Posse?”
“I don’t know,” Sam mumbled. “They were young, black, and very athletic-looking.”
“Wow,” Greene remarked. “You just described every team in the NBA. You gotta do better than that.”
“And some of the guys had thick African accents.”
“Come on!” he objected. “My NBA comment is still accurate.”
Sam glared at the ex-football star. After a moment, a flash of recognition crossed his face. “Whoa, dude, I know you. I know who you are!”
Greene cursed under his breath. He knew going into this partnership that there was a good chance that he was going to be recognized. Now it was just a matter of how he was going to handle it. “Who I am is not important, you box-of-crayons-looking motherfucker! What
is
important is my boy’s question. What did these guys look like?”
The rage in Greene’s voice was enough to silence Sam. There was no way he wanted to piss off the Buffalo Soldier. “Okay, dude, I’ll tell you anything you want to know, just don’t hurt me! I’ve got a low threshold for pain.”
Greene nodded. “I appreciate your honesty. In return, I promise not to test that threshold. But instead of talking to me, I want you to talk to my friends. Okay? And while you’re telling them everything that they need to know, I’m gonna go in the back and use your bathroom.” He turned toward Payne and Jones, looking for permission. “That is, if you guys can handle things alone for a couple of minutes.”
Payne patted Greene on his shoulder. “Thanks, I think we can take over from here.”
“While you’re back there,” Jones added quietly, “check to see if anybody is hiding or if there’s another way into this place. I’m not in the mood for any surprises.”
Greene hustled into the back and did what was requested. “Things look fine,” he yelled to Payne and Jones. “There’s nothing back here that can hurt you.”
Payne grinned as he leaned against the counter. “Sorry, Sam. Since you’re all out of allies, it appears that you’re kind of stuck. You have no choice but to tell us about the Posse.”
“Dude, I swear, I can’t describe them any better than I have. The only thing in my brain is their black clothes and the large roll of bills they were toting. Other than that, nothing!”
Payne nodded, beginning to believe Sam’s claim. He realized that it would be tough for anyone to remember specific details about a group of men who had visited him several weeks ago, especially if they were foreigners. One face would blend in with the next. “Fine, let’s get off their appearance. Why don’t you tell me about the tattoo? What did the image symbolize?”
Sam scratched his beard while studying the picture from his album. “Well, dude, the
P
obviously stands for
Plantation Posse
, but I bet you figured that out, huh?”
“Come on,” Payne mumbled. “Tell us something that might actually be useful.”
“Fine!” Sam growled. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, but I’m warning you dudes, you’re forcing me to sign my own death warrant. My blood’s gonna be on your hands!”
And in a blink of an eye, Sam’s words became prophetic.
CHAPTER 21
THUNDER
echoed from across the street as the sniper pulled the trigger on his rifle. His first shot shattered the window of the tattoo shop, sending thousands of knifelike shards in every direction. As they fell to the floor in a melodic song, the bullet entered the right eye of its victim, obliterating Sam’s brain and skull in a single flash.
Without pausing to think, Payne and Jones reacted to the situation like it was an everyday occurrence. Their experiences with the MANIACs had prepared them for far worse. Payne dashed for cover in the front corner of the shop, which was away from the broken window and allowed him to take a clean shot at anyone who entered the front door. Meanwhile, Jones headed in the opposite direction, taking refuge behind the front counter.
“Are you all right?” Jones yelled as he pulled out his Glock.
“I’m not perfect, but I’m better than Sam.”
Jones glanced around the corner and stared at the near-headless victim. Crimson gushed from the gaping hole where his face used to be. Hair, brain, and bone clung to the back wall like chunky spaghetti sauce.
“We’re dealing with a serious weapon, Jon. Whatever it is tore right through his skull.”
Payne surveyed the scene before offering his summation of the kill. “From the looks of it, the shooter has an elevated position.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Look at the window if you can. The top is the only part that’s broken, and the only way a bullet can do that and hit a man in the head is if it was discharged from above.”
Jones nodded in agreement. “If that’s the case, this wasn’t a drive-by. The bastard’s probably on a roof or in a tree. No way we’ll be able to nail him from this angle.”
“You’re probably right. That’s why we’re going to have to go outside and get him.”
Jones put his finger in his ear and tried to unclog it. “Sorry, I must’ve misheard you. Did you say we should go out there and get him?”
“Yes, princess, that’s what I said.”
The statement didn’t sit well with Jones. “But we don’t know what we’re up against! Hell, we don’t know a damn thing, and you want us to go outside with our weapons blazing? Am I Butch or Sundance?”
Payne chuckled at Jones’s reaction. He expected something more soldierly from an ex-MANIAC. “Wow, wait until I tell the fellas about this at our next squad reunion. They won’t believe how quickly you’ve lost your nerve!”
“I haven’t lost my nerve, Jon. I’ve gained common sense. What good is it to go outside and face a sniper?”
“What good? Going out there could save Ariane’s life!”
“How do you figure?”
“Think about it! Why was Sam killed? What purpose could that have served?”
Jones shrugged. “I don’t know. Somebody wanted to keep him quiet.”
“Exactly! Sam must’ve known something, and it must’ve been pretty damn important.”
“Like what?”
“I have no idea. Maybe he could identify someone, or has a billing address in his files, or maybe, just maybe, he knew something about Ariane. Truthfully, I don’t know. But if we don’t go outside, our odds of getting an answer go down considerably. And you know it!”
“Shit,” Jones grumbled, realizing what Payne had in mind. “You’re hoping to take this guy alive, aren’t you?”
Payne nodded. “How else is he going to be useful?”
Jones knew that Payne was right, that they needed to talk to the guy, but he also realized the level of danger that would be involved. If the sniper was still outside, he was probably waiting for them to make a move. And the moment they did—
bang!
Because that’s how snipers operated. They patiently waited for their targets to do something stupid, then they took full advantage.
“So, are you coming or not?” Payne asked in a less than pleasant tone. “ ’Cause if you aren’t, I gotta start looking for a new best friend.”
“Ah, man, why did you have to go there? Anytime you need a favor, you always pull out the best-friend card. Fine, I’ll help you out, but I’m not doing this because of your stupid threat. I’m doing this because I need the exercise.”
Payne grinned in appreciation. “The first thing we need to do is figure out how we’re going to get out of here. Since the door is glass, he’ll pick us off before we even open it. We’ll need to find a different exit.”
“How about the window? If I knock out the bottom half, we could slip behind one of the cars outside with little exposure time. Plus, it’ll let this guy know we’re armed.”
“Sounds good. But before we go, let me get the lights. The less this guy sees, the better.”
Jones liked the idea. Darkness would improve their odds even more. “Can you reach ’em from there, or are you going to have to shoot ’em out?”
Payne leaned out from his hiding place and stared at the small panel of switches near the door. It would take some doing, but he felt he could reach the buttons without risking his life.
“No problem,” he lied. “Piece of cake.”
Moving quickly, Payne dropped to his hands and stomach and crawled across the vinyl floor. He did his best to avoid the broken glass, but since there were chunks of it everywhere, he found himself bleeding immediately.
“Looking good,” Jones whispered as he peered out from behind the counter. “In about two feet, you’ll be directly under the switch. Okay, stop.”
Payne tilted his head back and tried to reach the metal panel above him, but the damn thing was a foot too high. That meant he’d have to leave the safety of the floor to reach it. Of course, the advantage he’d gain with darkness outweighed the risk of going for the lights. While keeping his torso parallel to the floor, he stretched his bloody hand upward, inching it slowly along the wall until he felt the cold surface of the switch.
“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?”
