Stay (27 page)

“I want
everyone,
” Yousef told the flunky. “We'll converge on the second floor. That's where he is.”

He considered if he should try to take the man alive. In Yousef's revenge fantasies, Sparrow had been made to suffer for endless days. This indulgence was no longer practical, and in any case, attempting to capture him alive before hadn't quite worked out.

“Tell the men to shoot him on sight,” Yousef said.

The flunky gestured to the hotel manager on the floor. “What about him?”

“We don't need him anymore,” Yousef said. “Kill him and follow as fast as you can.”

Yousef left the office.

The flunky approached the prone hotel manager, knife blade gleaming in his hand.

*   *   *

When the flunky had kicked him in the head, Larry had made a show of going as limp as possible. As far as they knew, he was down for the count. His only chance would be to try to sucker them in.

The badass who did all the talking saw something on one of the monitors he didn't like. He exchanged words with the flunky then stormed out.

Good. That cut the enemy forces exactly in half. This would be Larry's best chance to make a move.

And he
did
need to make a move, not just to save his own life, but because he owed it to David. When the guy doing the talking took the picture of his wife and son out of his wallet, Larry knew it had been all over right then. Larry had faced down numerous enemies on the battlefield. Having his family threatened that way was a whole new experience. He'd told the men exactly what they'd wanted to know.

And while Larry hadn't felt he'd had any other choice, he now felt guilty about. He needed to put this man down and call the penthouse to warn Amy.

The flunky bent toward him with the knife, and Larry played possum until the last possible second. It was a test of nerves with a knife coming at him, but Larry would only have one shot at this.

When the man's knife hand was close enough, Larry moved fast and latched on to the man's wrist.

At first the flunky tried to pull away, but Larry hung on with a death grip. Then the flunky came down hard with his other fist, but Larry had been expecting it, turned his head to take the punch on top of his skull. The blow hurt, but he heard knuckles crack and the flunky grunt pain.

Larry grabbed the guy's knife arm with his other hand, too, and pulled the man's hand toward his mouth. He bit into the soft area under the guy's thumb. Hard. The flunky screamed. Blood flooded Larry's mouth, the taste of copper and salt. He didn't ease off until the flunky opened his hand and dropped the knife.

Larry let go of the man's wrist with one hand and grabbed the weapon. He drove the blade as hard as he could through the top of the man's shoe, pinning his foot to the floor.

The flunky howled like a deranged banshee.

Larry lurched to his feet and took two more punches from the man before stepping away and steadying himself. The man continued to scream in agony, jerking his foot, trying to pry it up from the floor.

Larry's hand landed on the first thing he could reach, a heavy marble ashtray on the desk. It had been leftover from the old days when smoking was allowed in the hotel.

He swung it overhand and bashed the top of the flunky's head with a muted crack. The man's body spasmed, mouth falling open for a scream that never came.

Larry swung again, the ashtray connecting hard against the side of the man's head. The flunky went limp, fell over awkwardly, his foot still pinned to the floor.

Larry dropped the ashtray, panting, head dizzy. His heart hammered away in his chest. Suddenly his legs went noodle weak as the adrenaline drained from his body. He leaned against the desk.

Amy. Warn her
.

He picked up the phone and dialed zero. “Switchboard? Yeah, it's me, Ruth. I need you to connect me to—”

He turned his head and saw the other man enter the room, the one who'd taken his wallet. He lifted a pistol.

The room exploded.

And that was all.

*   *   *

Dante saw that it was Yousef calling in and answered by asking, “Have you killed them yet?”

“We've spotted him and are closing in,” Yousef said. “I need the men with you to finish the job.”

“Excellent,” Payne said. “We're on our way.”

“Not you,” Yousef said. “Just the men. Park someplace out of the way, and wait in the car with your driver.”

Payne felt his face flush hot. “Wait in the car with my—”

“The purpose of this entire enterprise is to conceal evidence that may be used against you and to silence those who've seen that evidence,” Yousef said. “Having you seen at the scene of a bloodbath completely undermines all that.”

Payne hung up the phone. “Take us into the hotel parking garage,” he told the driver.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

David Sparrow strode the broad, second-floor mezzanine, eyes sharp for trouble.

He paused and glanced over the railing at the writhing Shriner party on the convention floor below. He had vague hopes of spotting Payne's men and then maybe he could take them out one at a time.

The ground floor was his most likely hunting ground. There were three ways down that he knew of. The escalator at the opposite end of the mezzanine, the bank of elevators, or the stairs around the corner and down the hall from the elevators.

He decided on the stairs.

David walked toward the elevators just as the doors to one of the convention rooms opened and a bunch of rowdy Shriners spilled out in front of him. They talked loudly, arm-in-arm with wives and girlfriends.

On the other side of the crowd, both elevators dinged at the same time and the doors slid open. Two men emerged from each and the four of them saw David through the crowd, their hands going immediately into their jackets.

David drew the Browning and the Glock.

A woman clinging to one of the Shriners saw the guns in David's hands and screamed. Confused murmuring ran through the crowd, heads turning to see what was happening.

It was one of Payne's goons who fired first, the bullet whizzing over everyone's heads.

Chaos erupted.

People shoved over one another trying to decide which way to run. Shouts, more screams.

One of the men took a bead on David with his pistol.

David leaped on the middle-aged couple in front of him, riding them to the floor. “Get down!”

Payne's goon blazed away down the mezzanine. There was the sound like the loud slap of a leather strap, and a Shriner standing near David screamed, blood splattering from the fleshy part of his thigh. He fell hard and writhed, moaning in pain.

David rolled off the couple he'd shoved to the floor, came up on one knee and fired both pistols at the nearest attacker. Lead ripped across his chest, and he shuddered, took one halting step backward, and fell.

The other three opened fire, but David was already scrambling out of the way and dove behind a big ceramic pot that overflowed with some kind of huge fern. He drew his legs up, trying to make himself small behind the big pot. Lead struck all around him, dust and chips flying off the pot and plaster exploding on the wall above him.

David aimed his pistols over the pot, and pulled the triggers until they clicked empty.

Another of Payne's men clutched his bloody gut and toppled over.

The remaining two gunmen wised up and dove behind a leather sofa for cover. David took the opportunity to slap a new magazine into each pistol.

He evaluated the gunmen in a split second. Third-rate, not Payne's A team or else they wouldn't have tried to gun him down through a crowd of Shriners. They'd get their ducks in a row and start shooting again in a second, and anyway the ceramic pot was pretty lousy cover.

David needed to make a move.

If these guys are third rate, then they probably rattle easily, right? Well, there's one way to find out
.…

David rose from his hiding place behind the big pot.

And ran at them.

There was a split second of paralysis while Payne's men tried to figure out what they were looking at, and David closed the distance. An instant later they started firing, but it was sloppy and undisciplined as David sprinted straight for them.

David raised his pistols as he ran, firing nonstop and not breaking stride. A bullet hissed past his ear. Another passed close enough to tug at his shirtsleeve.

David kept squeezing the triggers of both guns. Stuffing flew up from the leather sofa. The gunmen flinched, trying to return fire and stay low at the same time.

A slug caught the first man above the left eye and knocked him back, trailing an arc of blood, into the other one behind him, throwing off his aim. He tried to swing the pistol back in time for a shot, but David had arrived.

He leaped upon the sofa to fire down behind it at the last gunman, emptying both pistols and shredding the man's chest with hot metal.

David stepped down from the sofa, replaced the magazines in his pistols and spun a slow arc, pistols raised for whatever came next.

For the moment, nobody was trying to kill him.

Moans around the mezzanine, women crying. A number of people were tentatively rising from the floor, looking at David with fear and confusion.

David raised his voice and said, “You'll be safer if you get back to your rooms and lock yourselves in.”

They didn't need to be told twice, some moving toward the elevators, others back toward the escalators.

David went to the man who'd been shot in the thigh and knelt next to him. A crying woman knelt on the other side of him.

“You need to calm down,” he said to her. “You're his wife?”

“Y-yes.”

“Do you have a phone?”

“Yes.”

“Call an ambulance right now,” David said. “Tell them which hotel and that you're on the second-floor mezzanine.”

“Yes, of course.” She reached back for a small beaded purse behind her, took out her phone, and made the call.

David forced a smile for the wounded man's benefit. “You're going to be fine.”

The man nodded, pale face clammy with sweat.

David pulled the man's tie loose. “I need this.”

He used the necktie to fasten a tourniquet around the man's leg. “I don't think the shot hit anything vital.” David had no idea if that was true or not but figured it would be nice to hear.

“They're on the way,” said the woman who'd called the ambulance.

“Good.” And the police with them, thought David. His time was running out.

“Give me your sweater,” he told her.

She took if off and handed it to him. David folded it into thirds and put it over the bullet wound. The man winced. He took the woman's hands and placed them on top of the sweater.

“Keep pressure on this until the paramedics arrive,” David said. “Can somebody stay with you?”

She turned her head toward a man hovering in the background. “Dale?”

Dale came forward, a ruddy-faced man with a beer gut. He'd somehow managed to heroically retain possession of his drink throughout the gunfight. He knelt next to the wounded man and touched his shoulder. “You hang in there, Brad. I'm here. You just relax, buddy.”

“I've got to go,” David told the woman.

Words of gratitude chased after him as he left, but he barely paid attention. He passed the elevators at a jog and kept going until he found the stairs.

*   *   *

Yousef cursed as he watched Sparrow slaughter Payne's men on the security monitor. The man paused to help a wounded hotel guest and then passed out of sight. He frantically searched the other monitors until he picked him up again.

He found Sparrow again in the basement.

Yousef pulled his pistol.
If you want somebody killed right, you've got to do it yourself
.

But that didn't mean it had to be a fair fight. He dialed Dante Payne's phone number.

*   *   *

Dante answered the phone, frowned, and handed the phone over to the Serb. “He wants to speak to one of you.”

The Serb put the phone to his ear. “Yes? Okay. I understand.” He hung up and handed the phone back to Payne.

“Sparrow is in the basement of the hotel,” the Serb said. “He wants us to go down there.” He looked at Payne. “He says for you to stay here.”

Payne snarled. “Of course. Well, go on then. Go kill the man. This has all taken far too long already.”

They nodded curtly and left.

Dante Payne fixed another drink and sulked.

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

David needed chaos and confusion.

He passed through the hotel laundry, looking for the maintenance room and the hotel's circuit breakers.

Soon the police would arrive if they weren't here already. David would have to dodge them while searching for Payne all while avoiding getting killed by Yousef Haddad and his henchmen.

It was a tall order.

David needed some kind of advantage.

He found a locked door marked
ELECTRICAL.
It was far too sturdy to kick down. He aimed and shot the lock. No good. He shot it again, and this time it opened.

He scanned the room once inside. There was a small table with a couple of flashlights on it. He'd need one soon and selected a heavy Maglite.

The main breakers were housed in a large metal box closed and padlocked. He shot the padlock off and opened it.

Inside, he found the main power switches for the entire hotel. With the police helping frightened hotel guests in the dark, he hoped it would keep them off his back for a while. And as a solo operative, he liked the thought of a blind enemy.

The bonus of cutting the power would be shutting the elevators down. Anyone trying to get to Amy would be delayed.

Of course, if I need to get up there and help her, I'll be delayed, too
.