FREE TO DIE by Bob McElwain

Author:Bob McElwain [McElwain, Bob]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Foremost Press
Published: 2011-12-08T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

Brad had made his deal with the night foreman several hours earlier. Things were quiet; he had no problem convincing him the girl he would meet couldn’t wait. He checked out an hour early, hoping a killer would not be expecting it.

As a further precaution, he left by the rear of the terminal. He walked left to the end of the building, then headed for the street up the alley where Josie would be waiting.

The alley was nearly forty feet wide, brightly lit at the street end, but darker here. Warehouse debris was randomly but neatly stacked along one side. He was two hundred feet from the street when he heard it. Before he could start a turn, one word, spoken softly, stopped him.

“No.” It was a deep voice, pitched low, dripping with satisfaction and confidence. “Stay real still.”

Brad made no move, but strained to hear the footsteps coming closer behind him. He felt the barrel of the pistol pressed into the ribs to the right of his spine. “The man wants to see you. Okay?”

Brad nodded slowly. He could see Josie at the far end of the alley, both hands locked on the .357. But she was too far away to do him much good, unless she wanted to gamble and simply fire.

He took a precise fix on the barrel of the pistol pressed into his back. He knew that before the gunman could fire, he’d be moving. He whirled to his left. Flame seared his flesh and the alley was filled with the thundering blast.

He continued as in a single motion. The man was backing now, but he was much too late. Brad drove his forearm up under the man’s chin as if to drive it through the jaw. Another shot pounded the receding echoes of the first one, but the bullet ricocheted harmlessly down the alley. The sound of the cracking of the jawbone and teeth splintering was gruesome accompaniment to the skittering clatter of the pistol sliding on concrete. Brad ran.

With only a few feet to the street remaining, a heavyset man with a cap pulled low, stepped into his path, bringing his pistol up.

“Freeze,” Josie cried.

The man hesitated, almost as thinking to turn toward the sound of the voice. But when he saw how close Brad was, how rapidly he was closing, he ignored whatever might be behind him.

Brad jumped feet first, a continuation of his run. He rolled slowly sideways in the air. His right boot was a bit high. Blood exploded from the man’s nose and mouth. His left foot found its mark, just below the heart. The man was hammered back and down, his pistol also skidding on concrete.

As Brad fell, he saw Josie rushing toward him. He landed on his hands and toes and rolled to his feet. Josie held the .357 pointed midway between the two men, her eyes constantly moving, searching for further intrusion. Brad scrambled toward the man nearest him, rolled him over and grabbed his wallet.

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