The Long Way Down (Daniel Faust) by Craig Schaefer

Author:Craig Schaefer [Schaefer, Craig]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Demimonde Books
Published: 2014-04-25T04:00:00+00:00

Twenty-Four

Sniper!

A flock of pigeons soared from their perch on the roof’s railing, startled by the gunshot. I hit the ground, my body pressed to the hot asphalt. I frantically scanned the horizon for some glimmer of light, the reflection of a riflescope, but the shooter was a ghost. The seer’s corpse lay sprawled on the ground. Nothing was left of his head but some torn flesh and splintered bone at the end of a shattered spinal column.

Fifty-caliber round. Jesus. They weren’t taking any chances.

I trench-crawled the few feet to my car door, looking up at the handle as though it were a million miles away. The low wall encircling the parking deck gave me a little protection, but I’d have to stand up at least a little bit to open the door and get in, exposing me to fire.

And the longer you wait, the more time they have to reload and drop a bead on you. Move!

I held my breath, got up on my knees, and yanked open the car door, clambering inside and lying flat on the front seats. Bracing myself, I swung up into the driver’s seat and scrambled to jam my keys into the ignition. I nearly dropped them, my hand shaking, but the engine revved to life and I threw it into reverse. I spun back out of the parking spot, the car door still open and swaying on its hinges, then stamped my foot on the gas.

The car hit the ramp hard enough to bottom out. The chassis jolted and threw up sparks. I hauled the wheel around, bending low with my head just high enough to peek over the dashboard. My phone vibrated in my pocket.

“Not now,” I muttered through clenched teeth. The car fishtailed as I swerved around the next lane and down the ramp to the third floor. Every tier of the garage had a railed balcony open to the sky, a shooter’s paradise.

I whipped around to the next level, careening straight toward an elderly tourist in the middle of the lane. She clutched a token cup for the penny slots. I slammed on the brakes, tires screaming, and stopped hard enough to throw myself forehead-first against the steering wheel.

I pressed my fingers against my head, checking for blood. The skin was sore to the touch but unbroken. The engine rumbled. The old woman looked at my car, looked at me, and flipped me the bird before hobbling along.

“Yeah,” I breathed, adrenaline coursing through my veins. “I deserved that.”

My phone rang again. I tugged it out of my pocket and checked the caller ID. Nicky.

“What,” I answered flatly.

“This is Justine, and Juliette is with me, and you’re on speakerphone. You almost hit that old lady. That was terrible.”

“You should feel bad,” Juliette added.

“Yeah?” I said, sitting up in my seat. “Well at least I didn’t just shoot somebody in the fucking head!”

“Probably because you can’t afford a gun,” Justine said.

“What’s the point of buying a military-grade sniper rifle,” Juliette asked, “if you’re not going to use it? I made that shot from almost twelve hundred meters.

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