Bannerman's Law by John R. Maxim

Author:John R. Maxim [Maxim, John R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ePub Bud (www.epubbud.com)
Published: 2012-03-09T16:00:00+00:00

Molly heard sirens in the distance. She approached the apartment house slowly, windows down, head cocked as if sniffing the air.

“There's his Honda,” Carla said, pointing. “Pull in behind it.”

“What was Yuri driving?”

”I didn't see.”

“You're sure that's Hickey's?” Molly asked.

Carla squinted at the hotel notepaper on which she'd written the license number. “That's it.”

Molly allowed the Chevrolet to coast. Then, almost abreast of Hickey's car, she cut the steering wheel and depressed the accelerator. The Chevrolet crunched into the Honda's side. It startled Carla but she understood at once. The car was now side-swiped. A reason for being here.

The sirens seemed nearer.

Molly passed the front entrance. She saw movement inside. A man in a T-shirt. He seemed agitated. She double-parked near a hydrant and stepped from the car. Carla followed.

Molly saw the blood. It left a weaving trail from the steps of the apartment house to the empty curb space in back of the Honda. She was afraid it was Yuri's. The man in the T-shirt stepped out through the door. He looked at them, then past them, as if waiting for someone else. He seemed in shock.

“Did something happen here?” Molly asked.

“Two guys,” he managed. “Upstairs.” He, too, noticed the blood. ”I called the cops.”

“I'm a nurse,” said Carla. They pushed past him and took the stairs, following the sound of voices.

They saw the open door. Four holes through it, each the size of an egg. The peephole had been shot out. A knot of people stood near the door, some of them peering inside. A young black woman wearing shorts and a halter leaned against the frame, her fist to her mouth, hyperventilating. A black man, older, tried to soothe her. Carla slipped between them and into the apartment. She flipped on the lights. “Oh, my God,” said another man behind her.

Molly entered. She recognized Yuri by his size. Carla was already at his side. Molly walked past. She looked down at the face of the second man, at the hideous grin, eyes staring. Her nose told her that his bowels had let go. She returned to Yuri.

“He's still alive,” said Carla. Carefully, she opened his mouth. The jaw, broken, made a crunching sound. One cheek was gashed, one eye swollen shut, a bit of his ear had been shot away and a dozen splinters of blond oak peppered one side of his face. She blew into his mouth, hard, to clear his air passages. His chest bubbled. “Help me,” she said. She reached for the broken right arm and, with Molly's aid, rolled him onto his shattered left rib. It did more damage there, but she hoped to keep the good right lung from filling.

Molly straightened his arm. She used her scarf to stop the blood flow. Carla, opposite, gently pried the revolver from the fingers of his left hand. At least two were broken but not cut. And yet, oddly, the thumb and fingertips were bloody. She saw flesh under the nails. She examined the gun. The cylinder was missing, the metal deeply gouged.

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