Star Risk #04 - The Dog From Hell by Chris Bunch

Author:Chris Bunch [Bunch, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780451460394
Amazon: 0451460391
Publisher: Roc
Published: 2005-08-01T22:00:00+00:00

It was late, after midnight, but the café was crowded.

The patrons would also have discouraged trade.

Their appearance did not suggest they were the sort who traveled in honest paths, nor harbored righteous thoughts.

Goodnight slid through the door, carrying a small pack.

A burly doorman, flanked by a gunnie, stopped him.

It was that sort of joint.

"You want?"

"Nothing you have," Goodnight assured him cheerfully. "Looking for a pair of jokers who don't always go under the same name. One's ugly as your mother, the other's good-looking, in a dead-fish sort of way. Likes to pretend he's with some sort of uniformed mob."

"Wouldn't tell you if they was here," the man growled. "Don't talk to nobody what sounds like a copper. Now, get your ass back to your precinct and tell 'em you're only alive 'cause I feel generous."

"Tsk," Goodnight said, and kicked him in the groin.

The man yelped, bent over, and Goodnight hammer-smashed him on the back of the neck.

As the doorman collapsed, Goodnight shot his backup between the eyes with a small pistol he didn't bother taking out of his sleeve.

The shot stilled the buzz.

"Awright," Goodnight said, very loudly. "Party's over."

He scanned the room, didn't see anyone who resembled the pair he was looking for.

Guns were coming out.

Goodnight unhurriedly reached in the pack, took out a grenade, thumbed the release and pitched it into one corner of the room, then came out with a second, threw that into the other corner, and went flat as the two grenades exploded with dull thuds.

Gas billowed through the room.

There were shouts, screams.

Goodnight stayed down until the noise stopped, then picked himself up.

He'd already inserted filter plugs in his nostrils.

The room was strewn with bodies, a few moving feebly.

Goodnight went to his first target, the bartender, rolled him on his back, knelt, and touched a syrette to his arm.

The second man was a prosperous-looking sort who'd had half a dozen underlings sitting around him.

He, too, got the antidote to the gas.

The others in the room would die, without recovering consciousness, within fifteen minutes.

Goodnight lifted the man he thought to be a boss sort into a sturdy chair, and secured him at wrists and ankles with plastic restraints.

"You'll hold," he said, as the man's eyes flickered open.

Goodnight went back to the bartender and put him in a second chair, tied him as well.

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