Hardbingers

9

Cal watched Miller dodge a cab as he hurried back from the bar across the street.

"Him all right."

"Did I not tell you?" Zeklos said.

Cal said, "Did he see you? Either of you?"

Miller shook his head. "He was too busy talking to the bartender."

Zeklos stared across the street at the bar. "It is a strange place, yes? All of the plants in the window, they are dead. Why hang plants if one is not going to care for them?"

"Worry about that later," Cal said. "Let's find our vantage points and wait for him to come out."

Miller was still shaking his head. "Uh-uh. We go in in uniform and drag him out."

"Listen to me," Cal said, fighting a burst of anger. "I'm team leader and I say—"

"You were team leader for getting the girl. That's over and done. Now there is no team. We're just three yenigeri out to find out who's screwing with us."

He'd been seeing a steady decline in yenigeri discipline in the last year. Here was further proof.

Cal turned to Zeklos. "What do you say?"

Zeklos shrugged and looked away. "I do not wish for hours to stand in this freezing cold."

Cal found himself speechless for a few heartbeats. Zeklos hated Miller. Cal couldn't believe he'd take his side on anything. But then again, it was pretty damn cold.

Miller clapped his hands. "I guess that's it then. Let's get into uniform."

"Why not just do it now—as we are?"

Miller shook his head. "No way. This is a public appearance and I want it known that this jerk was hauled away by men in black."

Cal sighed. "All right. But one of us should be stationed at that alley over there, just in case there's a back way out."

"Good idea," Miller said. "Zeklos—think you can handle that without screwing up?"

The little man glowered at him. "You are driving the car of obnoxiousness, Miller."

He turned and started across the street.

"You forgot your suit," Miller said.

Without turning, Zeklos raised his right hand and gave the single-digit salute.

"You've been coming down pretty heavy on him. Lighten up."

Miller snarled. "Everybody cuts him too much slack. He's a fuck-up. We trusted him with that simple hit-and-run last November and he blew it. He should be working in Home Depot or something."

They returned to the Suburban where they struggled back into their black suits, ties, hats, and sunglasses.

Back on the sidewalk Cal gave himself the up and down, then Miller. They both looked rumpled.

"Not exactly our usual clean, pressed look."

"It'll do." Miller pulled out his H-K and checked the breech. "What do you think: yes or no to the suppressors?"

"Yes. They're scary."

"Okay. Let's do it."

"Do what, exactly? What's the plan? We need to be synched up before we go in there."

"We'll keep it simple. We go in guns out. You keep everyone down—maybe crease one or two if they start to look restless—while I grab the asshole and haul him out. We jump in the car, blindfold him, then take him Home where we can work on him. Good enough?"

No. It was cowboy stuff. Cal preferred a more finessed approach.

"I'd rather let him come to us. Grab him out here."

Miller turned on him. "Look. I'm going in. Either you're with me or you ain't, but I'm going in."

Discipline… going, going…

Cal sighed. "Okay. Let's go."

He let Miller take the lead, and nodded to Zeklos standing at the mouth of the alley. Then they were through the door and standing just inside it with their pistols waving back and forth.

"This is gonna make you think you're in a bad movie," Miller shouted, "but if everyone sits quiet, no one gets hurt."

Cal scanned the room. To the right nothing but empty tables, a jukebox, and the dead plants. A couple of guys at the bar along the left wall. Another dozen-fifteen guys sat at tables arranged in a semicircle across the middle of the room. No one to either side… everyone in front of them. Something wrong with this picture but he couldn't say just what.

"Which one is he?"

Miller looked around. "Fuck! I don't—"

Cal froze at the unmistakable sound of a hammer being cocked—no, many hammers cocking.

Pistols had appeared all over the room—semiautomatics and revolvers of all shapes and sizes and finishes.

Cal's saliva turned to dust.

Now he knew what had bothered him: The arrangement of chairs and tables allowed for perfect field of fire on the doorway.

"I missed that," someone said. "Who won't get hurt?"

"Say hello to my little fren'," said a voice to his left.

Cal glanced over and found himself looking down the barrels of a sawed-off ten-gauge coach gun. This close they looked like the entrance to the Mid-town Tunnel.

"Okay, easy now," he told the little guy with highly developed muscles and a very low temperature in his eyes. "Eeeeeeasy."

"Be happy my little fren' don't say hello first. She speak double-ought."

Cal didn't know if the guy was putting him on with the accent, but did know a sweat had just broken out all over his body. What kind of place was this? Like an armed camp. It gave him a surreal feeling, like he'd stepped into a saloon in the old West.

He lowered his pistol and raised his empty left hand.

"Our mistake. Sorry." He took a step back. "We'll be going now."

Miller didn't budge, still had his muzzle pointed toward the room. Cal grabbed his arm and squeezed.

"I said we'll be going now."

Miller seemed to come out of a trance. He lowered his pistol and together they backed out the door. Derisive laughter followed them into the night.

"What the fuck?" Miller said through clenched teeth.

Cal's sentiments exactly. "Great plan."

"Hey, how was I to know? You ever been in a place like that? You ever even heard of a place like that?"

"Maybe in Deadwood."

"Fucking humiliating."

Yeah, it was. Cal wondered if his face looked as red as it felt.

"At least we got out with our skins."

"Since when was that ever enough?" Miller raised his pistol. "I've a mind to go back in and—"

"Don't be an idiot. If the bartender's ten-gauge doesn't cut you in half, the rest of them will Swiss you."

"We don't even know those were real guns."

"Oh, they were real all right. But where was our guy? Hiding or ducking out the back? He wouldn't know we left someone stationed outside."

The Miller smile buzzed on and off. "Hey, right. Let's—"

Miller froze as he glanced over Cal's shoulder. Cal turned and realized why: Zeklos lay crumpled across the mouth of the alley.