“Yep,” he exhales, moving out, creeping across the club, heading for the round booth by the door. I follow, my eyes split between the screen of my phone and where we’re heading. They’re reloading. James looks back at me and jerk his head, sending me to the other end. We crouch behind the booth. Then he holds up two fingers. Drops one. Then another.
I nod, we stand, and point our guns over the top. “Hi.” I smile, my cigarette between my teeth, and we start raining bullets down on them, watching through the plumes of smoke before my eyes as their bodies jerk and jump and pieces of foam from the plush padded seats pop up into the air with beads of blood and chunks of flesh.
I don’t ease off the trigger until it starts clicking, pulling on my cigarette and breathing out, relaxing. “I promised my wife today was just meetings.” I sneer, pulling my pistol and putting a bullet straight between Volodya’s open eyes. “That’s for making me break a promise to my wife.” I pop him again. “That’s for turning me over three years ago.” Bang! “And that’s for good fucking luck.”
“I think he’s dead,” James says, setting his gun on the table of the booth, gazing around the club. “Everyone good?”
Three heads pop up from behind the bar, followed by Mason.
“Do you get asked for an AK with a dirty martini often?” I ask.
He shrugs, assessing the state of his bar. All things considered, it isn’t too bad. “I might need a hand sorting this if you want us to open tonight.”
I wander over to the bar and check the others, finding them all brushing glass shards gingerly from their clothes. Goldie has a few nicks on her face. I don’t address them. She won’t appreciate it.
I walk to the end of the bar and find Collins still on her arse, still armed. I bet the fucking chamber is still full too. She didn’t want the Russians dead. “I’d say that was an unprovoked attack.”
She gets to her feet, her eyes assessing the club, the bodies, the mess. “I’d say you’ve just given me”—she nods around the club, counting the bodies—“ten more reasons to arrest you.”
“Really?” I ask tiredly. I should let James at her. But killing a cop is a whole different ballgame to killing ten Russians. We can lose the Russians and they won’t be missed. It’s trickier to lose a fucking cop. More of a headache. So, we need to think hard about how we handle this since, technically, we really have just given the cocky bitch ten reasons to arrest us. We’re in the state of Florida. If I’m going to die, I’d rather it not be by lethal injection.
I look back at James as I take a final drag of my cigarette, asking him silently if he has any suggestions. His mild head shake tells me no. A few grand isn’t going to cut this. But a few million could. I drop my cigarette butt in a nearby empty glass and—
Bang!
I jump and swing around, just as Collins starts plummeting toward me. Confused as fuck, I hold out my arms, catching her. “What the fuck?” I ask, scanning the space behind her. I see Nolan at the door that leads to the offices, his gun still poised. “What the fucking hell?”
He frowns. Lowers his gun. “Who is she?”
I blink, recoil, and let Collins’s body drop to the floor. She lands on her back, eyes open, staring up. “She’s a dead cop,” I say, looking up at Brad, who’s just followed Nolan out.
“A cop?” Nolan comes over, standing over Collins body. “I thought she was with them.” He looks up at me. “Fuck!”
I lose my shit and swing at him, cracking him on a jaw and sending him sailing through the air. He lands on his back with a thud, and I march over to his startled, splayed form. “You,” I say, pointing a finger, “are a fucking liability.”
“She’s a cop?”
“Was, Nolan. She was a fucking cop, and now you have given me the biggest fucking headache!” He’s lucky I’m out of bullets or I’d shoot the fucker. Then I remember . . . I reach for his gun and snatch it, turning it on him.
“Danny, I’m sorry!” His hands come up, his body curling into a protective ball. “I thought I was helping.”
“Whoa,” Brad intercepts me, disarming me. “He fucked up.”
“Yeah, he fucked up.” I look down at the dead cop in our club. Anger. “We’re fucked!”
“Not necessarily.”
I scowl in the direction of the voice and find the bloodied result of my handiwork before Volodya showed up. Higham struggles to his feet. “What are you saying?” I ask.
“I’m saying you clearly don’t trust me. And I’m saying I can solve this.”
“How?”
“We get her across town. I’ll have someone call in a burglary. Make sure Collins’s radio answers the callout.”
“And what do you want in return?” I ask. Never have I thought I’d get Higham onside. Then again, I don’t suppose I’ve left him much choice after the shootout at Winstable with the Poles.
“You leave Natalia alone.”
“Oh fuck,” I breathe. “You really are in love with her.”
He looks away. “I’ll find out where she got the information from to print the article.”
“You do that. And while you’re at it, you can get rid of the footage Collins was talking about that shows Beau shooting The Shark.”
He nods. “I’m feeling a little worn out, Danny.”
I laugh. “You cops all say that around this point in your careers.”
“What, when they reach fifty-ish?”
“No, Higham.” I drop my gun and leave. “When they meet me.”
Three o’clock comes and goes. Four o’clock. Five o-fucking-clock. “Where the fuck is she?” I yell, calling Bud on the gate once again.
“Nothing,” he confirms.
“Check the street. Any cars knocking around? Cops?” Anything that’s going to have her running?
“Quiet.”
“Fuck it!” I hang up and look at James. He shrugs. “Fat lot of fucking help you are.” I look at my watch. They’ll be coming back from the spa soon, and if Amber shows up late when the girls are here, there will be nothing I can do to save her. My phone rings, and I practically dive across my office to my desk. And curse some more when I see it’s Luis calling. And I remember . . .
I glance at James. Is he thinking what I’m thinking? He knocks back a vodka, the earlier shootout having chased away his hangover. Funny how a minor dabble with death does that. “Cancel,” he says. He is thinking what I’m thinking. We haven’t got time for an exchange right now. The club’s a graveyard, currently being cleaned up, Amber’s nowhere to be seen, and we have a dead cop on our hands.
I answer, not giving Luis a chance to ask. “I’m afraid we need to rearrange,” I say, working my way to the middle of the room and putting my phone on loudspeaker so everyone can hear just how pissed Luis will be.
“No, Black, you obviously didn’t hear me before. I need the guns and I need them now.”
“And you hear me now, Luis. I haven’t got time to deliver them. I’ll have your cash returned.” I cut the call and wait for the verdict.