Dead or Alive - Tom Clancy [265]
“Fuck you.”
The door burst open beside them. Silhouetted by the dim light from the pool hall, Chavez saw a figure standing a few feet back from the threshold. His hand came up, extended toward them. Chavez double-tapped him in the chest, and he fell back. Chavez kicked the door shut.
“Go, Dom.” He leveled his gun with Hadi and Lancia. “Move.”
At the mouth of the alley, a figure was running toward him. A gun muzzle flashed orange, then twice more. Chavez sidestepped behind the garbage cans and fired twice. The figure dodged to one side.
“Stairs,” Chavez ordered.
Prodding Lancia and Hadi along, Dom headed for the stairs. Chavez back-walked with them until he felt his shoulders bump into the wall, then turned and followed.
Charging up the steps on the heels of Dominic, Chavez reached the top and looked around. An alley stretched to the left and to the right; above them, overhanging balconies. Behind them and to the right, another rectangle set into another brick wall. Chavez gestured toward it. Dominic nodded and shoved Lancia and Hadi up the steps. Behind, Chavez heard the scuff of a shoe and looked back down the steps. Their pursuer was there, head peeking around the corner. Chavez pulled back, went still. After ten seconds of silence, the scuff of a shoe echoed up the steps.
Chavez tucked his gun into his belt, took two steps to the right, then reached above his head and snagged the balcony’s lower rail. He chinned himself up, then reached again, grabbing the upper rail and pulling himself over. He dropped flat on the balcony.
The footsteps continued coming: Step … pause. Step … pause … In the distance, sirens were warbling. Would gunshots be enough to get the police to come into the Rocinha? he wondered. He closed his eyes and listened, waiting for the echo to change.
Step … pause. The shoe scuffed again. No echo this time. The man passed beneath Chavez’s balcony, obviously trying to decide. Alley or stairs? He chose the stairs. Chavez quietly rose to his knees, braced his gun on the railing, and fired, putting a single round into the back of the man’s head.
He jumped down, ran to the body, did a hurried frisk, then charged up the stairs. Dominic was waiting at the top, crouched down behind a Dumpster with Lancia and Hadi. A hundred yards away, the alley opened into a parking lot faintly illuminated by streetlamps. From somewhere close by came the bouncing of a basketball and kids shouting back and forth.
“We’re down to two,” Chavez said.
“We’ll make due with these.”
Chavez dropped the items he’d taken from the dead man on the ground: passport, a wad of cash, a set of car keys. He picked up the keys and dangled them before Lancia and Hadi. “Which car, the Fiat or the Corcel?”
Neither man answered.
Dominic grabbed Hadi by the hair, jerked his head back, and jammed the barrel of his gun between his lips. Hadi resisted, clenching his teeth. Dominic took his opposite hand and slapped Hadi hard on the side of his windpipe. He gasped. Dominic jammed his gun into Hadi’s mouth.
“Five seconds and I’ll spray your brains down this alley.” Hadi didn’t respond. Dominic jammed the gun deeper. Hadi started retching. “Four seconds. Three seconds.”
Chavez watched his partner, watched his eyes. Facial expressions can be manufactured when necessary, but the eyes were a little trickier to get right. The look in Dominic’s eyes told Ding he was serious.
“Dom …”
“Two seconds …”
“Dom!” Chavez rasped.
Hadi was nodding, raising his hands in supplication. Dominic withdrew the gun, and Hadi said, “Ford Corcel.”
Lancia growled, “You’re a traitor.”
Dominic pointed the gun at Lancia’s left eye. “You’re next. Where’s it parked?”
Lancia didn’t respond.
“This time you get three seconds,” Dominic said, then shifted his gun, jamming it against Lancia’s knee. “Then a cane for life.”
“One block east of the pool hall, middle of the block on the south side.”
Chavez said to Dom, “Go