Elisha's Bones - Don Hoesel [70]
“He knows where they are, Dr. Hawthorne. That makes you a liability.”
I half process Brown’s reaction to that pronouncement.
“Then why not fire me and let me get back to teaching? How could I possibly be a threat to Mr. Reese?”
At this, Hardy laughs, and I am again watching the gun move.
“I’m sure you’ve realized by now that there are forces at work larger than one man—even if that man happens to be Mr. Reese.”
The man with the machine gun glances toward the street, then at his boss, and I can read the question in his eyes. He wants to know why this is taking so long.
So someone else is directing Gordon’s paces? But Hardy will not be baited, and I’m getting the impression that he’s on the verge of giving the nod to his hired hand. My mind frantically searches for something that will prolong this vignette, and it seizes on the first thing that promises to throw an unknown into the mix.
“How many teams does Reese have working on this?” I ask. “And are you supposed to kill all of them, too?”
This time I’m watching for Brown’s reaction and am rewarded with something resembling realization. Hardy can feel it, even with Brown behind him; his eyes become slivers. But Brown’s response is more muted than I’d hoped, meaning my gambit has crossed the line meant to assure self-preservation without a satisfactory payoff. I’m left scrambling for something that can halt what seems inevitable, and hoping it will be painless, when all eyes shift to a point over my left shoulder.
“You didn’t answer the question, Mr. Hardy,” Sarah says, walking into the alley a few steps past where I stand. “Once you’re done with Jack and Dr. Habilla, are you going to kill us, too?”
She stops near the man with the machine gun, and I almost feel pity for him as he wonders what he should do in response to this woman who is standing close enough to reach out and put her hand on the weapon.
Hardy forces a laugh, perhaps realizing he’s allowed things to go off the rails. It’s never wise to foster suspicion in your allies when one of said allies is standing behind you. I see that Brown has taken a step forward with Sarah’s arrival, and that his nearness makes Hardy uncomfortable.
“You’ll get the standard pink slip, Ms. Ward,” Hardy answers, but his tone is unconvincing.
“That doesn’t reassure me as much as you might think,” Sarah says.
From my angle, I can’t see her face when she looks over at machine-gun guy, but his response is a sheepish smile—and the lowering of the gun by the smallest of increments.
It takes me by surprise when she lunges for him, wrapping both hands around the gun barrel and forcing it to the side. But she gives up a hundred pounds to the Ethiopian mercenary, and the man yanks the gun toward his body, bringing Sarah with it. He quickly releases a hand to wrap his arm around her shoulders, then brings his forehead down on her nose and there’s the sick sound of popping cartilage.
I will my own feet to move and join the one-sided fight, forcing the gun aside now that he has only one hand on it, and popping him in the face as hard as I can with my free hand. In my peripheral vision I see Espy struggling in Hardy’s grip. With a snarl, the Ethiopian releases Sarah and she falls to the dirt. The man then shoves me away. He outweighs me too, and it doesn’t take him long to clear enough space to get his hands back on the gun. I use all of my strength to keep him from bringing the weapon back around.
From deeper in the alley I hear a gun discharge, the sound deafening in the confined space, and I feel white-hot fear. I throw my shoulder into my opponent’s sternum and I feel his grip loosen on the machine gun. As he doubles over, I swipe at his temple with an elbow, connecting with a loud thud. He drops to his knees and, as he slides from view, I see what’s playing out beyond. Brown is lying facedown, blood pooling around his head. I watch as Hardy turns back toward Esperanza, and is met with a solid kick to the crotch, which sends him to the ground.
The man I’m dancing with, although dazed, is still holding the gun.