Final justice - W.E.B. Griffin [4]
The fat guy went to the handset dangling from the wall phone, put it to his ear, listened a moment--just long enough to be able to determine with whom Mrs. Fernandez was speaking--then grabbed the coiled expansion cord and ripped it free from the telephone.
Then he looked at Mrs. Fernandez and said, "You fucking bitch!" and raised his revolver to arm's length and fired at her. The bullet struck her just below her left ear and exited her skull just above her right ear.
Her convulsing body slid down the wall until her knees were fully bent, and then it fell forward onto the floor.
The fat guy then brandished his revolver at the other kitchen workers. There were six: three men and three women. The fat guy had not seen Amal al Zaid when he had shoved the kitchen door open. He had done so with such force that it went past the spring stop, causing it to remain in the open position at a right angle to the doorway. Amal al Zaid was behind it, his back pressed against the wall, literally paralyzed by fear.
"In the fucking cooler, motherfuckers!" the fat guy said, waving his revolver and gesturing toward the walk-in refrigerator.
When the kitchen staff--stumbling in their haste, one of the women moaning in terror as she held both hands to her mouth--had gone inside the walk-in refrigerator, the fat guy walked quickly toward it, closed the door, and looked around the kitchen.
Holy Christ! Amal al Zaid thought. That crazy nigger's going to see me!
The fat guy found what he wanted--a wooden-handled sharpening steel--on a worktable right behind him, picked it up, and jammed it in the loops intended for a padlock in the refrigerator door. Then he turned and started for the kitchen door.
In the logical presumption that he would be seen by the guy who'd just shot Manuela, Amal al Zaid lost control of his bladder, and momentarily forgot that he was no longer a Christian.
Our Father, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name . . .
The fat guy looked to the left as he made his way across the kitchen, paused briefly to look down at the body of the goddamn bitch who had called the motherfucking cops, and then went through the open kitchen door into the dining area.
Amal al Zaid finally found the courage to look through the narrow crack between the door and the doorjamb, and saw that the fat guy was working his way though the dining room, collecting wallets and coin purses and watches and rings from the customers.
The other sonofabitch was at the cashier's station by the front door, taking the paper money from the cash register.
The fat guy finished robbing the four people at the banquette he was working, then walked toward the front of the restaurant.
"Let's get the fuck out of here," the fat guy said.
"Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck, it's a fucking cop!" the guy at the register said, gesturing through the window.
He squatted down behind the cash register. The fat guy slid into the banquette nearest to him on the right.
At 11:26, Officer Charlton entered the restaurant, holding his service pistol at his side. He glanced at the cashier's station, saw the man crouching behind it, and took a half-dozen steps around the cashier's station.
The guy at the cash register suddenly stood up, lunged at Officer Charlton, and wrapped his arms around him, preventing Officer Charlton from raising his pistol to fire it.
The fat guy jumped from the banquette, ran to them, shoved the muzzle of his pistol under Charlton's "bulletproof" vest, and fired.
Officer Charlton stiffened, then went limp and fell to the floor. The guy who had been behind the cash register then stepped over Charlton's body. Then he turned and fired twice at the body. Then he ran out of the restaurant onto South Broad Street after the fat guy.
After a moment, Amal al Zaid pushed himself off the wall and ran to the employees' locker room.
Shit! Oh,