Spares - Michael Marshall Smith [55]
I shoved my way through panicking people, dragging Suej behind me. Nearly clattered along in the rear. In the storeroom, I stooped without slowing to pick up what little possessions we had.
“How do you get out the back?”
Nearly shrugged. “Search me. You think I spent a lot of time in here, making friends with the tomatoes?”
Not helpful, and I considered telling her so, but then Suej pointed to a far corner. “There’s a door back there, behind the crates.”
I opened it carefully, gun ready. No one outside. I stuck my head out to check that the service alley was empty, and then stepped out, motioning vigorously to the girls.
Alley for about fifty yards, then a turn behind a burger franchise. I hadn’t gotten the cheeseburgers I’d been planning, but I’d forgotten most of the combinations anyway. Some other time. The suballey fed into a twisting street which had been built as a shopping nest. The stores were mainly closed and we hurtled past windows packed with goodies, me wondering where exactly we were going to go. Off the floor was first priority, but what then? Mal’s was no help—the guy with the blue lights knew exactly where that was.
What if Nanune hadn’t been the first to die? It wasn’t that I didn’t care about her, even love her in some strange way, but I’d spent so much more time with Suej and David and jenny. If anything happened to them I knew I was never going to be able to forgive myself.
At the end of the shopping street came a bigger road, and I strode across it, weaving through straggling pedestrians. There’d been no sound of feet behind us, and I judged that if Vinaldi’s men hadn’t had the sense to watch back doors they weren’t going to have guys posted this far out.
Wrong. As we reached the other side I heard the sound of a shot, and a bullet whined within inches of us. Nearly shrieked and I dragged the two of them into an alley on the other side. I was used to doing this kind of thing by myself, not with a couple of passengers. I debated letting go of one of them and going for my gun; decided that speed was a better option. Footsteps slapped along the alley behind us, the guy occasionally shouting my name. Strange, unless they wanted to take me in alive. Should have been reassuring, but it wasn’t. I didn’t want to be taken in at all.
At the bottom of the alley, another short street. At the end of it an elevator. No line, and the door standing wide open—God on my side for once. Ragged breathing on either side of me; Nearly’s high heels hardly an advantage. As we stumbled into the street I shouted for the girls to keep their heads down. Kinks in the alley had protected us from shots. Now the guy had a clear sight. We dived across the road bent double, the doors tantalizingly close now; another shot whistled past and spanged into the metal of the elevator shaft.
“Get in!” I shouted. They jumped into the carriage and I turned to face the man. He was halfway up the street and slowing down, gun held up in a safe position.
“Randall,” he shouted. “There’s nowhere you can go.”
“There’s always somewhere,” I muttered, pulling my own gun out. The guy had stopped completely now, and was standing about ten yards down the street. “You can’t stop me. He wants me in one piece.”
“If I take back your liver he’ll be happy,” the man said, but I knew he was lying. We wouldn’t be having this conversation otherwise. “Come away from the elevator or I’m going to blow your cock off. The bitches can go—they’re no use to anyone.”
Nearly stuck her head out of the door. “Fuck off, maggot dick!” she shouted cheerily. Not helpful, I thought for the second time. Impugning hoods’ masculinity is like poking rattlers with a stick.
The guy aimed at my head, evidently deciding he could just say I resisted too hard. I pulled back the hammer on my own gun, backing toward the elevator. Watching the guy’s eyes, seeing him make his calculations.
“Press a button,” I whispered, still holding my gun steadily on the other guy’s head. I heard a click behind me, but remained still for another moment—before suddenly