The Devil's Right Hand - J. D. Rhoades [85]
Bam-bam-bam. Bam-bam-bam.
Keller saw a Hispanic man in dark slacks and a black silk shirt emerging from the passenger side of the pickup. He was holding a submachine gun. As Keller watched, he raised the gun and squeezed off another burst. The man obviously knew what he was doing with the weapon; he squeezed off perfect three-round bursts, rather than wasting ammunition with full automatic fire. He fired another burst over the bed of the pickup at Marie’s car. Huge rents appeared in the metal and the glass exploded from the side windows. Marie went down behind the car. When the man turned back towards Keller, however, she popped back up and squeezed off a shot. The man screamed something in Spanish and fired again.
“Come on, come on goddamnit, where is it...”The voice seemed to come from near Keller’s feet. He looked down. DeWayne was on his knees beside the body of the slain guard. His bound hands were busy at the man’s belt. He was looking for the keys, Keller realized. He saw DeWayne locate the key ring snapped to the dead man’s belt. He gave a hysterical giggle of triumph and yanked the ring free.
Keller dropped to his knees beside DeWayne. He heard another shot from Marie’s side of the street, followed by an answering rattle of machine-gun fire.
“Unlock my cuffs, DeWayne,” Keller said.
“No way, man,” DeWayne said. He fumbled through the keys with his bound hands, searching for the right sized key. Finally he found it. He held it up triumphantly, clasped between his thumb and forefinger. “If anyone gets outta here, it’s gonna be me.”
“DeWayne,” Keller said. “You can’t reach the lock on your own cuffs. Unlock mine first and I’ll unlock yours.”
DeWayne actually tried it for a second, but could not bring his wrists holding the key around far enough to reach the lock. There was a wail of far-off sirens, coming nearer.
“We haven’t got time for this,” Keller said through clenched teeth. He held out his hands. “Come on. Do it.”
“Okay, man,” DeWayne said, fumbling the key into the lock. “But you’d better...” he didn’t have time to finish. As the cuff came off Keller’s right hand, he grabbed DeWayne by the throat. He used the momentum to drive the smaller man backwards into the side of the patrol car, slamming his head into the metal hard enough to leave a dent. DeWayne’s eyes unfocused and his body relaxed. Keller rose to a crouch, grabbed DeWayne’s belt with his free hand, and tossed him into the back seat of the patrol car. He ran around to the driver’s side and yanked it open. The ripped and torn body of the driver lolled halfway out of the door. Keller gave a yank on the man’s shirt and the body spilled bonelessly into the roadway, shattered pieces of safety glass spilling around him like diamonds. Keller slid behind the wheel. The glass of the windshield was a spider web of cracks, but still mostly intact. Keller could see the man with the machine gun. He was still fixated on Marie, who kept up her intermittent fire from her side of the street.
The sirens were getting closer. Marie checked her dwindling supply of ammo and hoped they would make it in time. She wiped the sweat from her eyes with the sleeve of her suit jacket. The silk sleeve came away stained. She was surprised to see a light streak of blood mixed with the sweat. Must have caught some flying glass, she thought. Fuck it. I hate this court suit anyway.
She had been on her way to the courthouse to testify at Keller’s arraignment. She came to the intersection and glanced off to her left. For a moment, her eyes had not registered the bizarre scene in the street–the sheriff’s patrol car stopped with its windows blown out, the big black pickup parked in front. Then she had looked closer and her blood went cold. There was blood all over the patrol car. Keller and Puryear were standing behind and slightly to one side of it, their hands shackled. A curly-haired man with a gun was standing in front of them. Marie’s hand went instinctively