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that I don't have to worry about anymore. He's dead, just like you're going to be in a few
minutes." Turning to the hired guns, Trent said, "Come on, boys, we've got work to do."
Willie moaned, searing agony shooting through every inch of his body. Bracing against the pain,
he took a deep breath and tried to yell. A mere whisper ghosted past his lips, "Noah!"
***
Noah made record time getting to the city. However, once there, traffic slowed, congested with
holiday shoppers. It was eight p.m. when he pulled into the parking garage of Willie's high-rise.
"Remember me?" he asked, barreling into the opulent lobby. The security guard, thankfully, was
the same one he'd met before.
The man nodded, but remained where he stood.
"I need to get up to Willie Carnell's apartment -- now!" Noah barked, halting when the guard
stepped from behind the desk to block his path.
"I can't, sir; not without clearance from Mr. Carnell." The guard's hand crept down to the
holstered weapon at his hip. Though much older, and smaller, than Noah, the man admirably
stood his ground. Noah didn't have time to deal with someone who took their job so seriously.
He blew out a shaky breath and tried to calm himself enough to reason. "Listen," he began,
desperation creeping into his voice. "Willie's in trouble, and if you don't let me up there, the
consequences will be on your head!'
The elevator chimed as it opened and three laughing young men -- two wielding semi-automatics
-- stepped out. The armed men stopped laughing; Trent didn't. "Ah, Mr. Everett, sadly, we meet
again. Seems I won't have to pay Ray after all if he missed. I should have known better than to
trust an amateur. Not to worry, though. While they may be overly theatrical, these two are
professionals. They won't miss." Turning to the two armed men, he said, "Take care of this.
Goodbye, Mr. Everett." Trent turned and made his way out the front door without a backward
glance.
Noah had a split second to see gun barrels rising before shots rang out. Reflexes kicking in, he
tackled the guard to the floor and shielded them both behind the scant protection of the reception
desk while the two punks opened fire.
The Angel of 13th Street - 113
He grabbed the motionless guard's gun before he had time to think. It was in the holster one
minute and in his hand the next. The .38 Special would be of little use against such superior
firepower, but was better than nothing. It had been ten years since he'd held a gun, and he'd never
actually shot anyone then. It was just a prop for when it was his turn to guard Stevie's lair. He
sent up a silent thank-you to Billy for ensuring that he at least knew how to shoot one.
When the ringing in his ears quieted, Noah listened with rising anger to the two punks.
"Hey! I got him!" boasted one.
"No, you didn't, you moron. I did. I get the bonus. You just shot the guard. Trent's not gonna pay
you for that," argued the other.
The first one laughed. "In your dreams. We both know I'm the better shot."
How could they banter so callously about taking a life? Noah wasn't about to tell them that they
were both wrong, that they'd missed him. Had they shot the guard? Still listening for the gunmen,
he turned his attention to the man lying so still beneath him, breathing a sigh of relief when he
found a strong, steady pulse. No visible blood marred the crisp, gray uniform. A more thorough
exam would have to wait for later.
Holding his breath, Noah listened to ever-nearing footsteps, trying to judge the gunmen's
positions. Thankfully, the marble floors made it impossible for the two to walk quietly. One,
wearing soft soles, squeaked, while the other's harder heels tapped a sharp staccato beat across
the floor. Noah had to act and soon, but with only six shots and an unknown gun at his disposal,
the odds weren't in his favor. Since they thought him dead, the element of surprise would be his
most effective weapon.
Suddenly, a tiny, electronic voice announced the arrived of an email, and Noah raised his head,
eyes locking on the computer that had, miraculously, escaped harm. He studied the screen, said a
prayer, and used the touch pad to send the elevator to the third floor. It went to the sixth. Okay,
maybe there was some damage, after all. However, when he directed it to the lobby, it complied.
He held his breath and waited, counting down the seconds. On the count of ten, he eased off the
security guard and slid across the marble to the far side of the desk, where hopefully, the thugs
weren't expecting him.
His muscles were screaming from the tension when the elevator finally chimed and the doors slid
open. Just like he'd hoped, his adversaries were distracted, their eyes turned to the empty elevator.
His initial shot was high; his next caught the first gunman in the chest. Eyes wide and panicked,
the man's hand instinctively squeezed the trigger of the semi-automatic, firing a rapid volley into
the second man, who screamed and fell to the floor in a pool of blood. The first gunman sank to
his knees and then collapsed in a heap onto the body of his fallen comrade.
Noah counted to ten again, wary eyes watching the fallen pair before returning to the still-
unconscious guard to check for injuries. Thankfully, the man wasn't shot, just out cold, otherwise
The Angel of 13th Street - 114
apparently unharmed. For the second time in as many days, Noah heard sirens in the distance.
Like before, he couldn't afford to wait -- Billy needed him.
He cautiously raised his head to peer over the desk. The carnage spread across the once elegant
foyer assured him that the would-be killers were no longer a threat. Wincing as pain shot through
his arm, he braced it and stood, bloody hand confirming that the wound had torn open again. He
slipped the gun into the waistband of his jeans, and then grabbed the edge of a tattered curtain
and pulled, ripping off a piece of dark velvet.
Pausing just long enough to catch his breath, he prayed the bullets hadn't damaged the
computer's circuitry too severely. On second thought, it might be better to use the manual
controls if he intended to use the elevator. Climbing the stairs wasn't a good idea; he'd be too
tired to fight after the long climb to Willie's apartment. He gingerly picked his way through the
mangled bodies of Trent's henchmen, barely making it inside the elevator before the doors closed.
He punched the button for the sixth floor. Floor one... two... three... Slowly, he counted off floors
as they lit up on the control panel. Surely the damned thing hadn't been this slow when he'd been
here on his birthday! Still, the delay gave him time to fashion a makeshift bandage from the
curtain material. When the doors reopened, he paused and listened, expecting another hail of [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]