Page 22
Story: Pirate (Fargo Adventures 8)
“Flattery will get you—”
“Everywhere?”
“A cell phone,” she whispered as she accessed the camera feature, then handed it to him.
Sam set the tire iron on the ground, then squatted down as he held the camera close to the floor. He angled it about, using the lens to see in, as he took a movie of the interior. After about a minute, he rose, stepped back, and played the recording.
“There,” he said, pointing. They saw three men leaning on a workbench, at least two with guns in hand, looking down at something—probably the map book that Remi had turned over to Bree. The picture was small but clear.
“Our two fake cops from the hotel,” Remi said.
“And our robber from the bookshop.”
Wait? Or move in? He weighed the risks. One gun and a tire iron against three armed men. So the odds sucked. But Sam had Remi, and when it came to capable partners, he’d take her over some brainless thug any day. He grabbed the tire iron and pulled Remi away from the doorway to the other side of the vehicle. “First thing,” he whispered, “is we get Bree out of this car.”
His thought was simply to smash the car window—until he glanced over and saw the red light flashing on the dash.
“Plan B?” Remi asked.
Actually, his initial plan might still work. The vehicle looked like a base model, one he hoped didn’t come with what was often an added feature to the standard motion alarm—a glass-breakage alarm. He dug out his little knife and gave it to Remi and she put it in her pocket. “You cover me while I break the window. If the alarm doesn’t go off, wait until I’m at the back of the SUV before you unlock it. If it does go off, they’re going to run right toward us. You may only have seconds to cut her ties and get out of here while I rip off a few shots to slow them down.”
She moved by the front fender, aiming his gun toward the warehouse door.
Sam stood in front of the driver’s window, hefting the tire iron. Vehicle safety glass was designed to shatter yet hold together under impact—which meant he had to hit it in the right spot to get it to break. He’d have one chance. The alarm would definitely be set off by movement. He pulled back, then rammed the tip of the iron into the lower right corner. It shattered, diamond-like bits raining down onto the driver’s seat.
Silence. So far, so good. He set down the tire iron, took the gun from Remi, and hurried to the back of the SUV. When he was in position, his aim on the door, he nodded at her.
She reached in, popped the locks. The moment she opened the back door, a deafening wail filled the air. From the corner of his eye, he saw Remi ducking down, trying to cut Bree’s ties.
Sam braced himself. The warehouse door swung open. A figure burst out, his gun aimed at the SUV and Remi.
“Hey!” Sam cried. His .357 revolver barked. The shot struck the man in the face and he went down. Something flew from his hand. The car keys.
Sam dove, scooped them up, then stood, shouting, “Remi. Keys!”
He flung them over the top of the car.
She caught them, then pushed the back door shut, opened the driver’s door, and slid in. The engine revved to life. Sam jumped into the passenger seat. He slammed his door shut just as the other two men raced out of the building, firing at the SUV.
Remi hit the gas. The tires screeched as she backed perilously close to the edge of the dock.
“Remi!” he snapped, bracing himself.
“I see it.” She turned the wheel, braking hard as she threw it into drive.
Sam looked back. The second man was aiming at them. Sam shot first and saw the third man fall and clutch his left knee.
Remi jabbed the gas pedal to a stop. The sharp report of bullets hitting metal pierced their eardrums. “Come on,” she said as though urging the SUV to move faster.
The tailgate window shattered. “Stay down.” He fired through the broken rear window. The two men dove for cover.
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Remi slid as low as she could, not slowing until she reached the end of the street. She turned the corner, racing down the same road they’d arrived on, the first, fat drops of rain splatting against the windshield.
In the distance, they saw the flashing lights of the deputy’s patrol car, then heard the faint sound of the siren as he sped toward them.
Remi pulled over, and they got out of the SUV, waving at the deputy.
“Everywhere?”
“A cell phone,” she whispered as she accessed the camera feature, then handed it to him.
Sam set the tire iron on the ground, then squatted down as he held the camera close to the floor. He angled it about, using the lens to see in, as he took a movie of the interior. After about a minute, he rose, stepped back, and played the recording.
“There,” he said, pointing. They saw three men leaning on a workbench, at least two with guns in hand, looking down at something—probably the map book that Remi had turned over to Bree. The picture was small but clear.
“Our two fake cops from the hotel,” Remi said.
“And our robber from the bookshop.”
Wait? Or move in? He weighed the risks. One gun and a tire iron against three armed men. So the odds sucked. But Sam had Remi, and when it came to capable partners, he’d take her over some brainless thug any day. He grabbed the tire iron and pulled Remi away from the doorway to the other side of the vehicle. “First thing,” he whispered, “is we get Bree out of this car.”
His thought was simply to smash the car window—until he glanced over and saw the red light flashing on the dash.
“Plan B?” Remi asked.
Actually, his initial plan might still work. The vehicle looked like a base model, one he hoped didn’t come with what was often an added feature to the standard motion alarm—a glass-breakage alarm. He dug out his little knife and gave it to Remi and she put it in her pocket. “You cover me while I break the window. If the alarm doesn’t go off, wait until I’m at the back of the SUV before you unlock it. If it does go off, they’re going to run right toward us. You may only have seconds to cut her ties and get out of here while I rip off a few shots to slow them down.”
She moved by the front fender, aiming his gun toward the warehouse door.
Sam stood in front of the driver’s window, hefting the tire iron. Vehicle safety glass was designed to shatter yet hold together under impact—which meant he had to hit it in the right spot to get it to break. He’d have one chance. The alarm would definitely be set off by movement. He pulled back, then rammed the tip of the iron into the lower right corner. It shattered, diamond-like bits raining down onto the driver’s seat.
Silence. So far, so good. He set down the tire iron, took the gun from Remi, and hurried to the back of the SUV. When he was in position, his aim on the door, he nodded at her.
She reached in, popped the locks. The moment she opened the back door, a deafening wail filled the air. From the corner of his eye, he saw Remi ducking down, trying to cut Bree’s ties.
Sam braced himself. The warehouse door swung open. A figure burst out, his gun aimed at the SUV and Remi.
“Hey!” Sam cried. His .357 revolver barked. The shot struck the man in the face and he went down. Something flew from his hand. The car keys.
Sam dove, scooped them up, then stood, shouting, “Remi. Keys!”
He flung them over the top of the car.
She caught them, then pushed the back door shut, opened the driver’s door, and slid in. The engine revved to life. Sam jumped into the passenger seat. He slammed his door shut just as the other two men raced out of the building, firing at the SUV.
Remi hit the gas. The tires screeched as she backed perilously close to the edge of the dock.
“Remi!” he snapped, bracing himself.
“I see it.” She turned the wheel, braking hard as she threw it into drive.
Sam looked back. The second man was aiming at them. Sam shot first and saw the third man fall and clutch his left knee.
Remi jabbed the gas pedal to a stop. The sharp report of bullets hitting metal pierced their eardrums. “Come on,” she said as though urging the SUV to move faster.
The tailgate window shattered. “Stay down.” He fired through the broken rear window. The two men dove for cover.
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Remi slid as low as she could, not slowing until she reached the end of the street. She turned the corner, racing down the same road they’d arrived on, the first, fat drops of rain splatting against the windshield.
In the distance, they saw the flashing lights of the deputy’s patrol car, then heard the faint sound of the siren as he sped toward them.
Remi pulled over, and they got out of the SUV, waving at the deputy.
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