Page 29 of Puck
He clicked off, and I replaced the phone in my pocket. “Well, he seems like he’ll work out just fine,” I said to Colbie.
“Nice guy?”
I chuckled. “I hope not.”
Colbie frowned. “I don’t follow.”
“I don’t need aniceguy, I need acompetentguy. I need the kind of guy who can get hold of untraceable firearms. I need a guy who can dispose of corpses. I need a guy who knows what to do with a bunch of scared, innocent women who all speak different languages, kidnapped from who the fuck knows where.” I withdrew one of the pistols I’d taken from the guys in the panel van and set it on my leg between us. “Any guy who meets those criteria probably ain’t a nice guy, know what I’m sayin’?”
Colbie eyed the pistol. “I see what you’re saying.” Her gaze went to me. “So . . . are you a nice guy?”
I snorted. “Not by a long shot. Wasn’t even a nice kid, and only got meaner as I grew up.” I smirked at her. “Nice is really fuckin’ overrated, you ask me.” Sliding the pistol toward her, I met her eyes. “Ever use one of these?”
She nodded. “Once.”
“Cap someone?” I asked, my voice neutral.
She shrugged. “I dunno. It was . . . chaotic. Probably not, to be honest. I wasn’t really . . .” She trailed off, unsure how to finish her statement.
I knew what she meant, though. “In gun battles, the majority of shots fired miss. An untrained kid, scared, in a gangland shootout? I doubt you came within a dozen feet.” I overrode the objection I saw bubbling up. “You didn’t want to hurt anyone, you were just going along with what was in front of you. Doing what you had to do.”
She nodded. “I’d hoped to never be in that position again.”
“Don’t blame you, sweetheart.” I dropped my palm on her knee and squeezed. “You don’t want it, I sure as hell won’t think less of you. But if you want to keep this with you for protection, it’s yours.”
“You think I should?”
I shrugged. “I’m not gonna lie to you, shit could very well get worse before it gets better. This has been way too damn easy so far. I’m just offering it to you. Choice is yours.”
She stared at the heavy black .40. After a moment’s thought, she gingerly nudged it back toward me with an index finger. “I think I’ll let you do the shooting, if that’s okay. If it comes down to it, I’ll do what I have to, but if I don’t have to shoot anyone . . . I’d rather not.”
I slid the pistol back into my pocket. “Fair enough. I’ll do my damnedest to make sure you don’t have to use it, how about that?”
She smiled at me. “I would appreciate that.”
At that moment, my ever-wandering gaze latched onto a pair of men across the street, seventy-five yards away. The way they were eyeing me, the brisk, crispness of the way they walked, and the way both of their right hands remained shoved into the pockets of identical black windbreakers . . .
“Layla,” I snapped, raising my voice just enough to be heard. “Incoming.”
“I see ’em.”
“I’ll handle it, but be ready,” I said. I nudged Colbie with my knee. “Go over and sit by the others. Follow Layla’s lead.”
She didn’t hesitate but also didn’t obviously hurry. She stood up, strolled over to where Layla and the others were, and found a seat on the arm of the bench, immediately engaging in conversation.
The two men were close. Their eyes flicked from me to Temple and back, and then scanned the rest of the park. One of them said something to the other, gesturing with a free hand, and the two men separated.
The last thing I wanted was a public shootout, especially with so many innocent people around—aside from the nineteen women in my care, there were other pedestrians on the sidewalks, cars passing back and forth, bicyclists. All I had aside from the pistols was the three-inch folding blade I’d taken from Anton on the plane, which was better than nothing but not much against two armed assailants.
I was sitting on the bench closest to the street, so I remained where I was for the moment. I cast a quick glance behind me at the park, doing a headcount and a scan of the layout: the park was a rectangular lot between two rows of buildings, with a walkway bisecting the rectangle from the sidewalk to the center of the park, where there was a brick-paved courtyard, three rows of benches arranged in a semicircle around the center, facing in. A giant oak tree served as the centerpiece of the park, with a few smaller saplings around the perimeter of the park. The sides and rear of the park were formed by brick walls, the back and sides of buildings, with only the street side facing open. Most of the women were sitting on the benches closest to the oak tree.
As the two men approached the park, crossing the street, I stood up and slid my hands into my pockets. I had the folding knife in my hand, thumb ready to flick the blade open. The men had separated far enough apart that their tactic was obvious: one was going for me, the other for Temple. I decided to trust Layla to handle the one headed her way, and focused my attention on my immediate opponent.
He was a similar height to me but slimmer by about thirty pounds, and probably a decade younger, although the coldness in his expression made me think he was no novice to these kinds of situations. I stood my ground and let him approach. He got within six feet and then stopped, withdrawing his hand from the windbreaker pocket. He had a nine, finger on the trigger.
“Hands,” he barked, in a thick accent. “No funniness or you die.”
I kept my expression neutral as I raised my hands slowly. Of course, I had the little folding knife in my right fist, and it was just long enough that it didn’t quite fit in my fist. His eyes went to my hand, and he jerked his chin at the hint of black peeking out from the bottom of my fist.