Page 45 of Two Kinds of Stranger (Eddie Flynn #9)

Bloch

Bloch couldn’t tell if the sidewalk was coming up to meet her face, or if she was falling toward it.

She’d heard footsteps behind her on the street, once she’d left Raymond in the apartment, then felt something hit the back of her head, before she could turn round and face whoever was coming up on her so fast. There had been no pain, not yet, but it had been hard enough for her to collapse.

Something happens when you get hit just right, enough to rattle the brain inside the skull – your legs just give out.

Bloch wasn’t unconscious, but she knew she had been hit hard and managed to bring her arms up, protecting her face as she hit the sidewalk.

Her right forearm took the impact, jolting her shoulder and sending a freezing pain through her elbow that immediately brought gooseflesh to her skin.

She was still awake.

The pain in her arm lit up her nervous system. Cleared her head just as she felt the pain growing at the back of her head and the first trickle of blood on her neck.

She spun round, shoulders to the sidewalk, to face the man standing over her.

He was enormous, and wore a long, black leather coat that bulged from his shoulders and arms, as if he was wearing football pads.

But Bloch knew this wasn’t padding. She could tell by the large thick hands that reached down toward her.

He had a bald head and a beard. Scars crisscrossed his cheeks, and one long slash bisected his right eyebrow.

His name was Bruno Mont. The man who did wet work for Arthur Cross.

Mont knelt down, taking hold of Bloch’s coat to keep her on the ground, his left knee digging into her thighs.

He let go with his right hand, raised it and sent a massive blow toward Bloch’s face.

She managed to get her hands up to cover her head and felt her left arm go numb with the impact.

Instinctively, she snapped a right hand into his jaw, snapping his head back.

But she had no purchase, no power from lying flat on the sidewalk.

A second later, she convulsed as his huge fist drove into her side and Bloch heard her ribs snap.

She cried out. Reflex kicked in and her arm dropped to protect her side, leaving her face exposed.

A straight right to her mouth hammered the back of her head to the sidewalk. His hand was now in her jacket. He drew out her Magnum and tossed it.

Bloch’s vision blurred, stars dancing around Bruno Mont’s ugly smiling face.

She was hurt, dazed, but no longer surprised.

Bloch took a second to glance around, getting her bearings. She was beside a line of cars parked along the curb. A black BMW was beside her, just a few feet away, and her Jeep was just beyond it.

Bruno sat up, and reached into his jacket.

Bloch planted her heels on the ground and arched her back, forcing him off, unbalancing him so he fell off her, onto his ass.

She had two choices. Try to get to her feet, and deal with him toe to toe, with whatever weapon he had in his coat.

Or . . .

Bloch rolled onto her left side and swung her right leg as hard as she could into the passenger door of the BMW parked at the curb. A metallic thud from Bloch’s boot put a dent in the door, but thankfully something else happened.

The car’s alarm kicked in, deafening her. Lights flashing. Horn buzzing.

It was the best thing Bloch could do.

Raise the alarm.

She turned to see Bruno getting onto his feet, a blade in his right hand.

He looked left and right, checking the street. The car alarm would bring any passing eyes directly on him.

Bloch rolled onto her knees, tried to get her feet beneath her.

She was panting, her head was fried and her side was in agony.

Bruno took one step toward her, sent a boot into her stomach.

The force of the kick lifted Bloch’s body into the air and slammed her back into the BMW.

She landed face down on the sidewalk and heard Bruno’s boots again.

She flipped over onto her back, and lashed out wildly with her feet, kicking at Bruno, and felt her boot connect with his wrist. She heard the metallic sound of the knife landing some feet away.

He lashed out, sweeping her feet aside, and bent down, taking hold of her by the coat. Bloch made a grab for his wrists, then felt herself being lifted clean into the air, up, over Bruno’s head, and then down, fast.

She closed her eyes, locked her fingers behind her head and then screamed as Bruno planted her body through the windshield of the BMW.

She heard the sound of glass exploding, felt an unbelievable pain in her lower back, then found herself falling into the passenger seat, her legs draped over the steering wheel.

Over the sound of the alarm, she heard Bruno’s boots again, running away before somebody saw him.

Bloch tried to move, heard the glass clinking and rattling around her. She was cut, her right arm bleeding badly.

The effort was too much, and she collapsed as she heard the voices of passers-by running toward her. Male. Maybe two of them. And a female, calling a paramedic.

That’s the thing about New York City. No matter what shit goes down, there is always a stranger who will come and help.