Killer Instincts v5

by Jack Badelaire

  Half an hour later, I was downtown. I stopped at a nearby Starbucks, bought a venti decaf iced coffee, and found myself a good stoop about thirty feet from the entrance to the apartment building, with a good line of sight to both the front entrance and the parking garage.

  I wasn't really sure why I was waiting here. I doubted Julian would just walk past me, stop to tie his shoe, and give me the opportunity to pop him in the ear. On the other hand, If I didn't stake out his apartment now, he'd be staking out one of the Paggianos while I moved in for the kill. I might be in for quite a wait, but it was better than doing nothing.

  Hours passed as I sat on concrete steps across the street from Julian’s apartment. I saw a number of people coming and going from the front door, and cars coming and going from the garage, but none of them were my guy, and I didn’t see any black Audis. There was nothing in the information I had been provided to indicate that he used disguises. Considering his long career as a contract killer, that attested to a great deal of skill on his part, or a great deal of incompetency on the part of law enforcement.

  Finally, after four hours of mind-numbing observation, I saw my man driving up to the garage entrance. He was in the Audi and wearing shades, but his identity was unmistakable. He drove up, hit the door with his remote, and drove inside. Earlier that afternoon, I had timed the moment from when a car was out of my line of sight, to when the garage gate completely closed. It was a window of about seven seconds. I knew that if I planned it just right, I could sprint across the street, down the ramp, and roll under the gate with perhaps a second to spare. It wasn’t much, but just enough time to get inside and catch Julian coming out of his car.

  So as soon as his bumper cleared the gate, I stood up and hustled across the street. By the time I got to the edge of the ramp, Julian's bumper was going around the inside corner of the garage, and the gate was about halfway down. I dropped, rolled, and slipped under the edge of the gate with two feet to spare.

  There was no surveillance camera at the ramp, something I’d noticed after a couple of walk-bys earlier that afternoon. No camera meant that even though there was a concierge at the building’s front entrance, he wasn't watching the parking garage entrance, and if he wasn't watching that entrance, I doubted there would be camera security within the garage itself. It worked in my favor, and was probably one of the reasons Julian would pick this building. He could drive in and out at all hours without anyone observing him, something that’s almost impossible when you've got a prolonged stay at a hotel.

  Once inside the garage - locked in really, since I had no easy way of opening the gate - it was time to put on my game face, pull on my latex gloves, and get to work. I glanced around the corner of the inner ramp. The garage appeared to be two levels, the one I was on, essentially the first basement level, and a second, sub-basement level below me that was accessed by going around on a ramp. If I were Julian, I'd want to be on the first level. It’d be faster to get to my car, faster to get out of the garage, and less time between vehicle and the interior of the building.

  Which meant I had to move and move fast. I walked quietly down the ramp, scanning right and left looking for the black Audi. The exit leading into the apartment building proper was in the left corner, but no one was moving towards it. Either I had missed my chance and he was already inside, or he hadn't gotten out of his car yet.

  Or maybe I was already being played.

  The sensation struck me before I knew what it was. A tightening of the scalp underneath my wig, the prickling of my skin along my arms and across my neck, an eerie tightness between my shoulder blades. I felt my body flooding with adrenaline and my heart jumped into my throat, and I dropped to the oil-stained concrete ramp a split second before I heard two quick coughing sounds from my left, the sound of a suppressed pistol. I registered the whining sounds the flattened, spinning slugs made as they ricocheted off the concrete post to my right, and I heard one of them crack a windshield nearby.

  I had followed the lion into the cave, hoping to catch him napping. Instead, he was springing at me from the dark, fangs bared and claws outstretched.

  I knew I was fucked.

  NINTEEN

  Options, options. I can't believe in the no-win scenario. Hours of war games, if this then that. I needed to take back what little initiative I could. Julian would be coming for me in moments. Only the edge of the ramp, a few inches higher than my body, kept him from making the kill shot. I could tell he was off to my left, as the bullets had passed me and impacted to my right, so I drew the Beretta and poked it over the edge of the ramp. Working the trigger as fast as I could, I fired off six shots, half the magazine, in a couple of seconds as I dug in with my toes and got my weight onto my free hand.

  Then it was time to make a break for it. I sprung up as fast as I could, bent double, almost falling over trying to take off at a dead sprint and crouch at the same time. I was trying to get myself behind a Ford Escape parked at my one o’clock about twenty feet away, something big enough to soak up some lead. I laid down covering fire as I ran, not bothering to look where I was shooting. I just pointed the pistol to my left and emptied it as I bolted, keeping my eyes where I wanted to go.

  Three more shots snapped air past me as I ran, but I made it behind the SUV without catching a bullet. Dropping the magazine and catching it before it hit the ground (and letting Julian know I was dry), I stuffed it in my pocket and slapped home a fresh one. I was panting, sweating, shaking. I’d been shot at out in the desert, but that was nothing compared to this. There I was the hunter, here I was the prey.

  What was Julian going to do? What would I do if I were him? I would circle around, work the flanks with my back to the garage wall, try to spot my target and get him in my sights before he could do the same to me. Fair enough. I knew I needed to perform the same maneuver; it would just be a matter of who managed to circle in on the other first, like two jets in a dogfight, each trying to out-turn and out-climb the other to line up a shot.

  I considered my options; left or right. Moving to my right, I would reach the doorway that led into the apartment building after two cars. I didn't want to do that, because it meant I'd have to cover at least a dozen feet out in the open. Moving left, I'd be shifting slightly backwards and away from where I thought Julian was, but there were half a dozen cars in that direction before I reached the corner of the garage.

  Time to commit and take action. Bracing against the side of the Escape, I kicked off and jumped, sliding across the hood of the BMW behind me before I flipped and rolled over onto the other side of the sedan. Almost before my heels cleared the hood, I felt and heard the ringing of slugs punching into the luxury auto's body. Julian had me zeroed in and would be shooting at me the moment I moved. But the BMW's windows were tinted, and taking a risk, I peered through the passenger-side window, looking diagonally through the car to scope out the other side of the garage.

  I spotted Julian just as he slipped around the body of a Jeep Cherokee and moved to his left by one car, hunkering down behind the trunk of a Lexus. He moved fast and smooth, like I'd seen Richard move when we fought out in the desert. Julian had kept his gun pointed in my direction but didn't waste ammo laying down covering fire. Instead, he moved fast and low, getting into his firing position while I was getting settled behind my car. I saw his weapon for the first time; a compact black automatic, probably a nine millimeter, with a suppressor fitted to the muzzle.

  For the first time, I knew where Julian was, and now I had the chance to return fire effectively. While windshield glass is designed to stay intact, laminated with a layer of transparent plastic inside the glass, the side windows are made differently, designed to shatter into tiny pieces too small to do serious harm. With this in mind, I shifted myself so I was braced against the next car, a dark blue Nissan of some sort, and taking careful aim, I fired a round into the side window of the BMW's front passenger door, angling it a little so it would shatter the rear passenger window on the other side.
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  Although my pistol was firing a rather puny bullet it was enough to do the job. Both windows shattered into tiny glass pebbles. I followed up as quickly as I could, firing half a dozen rounds towards where Julian was hiding. A taillight shattered and the rear window of the Lexus starred from the impact of a bullet, and I could see paint chips fly from metal where the slugs punched into the car body. Julian's hand poked out, and before I could realign, he fired off six shots in rapid succession. The body of the BMW shuddered as the bullets impacted, and one slug tore through both rear doors, punching a neat hole in the door of the Nissan behind me.

  His gun was another advantage Julian had over me. The nine millimeter was able to perforate the light cover of a car door, something I wasn't confident my .32 could accomplish. Shifting the Beretta to my left hand, I drew the .38 snubnose with my right. Although not a powerhouse by any means, it was loaded with high-velocity hollowpoints designed to get the most out of the revolver's short barrel. With the heavier, faster bullets, I hoped the .38 could put a hole through a car trunk and have enough steam left over to perforate my rival.

  "You're one lucky motherfucker, you know that?”

  Julian was hollering at me from across the parking garage. I didn't answer.

  “I had the drop on you, had you cold,” he shouted. “Another half step and you'd have caught a bullet through the head. Coming down the ramp like that, were you just taking a fucking stroll? That was some rookie shit."

  He was trying to distract me while he came up with a plan. I realized he knew he was as pinned down as I was, and while his gun might pack more of a wallop than mine, shooting through a car body wasn’t easy. Both of us had pistols poorly suited for this kind of duel. Moreover, I was halfway through my second magazine, but Julian had fired at least a magazine's worth of bullets, and I doubted he was burdened with lots of ammunition. Finally, there was the inevitability that a bystander would come along, a needless complication both of us wanted to avoid.

  What I needed was a better angle. Right now the cars Julian was using for cover were parked not across from me, but perpendicular to me, so we were at a forty-five degree angle to one another. If I could work my way down the line of cars and fire from the end of my row, I would have the better line of sight. I checked how close to the wall the Nissan was parked, and saw there was perhaps a six inch gap; just enough to squeeze my shins through.

  Shuffling back with my head down and my gun trained in Julian's direction, I worked my way to the front of the Nissan and slowly, carefully maneuvered between the front bumper and the wall, careful not to jostle the car and give Julian any sign of what I was trying. Although the remaining tinted windows of the BMW kept my movements mostly hidden, I was in a vulnerable position, and didn't want to get caught there. A couple seconds of work and I slipped free, now between the Nissan and a Range Rover. The Rover was parked close to the wall, but I did notice that with some effort, I could crawl under the body.

  I dropped to the ground, balancing on the tips of my toes and fingers, and I peered under the Nissan as I prepared to slide under the Range Rover. Just in the nick of time, I spotted a pair of dark leather shoes sprint from where Julian had been to the other end of my row of cars. I realized I had been out-gamed yet again. Julian was taking the fight to me, while I was backing off and trying to come at him from another direction. I had tucked my Beretta in its holster and the .38 back into my pocket in order to maneuver under the Rover without making any noise. Now, I scrambled for the butt of the automatic and drew it just as I heard a loud metallic thunkthunk thunk. I realized Julian was leaping from the hood of one car to the next, racing at me.

  Caught halfway under the Rover and at an awkward angle, I fired two shots at the wall, hoping to ricochet a slug at him or make him slow down, but he didn't buy it. Several shots slapped into the side of the Rover above my head. In spite of myself, I flinched down rather than keep my head up and ready to take the shot. I saw the muzzle of the suppressor just before Julian's head appeared behind it, and he fired at me the moment he had a sight picture.

  Sometimes, you just get lucky. I managed to get off a shot, and I saw the bullet rip up the side of his sleeve just before he fired three times. The first shot slammed into the Beretta, wrenching it from my hand, and the second and third shots punched through the body of the Rover just inches from my right ear, paint chips spraying me. Julian jumped into the air to land between the cars and finish me off, and I did the only thing I could think of: I crawled under the Range Rover as fast as I could. On the other side, I pulled the .38 snub nose from my pocket and fired three shots, spacing them out along the body of the Rover in the hopes of a lucky hit.

  Unfortunately for me, Julian wasn't standing on the other side of the Rover. If it hadn't been for movement reflected in the rear bumper of the Volvo next to me, caught out of the corner of my eye, I would have been dead then and there. But I saw the distorted reflection of Julian coming around the rear of the Range Rover, low and fast, and I fired at him, just an instant too soon. The bullet punched through the rear corner of the Rover inches from his face. I hoped it was enough to disorient him so when he came around I had him dead to rights with my last bullet.

  But again my lack of experience came into play. He saw me lining up out of the corner of his eye, and with the gun in his right hand, his left hand shot out and slapped the revolver aside just as I pulled the trigger, putting the last .38 slug through the side window of the Rover and emptying the pistol. His own gun came around, lining up with my face. In desperation, I stepped in close and shot my left knee into his belly, my left forearm going for his throat. Julian took the knee hard, but shifted away so my forearm slammed into his right shoulder instead.

  Playtime was definitely over. Julian's left fist rocketed in and I saw stars from a crosswise hook-shot to the side of my head. I staggered, trying to chop at him with the empty revolver, but Julian caught my arm before I could connect, and taking a page from my book, slammed me in the right side with his own knee, pulling me into the blow by my arm and adding force to the impact. It was a far better move, with a lot more power than I'd served up to him. The wind exploded out of me, and I staggered back, reeling against the Volvo. As I bounced off the car and tried to steady myself, Julian snapped his foot out and drove his toes into my gut. What little breath remained in my lungs exploded out of me.

  I dropped to my hands and knees, the empty revolver clattering away.

  I was done.

  Sorry Mom and Dad. Sorry Danielle. I got cocky. Save a seat for me.

  I looked up. The muzzle of Julian's suppressor was a foot from my face. Able to get a good look at Julian up close for the first time, I saw he was handsome, but there was a cold, dead quality to his eyes that gave it all away. He wore black Oxfords, a trim black suit, starched white shirt, and a pearl-gray tie, with silver cufflinks and a tie clip. A stainless steel Omega watch hung from his wrist. His pistol was a matte black SIG P228, compact and deadly. Without the gun, he could have walked into any office in the Financial District and no one would have batted an eyelash. He was the spitting image of a young, affluent, predatory executive.

  Julian was smirking at me as he savored his victory.

  "Next time, spend some money on a better wig. I saw that fake the moment I turned the street corner. You look like one of those Beastie Boys in their Sabotage video."

  I coughed, but didn't say anything. I wasn't going to give him any chit-chat.

  Julian took a harder look at me, his eyes slightly narrowed, and a grin split his face.

  "Oh, hah! You're the kid! The Lynch boy. The one who got away, in Paris."

  He started chuckling. I said nothing.

  "This is fucking rich! When I heard about DiMarco, I figured a crime hit. When I heard about Pauly, saw the news reports, I thought damn, that was a real piece of work! Shotgun in broad daylight, you turned the inside of that Caddy into a butcher shop. But shit, you're just a fucking child!"

  I just glared at him
, saying nothing. Julian shrugged.

  "Hey, you had a good run. You bagged five of 'em. If it wasn't for your little girlfriend, I don't think I would have thought to keep an eye peeled. Might not have noticed you, even with that bad wig. You might have had a chance today."

  Girlfriend. That got my attention.

  "Sophia," I said.

  Julian's mouth split into a leer.

  "Yeah, the fine latina you sent after me. She should have been a little more careful silhouetting herself along a rooftop. I spotted her two days ago. Her and I had a nice long talk last night."

  My blood went cold. The expression must have been obvious, because Julian's grin stretched wider.

  "Oh yeah, a nice long talk. She was one tough little chiquita banana. Didn't give me anything. Lucky you, because I would've woken you up this morning with a bullet in your ear."