John Miller - Inside Out

Spiro jerked Yul's shotgun away by the barrel and slung it across the room. He grabbed the corpse by a foot and pulled Yul off Winter. Winter drew his feet back and, when Spiro lunged at him, he kicked out hard, splitting open the big man's chin like he'd used a knife.

Winter rolled away, made it to his feet, and went for his SIG on the table. Spiro caught him from behind before he got there. The enraged giant locked his massive arms around Winter's chest and, when Spiro squeezed him, Winter thought his ribs would cave in.

“You like that, you fuck?” Spiro raged.

Winter drove the back of his skull against Spiro's nose crushing the cartilage and simultaneously stomped his heels down on Spiro's toes.

Most men would have let go. Spiro merely loosened his grip for a fraction of a second, but just long enough so Winter-his arms pinned and useless-could twist around to face his captor. Spiro's nose and chin were bleeding. Face-to-face, Spiro met Winter's eyes, smiled, and squeezed harder.

Winter sank his teeth into Spiro's narrow nose and shook his head violently. He felt the tip of Spiro's nose separate, then spit the grape-size nugget out and bit down on Spiro's chin. Spiro released Winter and grabbed his damaged nose, howling.

You… like that… you fuck? With his hands outstretched, Winter stumbled toward the table again after his gun. He had seconds to get Hank up, and he'd have to put Spiro to sleep to accomplish that. He made it to the table and grabbed his SIG by the barrel.

Spiro caught him by the neck of his coat and slung him away from the table.

The handgun flew away toward the workbench.

Winter landed beside Yul's body and managed to reach inside the dead man's coat to grab the gun from his belt.

Spiro went for his high-powered rifle still leaning against the wall next to Valentino. He jerked the weapon up to his shoulder and whirled to aim down at Winter.

“Now, you fuck!” he howled, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You fucking, fucking… fuck… FUUUCK!”

“Wait!” Winter yelled. “Russo said to drown me!”

Spiro hesitated.

Bringing the Browning Hi-Power up from behind Yul's prone body, Winter gave the giant a triple tap. Spiro fell sideways into the water, leaving most of his brains behind.

Winter set aside the Hi-Power, scurried over, grabbed the control wand, and flipped the toggle from down to up. The wheel pulled the cage up out of the water, pushing Spiro's floating corpse aside.

“What took you so long?” Hank sputtered. “My damn boots are ruined.”

Winter reversed the winch and guided the descending cage to the floor. He helped Hank out. The older marshal looked around the room, surveying the carnage. “Son… you have made… one hell of a mess.”

Winter reached into his pocket to get his handcuff key to unlock his cuffs.

“You tired?” Hank said, after Winter had unlocked his cuffs.

“I'm getting my second wind.”

“What happened to your mouth?” he asked Winter after seeing Spiro's blood on him.

“Nosebleed.” Using his coat sleeve, Winter wiped the blood off.

Winter lifted his SIG from the floor and pushed it into his holster, snapping the thumb break closed. Water dripping from his clothes, Hank took up his Colt from the table and holstered it.

“My boots are so full of water they're gonna hear us coming a mile off. Best I-”

Boom! A sharp report filled the room and Hank collapsed.

Winter turned and saw the barrel of the Ruger KP-90 drop to Valentino's leg, and Valentino's head fall forward-his chin against his chest.

At some point, while Winter was busy, the guard had freed his semiautomatic and, using the last of his energy, managed to squeeze the trigger.

“I'm okay. I'm fine,” Hank said, sitting up.

Winter kept the Walther pointed at Valentino's head as he crossed to him, put his thumb between the hammer and firing pin, and twisted the gun away. He cursed himself for not checking on the man as soon as he had gotten Hank safely up. In the excitement he had lost a vital thread that could have cost both their lives.

Winter removed Hank's wet coat and, using the bullet hole in the shirt's sleeve for a starting place, he pushed his finger through and ripped the material wide open. The bullet had hit Hank's left arm above his elbow. Winter saw shattered bone inside the exit wound, and the blood flow was steady, so the artery wasn't cut. The bullet was lodged in the side of Hank's vest. Using his belt, Winter made a tourniquet just below Hank's shoulder.

“Scratch,” he told Hank. “You can hardly even see it.”

“Ruined my best shirt.”

“Maybe Millie can turn it into a short sleeve.”

“Based on our movie stars here”-Hank winced-“I'd say I got off pretty light. I still got my gun hand and I can walk.”

“Hank, you're going to sit here. If anybody comes here looking for them, you shoot the bastards. In the meantime, loosen this every once in a while so you don't explode. I'm sorry, I didn't think…”

“It ain't your fault,” Hank offered. “I could have checked him out myself.”

Winter got the cell phone, dialed Chet, and told him that Hank was wounded, in the boathouse, and would be fine until they arrived. Chet told him that their helicopter was there to pick them up and he wouldn't be able to use the phone because of the chopper's noisy engines. Winter turned the phone off and handed it to Hank.

“You keep it,” Hank said.

Winter put Spiro's coat over Hank's shoulders. “I know it stinks, but it'll keep you warm. Winter reached into the pocket and removed Spiro's red phone. “I'll use this if I need to make a call. You wait here for Chet,” Winter told Hank sternly. “He'll be here in twenty minutes.”

“You keep your narrow ass out of that lodge, Winter. You wait for Chet. That's an order. I am your superior officer.”

“You think I'm crazy, Hank?”

“What I think is none of your business. I know for a damn fact you're crazy.”

Winter approached the lodge as stealthily as possible, finding it remarkable that there were no guards posted between the two buildings. The fact that there had been a gunfight and no one heard anything was testimony to the quality of the soundproofing Manelli had installed.

Almost every window inside the building was lit. A green van and three SUVs were parked across from the lodge in a small clearing. In the photo taken from space, which had reduced everything to the shape of its surface, Winter hadn't been able to see that there was a covered porch entirely wrapping the second floor. The lodge was built so the ground floor was half as large as the second. Steel beams supported the end closest to the canal. The only way up to the porch from the ground floor was by means of a staircase located beside the front door. Just before he made it, someone sitting on the steps in shadow lit a cigarette. If the man hadn't been a smoker, Winter would certainly have walked right into him.

Winter crouched and made for the back of the lodge. Looking up as he approached the building, Winter clearly saw the old gangster pass by an upstairs window. He made his way around the far side and came up toward the front, looking for a way inside.

Winter heard conversation and the sounds of dining, so he passed a sliding glass door and peered into the lit kitchen from the cover of night. He counted four guards, all wearing handguns. A pair of shotguns leaned like umbrellas against the wall by the door. He figured perhaps there might be more men upstairs and probably more watching the road.

Winter carried three full ten-round magazines for his. 40-caliber SIG Sauer. He had loaded Yul's second magazine into the man's Browning Hi-Power giving him fifteen 9-mm rounds, which in addition to the partially used magazine gave him another eleven. He had eight rounds in the old Walther PP, giving him a grand total of sixty-five bullets, each one a potential death sentence. Winter doubted that Sam would have more men than he had bullets for.