Robert Crais - The First Rule

From his new position, Pike saw the office, part of the gravel parking area with the chain across the drive, and the long side of the corrugated building. A row of windows ran along the upper half of the building, suggesting a series of rooms on the second floor. A single large overhead garage door was open near the rear of the building, revealing a large service bay outfitted with tools, hoists, and bins. This would be where salvaged cars and trucks were broken down into their component parts. A man sat on a lawn chair in the open door. Wires dripped from his ears to an iPod, and he was reading a newspaper. A black shotgun leaned against the wall beside him.

Pike slipped behind a row of fenders overgrown by dead weeds as tall as scarecrows. When he had a view of the service bay again, the man in the chair was now on his feet. A second man had appeared at a door, and the two were talking. The chair man picked up his shotgun to join him, and the two of them disappeared.

Pike moved fast to the building. He pressed his back flat to the wall outside the big door, then cleared the service bay and saw it was empty. Darko would either be in the rooms beyond the door or upstairs, but Pike didn’t necessarily want Darko. He would have taken the chair man if the chair man had stayed, then worked his way up. Someone close to Darko would do if they could tell him what he wanted to know.

Pike stepped into the service bay when he heard the baby crying. The hiccup-y wail babies make was lost in the building, echoing through the cavernous room. Pike thought it might be coming through the far door or the walls, but then he realized it was coming from one of the windows overhead.

Pike thought through his moves. Making for Darko was the play to make, but the kid was upstairs. Crying.

Pike made his decision.

A metal stairway at the back corner of the service bay led up to the second floor. Pike made for the stairs.

The stairwell opened to a long, narrow hall that let Pike see the length of the building. The first door in the hall was open, and the baby sounds were loud, but now Pike heard a woman’s irritated voice. Pike couldn’t understand her language, but he caught the harsh irritation, as if the woman had been tasked with a job she resented. Male voices came from the far end of the hall.

Pike took a breath, then slowly entered the room, moving so quietly the woman did not hear.

The woman was bouncing a baby with wispy red hair, trying to quiet him. She was facing the window, and trying to get the baby interested in something outside. A bassinet was against the wall, along with a small table spread with a sky blue blanket and a battered wooden desk. Disposable diapers and jars of baby food were stacked on the desk, along with baby wipes, cotton, and the other things babies required.

Pike made a ss-ss-ss sound to draw the woman’s attention. When she turned, Pike touched the gun to his lips.

“Sh.”

The woman was so still she might have stopped breathing, and her white skin paled to a sickly blue.

Pike whispered.

“Whose baby is this?”

“Milos Jakovich. Please do not kill me. I have not harmed this child. I care for him.”

She thought he was working for Jakovich, come to kill the child.

Pike said, “Don’t speak. Don’t move.”

The baby frowned at Pike, its snow-white brow scrunching like a crumpled handkerchief. Its red hair was wispy and fine, and its blue eyes seemed large for its head.

Pike moved past the woman to look out the window. The drop was about fourteen feet. The impact would be similar to a hard parachute landing, but Pike could make the drop with the baby. He could cushion their impact, then make his way back over the wall.

Pike holstered the Python. He was opening the window when something thumped in the hall, and the same man who summoned the chair guard appeared, and saw him.

The man shouted, and was pulling a pistol when Pike crushed his larynx and snapped his neck.

The woman was shouting out the window, and now the baby was screaming, too, its face a vivid red. Pike pulled her backward by the hair, but he didn’t have to fight her for the baby. She shoved it into his arms, and ran, stumbling down the hall. Pike took the baby back to the window, but now three men were running toward them, one of them pointing up at the window.

Pike stepped back and listened. He heard footsteps, voices, and a slam ming door, but nothing on the stairs. This meant they were talking to the woman. They would spend a few minutes trying to figure out who he was and whether he was alone, and then they would come. Men would be outside to cover the window, one team would come up the far stair, and another team would come up the near stair. Then they would fight.

The baby was screaming, tiny legs kicking, miniature fists clenched for battle, tears squeezed from eyes clenched tightly closed.

Pike held up the baby so they were face-to-face.

“Boy.”

The screaming stopped, and the angry blue eyes opened to nasty slits.

The close-quarters fight would be loud and vicious, and it occurred to Pike he had to protect the kid’s ears. He spotted the cotton in the baby supplies, pinched off two bits, and pushed a plug into each of the baby’s ears. The baby fought fiercely and screamed even louder.

“Gonna be loud, boy. Suck it up.”

Pike heard movement in other parts of the building, and knew the fight was approaching. When it came, they would shoot to kill him, which meant he couldn’t stand around with the kid. Pike jerked a blanket from the bassinet, wrapped it around the baby, then pulled a bottom drawer from the desk. He scooped out old files and paper, and placed the baby inside. The baby immediately stopped crying.

“You good?”

The baby blinked.

“Good.”

Pike closed the drawer with the baby inside, and hurried back to the door. Shooters were probably in both stairwells by now, and only seconds from making their move. They would have listened to the blond woman, made some kind of plan, and now felt confident they had Pike trapped. They were wrong. Pike attacked.

Pike crushed the near stairwell door from its jamb like a breaching charge. The two men on the stairs were caught off guard, and did not react quickly enough. Pike shot them in place, single-tapping each man in his center of mass, and immediately heard shouting below in the service bay.

Pike did not continue down because that was what the men below expected. They would cover the bottom door, thinking that Pike was trying to fight his way out. The men at the far end of the second floor would likely advance, believing they could trap Pike on the stairs.

They couldn’t. Pike was already gone.

Pike did not have to think these things through because he already had. He knew the plays even before he tucked the kid in the drawer, ten steps ahead of the curve.

Bang, bang, two down, and Pike blew back up the stairs. He was braced in the doorway and ready when the door at the far end of the hall opened, and two more men charged out. Pike shot the first man, and the other fell back, kicking the door closed, leaving his partner moaning. Pike put three fast rounds into the door to keep it closed, then popped the Python’s wheel and fed it a speed-loader. He didn’t wait, and didn’t check the downed man. He ducked through the baby’s room and swung out the window. The three men seen earlier were gone, drawn inside by the gunshots and shouting.

Pike hit sand, then ran, always moving forward. Speed was everything. The men inside were confused. They didn’t know where he was or how many people they faced, so Pike increased the pressure.

He slipped into the same service bay he entered earlier, only now four men were jammed at the base of the far stairwell, focused on the door. Pike shot the nearest man in the back, moved to cover, and shot a second. The remaining men fired blindly into the walls and ceiling as they fled. Pike heard fading shouts and engines rev.