Matt Hilton - Cut and run

'There were three of them, don't forget, one of 'em had an automatic. Maybe they thought they could take him out between them.' Harvey sat back and ran a hand over his bald head. He didn't believe that any more than we did, and was only adding conjecture to the pot to get the thought processes bubbling. He took a sip of his coffee, then said, 'Unless they'd no idea who they were going up against. Sorry – rephrase that – what they were going up against.'

'Stands to reason.' Habit made me glance round the diner. People had their heads down spooning food into their mouths, or were reading the morning papers or texting on mobile phones. No one was looking our way. My eyes lingered for a moment on a man and woman sitting at a table near the exit door. The woman was a beauty. The man was ten or more years older than her. Nothing unusual about that. I turned my attention back to my friends. 'My guess is that there was some other reason for them being there. They had no idea who this man was or what he was up to. What does that leave?'

'They were after someone else,' Harvey offered.

'Or they went there at someone else's bidding,' said Rink.

'How well did you know Chisholm?'

Rink see-sawed his head. 'Well enough to nod in passing. I knew him more by reputation than from sharing a beer, if that's what you mean.'

'What did he specialise in?'

Rink was a PI and so was Harvey, but even they had different slants on what that entailed. There were different niches in the market that PI outfits concentrated on. 'Far as I know he was happy with low-end cases. You've seen Cheaters on TV, right? That's Chisholm's usual type of gig.'

'So it'd be a big step up for him to go to something like this?'

'Yup.'

'You think he was after this guy 'cause he was playing away from home?' Harvey laughed under his breath at the irony of it.

'Maybe that's all they thought Rickard was up to.' I'd already learned the killer's name. And that of his wife. 'I don't think that Alisha knew what he was involved in. Maybe she didn't trust him, thought he was up to no good, put two and two together and got five. She called in Chisholm to put some meat on her suspicions.'

'Makes sense,' Rink said. 'But that doesn't explain why Chisholm takes two heavies along and breaks into the apartment.'

It didn't.

'Sounds like an extraction,' Harvey said.

We nodded along with him.

'Alisha wanted out and asked Chisholm to help. They thought that by waving a gun under his nose, maybe intimidating him by way of the two heavies, Rickard would be a good little boy and back down.'

'Big mistake,' I said.

'The worst kind,' Rink added.

I looked again at the couple by the door. The woman got up and walked in our direction, heading for the restrooms on our left. She was a fine-looking woman. She was wearing a wedding band, and I looked away. Her man had stood up and turned our way too. He started forwards, digging in a pocket. Then he diverted to the cashier's desk and paid their bill. He rested an elbow on the counter and talked with the young female teller. From where I sat, he was flirting with the girl. A job in the making for the likes of Del Chisholm, I thought. The woman came back out of the restroom and joined the man. They shared a joke with the girl at the till, then the woman gave the man a playful thump on the shoulder and they walked out the diner together.

As they went out the door someone caught my eye on the pavement outside. We were expecting Walter and Bryce, but it wasn't either of them. It was the bloody reporter who'd been watching us outside Rickard's apartment building.

'Trouble, guys.'

The exit door had swung shut, but now it was opening again.

'Move.'

The way we scattered might seem an overreaction to a reporter finding us, but there was more to it than that. The man wasn't carrying a BlackBerry this time and he wasn't alone. He stepped into the diner lifting a compact Uzi sub-machine gun. His three friends following him in were as heavily armed.

I went one way while Rink and Harvey went the other. It suited me: these men were after me, not my friends, and I preferred that their attention focused only on me.

'Get down,' I yelled at the barista at the espresso machine. I went over the serving counter in a dive, knocking the young man to the floor just as the bogus reporter let loose a hail of bullets at us. The machine was cut to shreds and scalding hot coffee splashed all round our bodies. The young man tried to claw his way from under me, but I pressed him down, even as with my other hand I went for my SIG. More Uzi chatter filled the room, joined by the screams and shouts of the customers trying to flee the chaos. Glass shattered and tinkled. Someone yelped in pain. Then I heard the crack of a handgun; either Rink or Harvey firing back.

I scrambled away, using the serving counter as cover. I made it all the way to the cashier's till and found the young girl crouching under the counter. A minimum wage she would put up with, but not this. She looked at me, the gun in my hand, and screamed in terror.

I bobbed up. Got a snapshot image of the place and didn't like it one bit.

There were people clambering over tables in an attempt to escape, while three of the attackers laid down an indiscriminate barrage of bullets. One old man caught a cross-stitch pattern of bullets across his lower back and went down. A woman was huddled over, cradling her bleeding face in her hands. I could see neither of my friends. Then there was no more time for looking.

The fake reporter spun my way.

He pulled on the trigger of his sub-machine gun, letting out a wordless roar. The rounds blasted chunks from the counter and I rolled away. Suddenly the cashier went silent.

Bastard, I thought. That was all, but it was all the galvanising I needed. I bobbed up again and fired a single shot.

The round hit the 'reporter' in his open mouth. Must have severed his spine the way he dropped like a stone. It was too clean a death for the murderous son of a bitch.

Had there been time I would have checked on the girl, but there wasn't. I was pretty sure the Uzi had cut through the counter and also through her. Terrible, but there was nothing I could do about that now except avenge her. There were still three killers in the diner and they would murder other innocent people if I didn't do something about it.

I came over the counter supported on one hand, already shooting with the other. I hit one man in his shoulder and he dropped his machine gun. He turned towards me and I shot him again, this time in his chest. Two down, two to go.

The remaining killers were mid-way down the diner. Most of the uninjured customers had managed to get out the way, but there were those who'd already been shot who either lay crying or were very silent. I saw one of the killers shoot a young man who was trying to hide under a table. There was no reason for it. The other killer was blasting a circular table that had been tipped on its end. It looked like a waste of bullets, because, other than pocking the heavy Formica they weren't getting through. I caught a glimpse of movement behind the table, a dark hand holding a Glock. Then I saw Harvey lean all the way out and fire off a close-knit grouping of shots at the killer. Two of the bullets struck the man, once in the gut, once in his right thigh. It didn't kill him outright, but it was enough to stop him shooting for a moment. Rink jumped up from the other side of the table and he fired and this time the man did go down. Half his brain now decorated the ceiling.

While all this was happening I wasn't standing idle. I was already running at the final man – the one who'd killed the man under the table in cold blood. I should've just shot the bastard, but I preferred that he hurt before he died. Plus, I wanted answers.