Tom Hinshelwood: The Killer

Through the crack under the door Victor could see a shadow moving in the corridor outside. He dived to the right as the big guy with the shaved head burst into the room, submachine gun in hand, already firing before he’d acquired a target. It was a compact MP5k fitted with a long suppressor, its rapid reports reduced to a series of sustained muffled clicks.

The gunman shifted his aim, following Victor’s path as he leaped into the adjacent bathroom, bullets blowing a line of neat holes out of the wall behind him. Ejected brass cases clinked together on the carpet around the assassin’s feet.

In the bathroom, Victor came out of his roll into a crouch, letting off a quick shot, firing blind before he’d fully turned around. The bullet whizzed through the open doorway, sending up a puff of plaster as it struck the wall on the other side.

The bathroom was no more than six feet by four, a tiled box containing a bath, sink, and toilet. There were no defensible corners or objects behind which to take cover. On fully automatic the MP5k could unload its mag of thirty in just two and a quarter seconds. At this range, and with that volume of fire, the gunman literally couldn’t miss.

With his left hand Victor pulled the Beretta from the back of his waistband and pointed both guns at the doorway, one in each hand. Not so good for aiming accurately but he needed the extra stopping power if he was going to drop the gunman before he could open fire. He was a big guy and neither subsonic 5.7 mm or 9 mm rounds were going to guarantee putting him down instantly unless he was shot in the head, heart, or spine. But with enough bullets it wouldn’t matter where Victor hit. He held the Beretta directly below the FN so he could still line up one set of sights. Victor had seen amateurs hold two guns at arm’s length, hands shoulder width apart, trying to emulate their favorite action movie stars. They always died quickly.

He heard something thud on the carpet and clink against the spent 9 mm casings on the floor. An instant later came the sound of a gun reloading and the MP5k recocked. It hadn’t clicked empty but his attacker had loaded a full magazine anyway while he had the chance.

Victor stayed in a crouch, as far away from the opening as possible. If his enemy was smart enough to reload before he was empty he wouldn’t be stupid enough to burst into the room when all he had to do was point the gun around the door frame and spray in some rounds. Victor sensed the gunman was creeping along the dividing wall to do exactly that. In his current position Victor knew he was a dead man. He forced himself to stay calm.

He needed to do something, and quick.

He looked around, saw a towel on a rail, a line of toiletries above the wash basin-toothpaste, shaving foam, antiperspirant, a razor, aftershave.

His eyes fixed on the can of antiperspirant.

Victor fired another round from the Five-seveN at the doorway to act as a deterrent, then another a few seconds later to buy himself some time, to make the gunman wary. He placed the Beretta down in front of him, switched the FN to his left hand, stood, and grabbed the can of antiperspirant from above the sink.

Squatting back down, he fired through the doorway with the Five-seveN, twice more so the weapon clicked dry, advertising that he was out of ammo, giving the gunman all the incentive he needed to seize his chance.

Victor dropped the empty gun, switched the antiperspirant to his left hand, and took up the Beretta in his right. Jumping to his feet, he flung the aerosol through the doorway just below the top of the frame as the submachine gun’s muzzle rounded the corner.

Victor fired the Beretta three times.

The last bullet hit and the aerosol exploded in midair.

Victor was already running before he heard the scream, darting through the doorway, bent over, even as the panicking gunman opened fire.

The bullets missed, flying clear above him. The man was stumbling backward, pressed against the wall, the only thing keeping him on his feet. His gun was still raised at shoulder height, and he fired in desperation, spraying wildly.

Slim shards of glinting metal protruded from his scorched face and eyes. His hair was on fire.

The gun clicked empty, and for a moment the man’s groans subsided and his breaths came quick and sharp. He blindly looked around the room, weapon still raised in some last pitiful defense. The air smelled like roasted pork.

Victor stood up straight, pointed the Beretta at the center of the gunman’s chest, and put two right through his heart.

08:38 CET

Victor made his way through the hotel, walking quickly, keeping the Beretta in hand and hidden under his jacket. He had his empty FN in a pocket. He made his way through the corridors of the ground floor, in his head visualizing the hotel plans he’d memorized on his first night. He came to a door marked staff only.

He could hear policemen elsewhere on the floor, talking loudly, overwhelmed. They would be patrolmen first on the scene, responding to the emergency call. Others would be coming fast. If Victor wasn’t gone soon, he knew the hotel would be sealed off and the street would follow and probably the whole block. Victor wanted to be long gone before that happened.

He drew the Beretta out from under his jacket and pushed open the door to the kitchens with his left hand, using his knuckles out of habit despite the silicone coating on his fingertips.

It was surprisingly cool inside. The back door had been wedged open, perhaps in the mass exodus of frightened guests and employees. A refreshing breeze funneled through. Victor noticed for the first time he was sweating. There were no members of the kitchen staff. Everyone had wisely fled. Victor drew the smell of cooked breakfasts into his nostrils. Eggs were burning in pans on the stove. Bread and croissants baked in ovens.

He continued breathing deeply to keep his pulse down and gripped the Beretta in both hands as he walked forward, slow, cautious of the large open space and the blind spots created by rows of appliances and storage. He kept his eyes moving as he crept toward the door, wary that there were three other gunman very much alive. He had to assume they were still after him, leaderless or not. If they hadn’t withdrawn they wouldn’t have left this exit unguarded.

He moved closer, staying near to cupboards and work surfaces for cover in case someone burst through from the alleyway beyond. An approaching siren beckoned him to walk faster, but his awareness of the current danger ensured his movements were slow and controlled.

If another gunman was waiting in the alley and covering the doorway, Victor would need to have surprise on his side to stand a chance of making it out alive. Hurrying would only make an enemy’s job easier. They were going to have to earn their money today.

He took another step and stopped.

Movement.

A reflection on the stainless steel cupboard door to his left. Just a blur of motion, but he understood its meaning and spun around to see a pantry door swinging open hard, a dark-haired woman charging out of the darkness, her handgun rapidly coming into line with his position.

Victor reacted faster, shooting first, two shots, hitting center mass. The impact knocked her off her feet and threw her backward into the adjoining room from where she’d emerged.

He covered the distance fast, saw her lying on her back, alive, eyes closed, two small circles of blood around the scorch marks in her blouse. She was gasping, one lung collapsed. The gun was right next to her, but she didn’t try to get to it. She was too scared.

Victor’s shadow fell over her and she looked up. She was surprisingly attractive, twenty-eight or-nine, pain in her delicate features, terror in her piercing eyes. She stared at him, gaze pleading, tears spilling down her cheeks, lips he would have liked to kiss, moving but making no sound, not enough air in her lungs to speak, to beg. Or to tell him anything useful. He spared a moment to consider how someone like her could have ended up in this business. But whatever her story had been, it was about to have a depressing end. Her head shook slowly from side to side.