Barry Eisler - Killing Rain aka One Last Kill

I eased off the pressure I was keeping on the door and looked through the first hole I had made. Manny was using the urinal farthest from me. He was facing the wall, but his peripheral vision would detect motion when I opened the door. I would have to move fast.

I took one quick peek through the other hole to confirm that the bodyguard had indeed walked out. He had. It was just Manny and me, the way it was supposed to be.

It wasn’t like the last time. I thought of nothing that wasn’t operational. Nothing.

I gave him a little time to finish what he was doing. If I didn’t, he’d wind up pissing on the floor, and maybe on me.

He started shaking off. I took two quick, silent breaths. Go .

I swung the door open, took a long step past the door, pivoted, and strode directly toward him.

His head snapped in my direction and his mouth dropped open. His eyes popped wide and his arms started to come up.

Adrenaline constricts the throat. This is why a person, suddenly terrified, finds himself squeaking in a high-pitched voice, or whispering, or unable even to make a sound. Manny, his recent restroom anxieties suddenly realized, had just gotten a massive dose. So although his bodyguard was just outside the door, he remained silent.

He started to turn toward me, but it was already too late. I stepped behind him, jammed my left knee in his lower back, and jerked him toward me by the shoulders. His body folded backward around my knee. I put my foot back on the floor and swept my left arm counterclockwise around his neck so that his face was pressed against my lower rib cage and my forearm was braced against the back of his neck. I took my left wrist in my right hand, shoved his lower body forward against the urinal, and jerked up with my forearm. His spine arched to the limit of its natural give, and for a split second our forward momentum froze. Then his neck broke. The crack was loud, but not quite loud enough for the guard to have heard outside that solid mahogany entrance door. His body went rubbery and I slipped my arms under his to stop him from slumping to the floor.

I dragged him into the closet and closed the door behind us. I patted him down, but he wasn’t armed. Shit .

I thought for a moment. If the bodyguard were right outside the door, and I expected he was, I couldn’t just walk past him. He had checked the bathroom before Manny entered, and it had been empty at the time. Someone new walking out now wouldn’t figure. Anyway, the point wasn’t to get past him, it was to get his gun. If his back was to me, I might manage it despite his size. But if he saw me coming, things might get messy. If there was a commotion, even if I disarmed him and headed directly upstairs for Hilger and Al-Jib, I might already have lost the element of surprise.

I heard the bathroom door open. I checked through the peephole: a middle-aged Chinese man in a business suit. He looked harmless, and the bodyguard must have decided it was all right for him to pass. He went into one of the stalls and closed the door.

Another minute and the bodyguard was going to check up on Manny. I was running out of time.

I left the closet, strode noiselessly over to the second stall, eased its door closed, and got back in the closet. The floor-to-ceiling mahogany stall door would obscure the question of whether someone was actually in there, and, if the guard poked his head in, he would now likely assume Manny was using one of the stalls. I doubted he’d want to disturb his client at such a delicate moment by calling out, but his reticence would last only so long. I might have bought myself a minute or two, but the clock was still ticking.

And then I had an idea.

DELILAH, ” I whispered.

She answered instantly. “I’m here.”

“Manny’s done. But there’s a bodyguard standing outside the bathroom. I can’t get past him. In another couple of minutes, he’s going to come in and check on Manny. There’s also someone using one of the stalls and I need to buy another couple minutes so he can finish and get the hell out.”

“Tell me what to do,” she said.

“Dox, do you still have that syringe we took off Winters?”

“Got it right here, partner,” he said.

“Give it to Delilah. Delilah, you won’t have any trouble getting close to the guard. Make it look like you’re about to head into the wrong restroom. Then flirt with him, distract him until the guy in the stall leaves. When he does, you nail the guard with the syringe.”

“What’s in it?” she asked.

“Dox, give her the syringe. I’ll explain on the way.”

“Already did, partner. She’s getting up now.”

“It’s a knockout cocktail. All you have to do is palm it and slap him with it. It works like a snakebite.”

“That’s ‘all’ I have to do? Don’t I have to hit a vein or an artery?”

“If we want the drug to work fast, you do.”

“Veins and arteries tend to be pretty small moving targets.”

“Look, just flirt with the guy, okay? Get him so his back is facing the bathroom door. I’ll hit him in the head with whatever I can find in here. But he’s a gorilla, I don’t know if a shot to the head will be enough. Although it should stun him for long enough for you to slap the syringe down on his carotid. If you miss, I’ll figure something else out.”

“All right.”

“He’s probably armed, a shoulder or hip carry. Whatever else happens, we have to disarm him. That’s our best chance with the other two.”

“Okay.”

I clicked on the Surefire and looked around the closet. None of the tools I saw would be helpful. No hammer, no wrench. For a second, I thought of the knife, then rejected it because of the mess it would make. All right, I would have to use my hands. I started to put the Surefire back in my pocket, then looked at it. Shit, I had almost overlooked something so obvious. I had been thinking of it only as a flashlight, when in fact, gripped tightly in my fist with the hard edge slightly protruding, it would make a serviceable yarawa stick.

I heard the toilet flush, and a moment later the Chinese man emerged from the stall.

I heard Delilah say, “Here we go.” Then, in a tipsy, slightly flirtatious tone, “Excuse me, isn’t that the ladies’ room?”

Her lapel mike picked up the guard saying, “No, miss, this is the men’s room.” She must have been standing close.

“Oh my God, I would have felt so silly if I’d walked in there! You don’t know where the ladies’ room is, do you?”

“I think it’s just around the corner.”

The Chinese guy walked over to the sinks and started examining the various choices among the soaps and lotions.

Can you just wash your hands and get the fuck out? I thought. Better yet, don’t wash them at all. I promise not to tell anyone.

Delilah said, “Are you the doorman or something?”

The man chuckled. Good, she was reeling him in. “No, I’m just waiting for someone.”

The Chinese guy selected one of the soaps and began thoroughly washing his hands. He was taking so long that I was half-tempted to pop out of the closet, break his neck, and drag him inside.

He turned off the sink, picked up one of the towels, and began leisurely drying his hands.

“Oh, you’re here with someone, then,” Delilah said. “Too bad.”

The guard said, “Too bad?”

“Well,” she said, “my date is being a jerk, and…” She laughed. “I’m sorry, I think I’ve had too much to drink. I’m not usually like this.”

The guard said, “No, that’s all right. I don’t mind at all.”

The Chinese guy kept rubbing away with the towel.

Come on, buddy, there can’t be a single fucking water molecule left on you…