Jeffery Deaver - Hard News

"Look, kid," Jack said impatiently. "Why don't you just let us walk out of here. And we'll forget everything. You go your way and we'll go ours."

But Bradford ignored him. He nodded at the control booth and said to Maisel, "I got everything you said on tape, Lee."

Maisel closed his eyes. He slumped in the chair.

Jack sighed and shook his head. "Think you're on your own here, Lee. Nice doing business with you." The killer grabbed Rune by the hair and pulled her to her feet.

"No!" she cried.

Bradford pointed his pistol toward Jack but the fat man paid no attention. He walked to the table where his own gun lay and picked it up.

"Don't!" Bradford said.

"Yeah, right," Jack muttered.

"Shoot him!" Rune shouted to Bradford. "Now!"

But the young man froze. His eyes wide, his mouth open in fear as Jack lifted the gun and fired at him as casually as if he were tossing coins in a wishing well. Rune couldn't tell whether Bradford was hit or not. He fell or dove to the floor. Maisel slid from his chair and rolled to cover under the table.

Tugging Rune after him, Jack said, "Let's go, honey. May need some insurance, in case the kid called the police."

"No! Goddammit!" she raged, trying to pry his hand off her hair. But he simply got a better grip and dragged her more quickly behind him.

"Shut up," he whispered.

Maybe Bradfordhad called the police. Maybe Sam Healy and a hundred other cops were outside right now, their guns pointed at the door. Jack'd see that and give up.

He pulled her in front of him and kicked open the door that led to the parking lot.

Please, she thought, let there be a thousand knights waiting here to slay the dragon…

They stepped outside. Nobody. She scanned the alley and the parking lot. Empty.

Oh, no…

Jack squinted, orienting himself.

"Car's on the other side of the building. That way." He pointed.

"Let go of me!"

He released her hair but took her firmly by the arm and led her forward. She recalled what he'd said, about being amercenary soldier. She said, "If you let me go I'll give you eight thousand dollars."

"No."

"I can get it for you right now."

Jack was walking more slowly now. He seemed to be considering what she was saying. Finally he shook his head. "Not enough."

"Maybe I can get a little more." She thought desperately about where she might get some cash.

"How about fifty?" Jack said.

"I don't have fifty."

"Forty-five."

Tears in her eyes. "I don'thave that. I can get… maybe twenty. I don't know. From friends maybe…"

"Forty-three thousand," Jack said.

"I…" She shook her head.

"Tell you what," Jack said. "You give me thirty-nine thousand five hundred and I'll let you live. I'll let you walk away."

More tears. "But I can't get that much."

"Thirty-eight two."

When she glanced at his face a sick smile on it, she knew that he was just being cruel. He was playing with her, reciting the odd numbers. And whether she had fifty thousand or a hundred he wasn't going to let her go. This was business and the bargain he'd made was with Lee Maisel. Jack's job was to kill her.

They were on the sidewalk now, deserted except for a homeless guy in the middle of the block. The street was shimmering with a light rain that wasn't so much falling as hanging in the air.

Jack said, "This way," and tugged her forward. Ahead of them, on Broadway, a few cabs and cars bounded up- and downtown. Maybe she could tear away and sprint the half block to the corner. She'd just charge right into traffic and hope she didn't get hit. Maybe she'd be lucky the same way Randy Boggs wasunlucky at Lance Hopper's apartment building and a cop car would be cruising past.

But Jack's grip was fierce and, besides, he still had his gun in his other hand, hidden inside his jacket.

Jack stopped at a car. He slipped his pistol in his pocket and reached into his other pocket to get the keys.

"Hey," the drunk called, staggering in their direction. His head drooped forward in his stupor. His clothes were drenched from rain and he looked like a straggly mutt. "Change? For something to eat. You got some change?"

"Shit. Fucking people in this town," Jack muttered, pulling the keys out of his pocket. He leaned down and said to Rune, "I can feel you, honey. You're thinking the guy comes up and he's going to distract me and then you'll run for it. You think I'm stupid?" He shoved her in the car. "You think I'm not expecting that?"

Nearby now, the homeless man called, "Change, please?"

Jack, his eyes still on Rune, said to him, "Fuck you, mister."

The drunk suddenly stood up and became completely sober. "Fuck you too, Jack," Randy Boggs said and leapt forward, slamming his fist into Jack's face.

"Randy!" Rune cried.

"Run!" Boggs shouted as he grabbed Jack around the waist and tried to pull him to the sidewalk.

Rune scooted out of the car fast. She hesitated, watching them scuffle. It wasn't a fight – they were wrestling. Boggs was gripping Jack's shoulders, pinning his arms so he couldn't reach his gun. Jack, blood streaming from his nose, tried to knee Boggs in the groin but couldn't get his leg up without falling over.

"Run, damn it!" Boggs shouted again.

She did. To the nearest corner, to a phone kiosk. Hitting 911 as she watched the men, on the ground now, a dark squirming mass, half in, half out of the street. She told the calm voice of the police dispatcher about the fight, about the gun. By the time she'd hung up, she heard sirens. Distant, but moving in close. She thought she should go back, distract Jack, hit him with something. But she didn't move. For some reason an image of Courtney came into her mind and she thought, No, even if Claire's back, I can havesome role in the girl's life and it wouldn't be fair to her to risk myself. This was their battle now.

Then Rune saw Jack break free and scramble away. He had the gun in his hand. Randy leapt back into the street, scrambling beneath a car for cover. Jack fired two fast shots at him then turned to run just as three blue-and-white police cars squealed around the corner. The officers poured out, shouting like madmen for Jack to stop, to drop the gun. He fired at their cars twice and turned to run but he slipped and went down on one knee.

"Drop the weapon," a metallic voice came over the loudspeaker.

Jack leapt to the side and lifted the gun again.

The big sparking explosion of a shotgun was like a thunderclap. Jack tumbled backwards. He tried to get up, muttering some distorted words. Something about "pictures," Rune thought. The fatman lay back. His body convulsed once. Then he was still.

Ten squad cars, with lights flashing, were parked in front of the Network building. Several EMS ambulances were here too and, for some reason, so were two fire trucks. Already the crowd of spectators was large. Rune noted with a laugh to herself that the three news crews on hand to capture the story on tape were all from the competition; no one at the Network seemed to have heard about the incident.

Rune was standing next to Randy Boggs, who leaned against a squad car. His hand and chin were bandaged. Jack had missed when he'd fired those two shots at him but he'd cut himself in several places during the fight. (He seemed most upset because the ugly tan suit he wore was torn and greasy.)

Bradford Simpson, however, had been hit by Jack's bullet but only in the leg. He'd be all right.

Lee Maisel was in custody.

"How did you get here?" Rune asked, shaking her head in confusion.

"I went to your houseboat – saw what'd happened there. I'm plenty sorry about that. Did Jack do it?"

"Indirectly." She didn't mention the actual arsonist was three years old.

Boggs continued. "I just came to the TV station here to see if maybe the guard or somebody could tell me where you were. I saw you and Jack coming out of the back door. Didn't know what was going on but I figured it wasn't good. And that I better do something about it. So I pretended to be a – you know, homeless man so I could get in close."