VALENTINE
Wooden crates splintered and fragmented above me as I ducked behind a crate and hoped that its contents were substantial enough to stop handgun fire. The man in the soccer jersey had spotted me.
I reloaded, punching my revolver’s ejector rod and twisting a new speed loader into the cylinder. I then squeezed my radio’s transmit button. “Xbox, I’m pinned down! Get this guy off me!”
“I’m on it!” Tailor replied. Seconds later more gunshots echoed through the warehouse as Tailor opened up with his .45. “You can move!”
“Roger! Moving!” I replied, coming to my feet again. I snaked through the maze of crates and shelves, revolver held out in front of me in both hands as I moved.
“Xbox, Shafter, we’re entering now!” Hudson said over the radio. Tailor acknowledged him, and I wondered what in the hell had taken Hudson so long. I realized then that it had only been a minute since I’d fired the first shot.
“I’ve lost that shooter!” Tailor snarled, frustration obvious in his voice. In less than a minute we’d wiped out all of Hosani’s guards except one. It kind of pissed me off, too.
I cleared the maze of crates and found myself in the open area in the middle of the warehouse. Jalal Hosani’s corpse lay splayed out on the floor in a large pool of blood, a ragged hole between his shoulder blades.
“Careful,” Tailor warned as Hudson and Byrne approached. “We still got one shooter out there, the guy in the jersey.”
“Which way did he go?” I asked, kicking Hosani’s corpse to make sure he was dead. He was. I dropped an Ace of Spades onto his back.
“You two,” Tailor said, pointing at Hudson, “cover us. Val, follow me, I think he went through this door.” The four of us split into pairs again. Hudson and Byrne exited the way they’d come in, through the open dock door. Tailor extended his 1911 and led me behind another shelf of crates, through a door that was hidden behind it.
It led to a short hallway. Our two teammates stayed behind, covering the doorway while Tailor and I made our way down, weapons at the ready. There were two doors on one side and one door on the other, but all three were closed. At the end of the hallway, there was a partially open door. A small sign above the door read Custodian in English and Arabic. It was a janitor’s closet. A backpack with a broken strap lay on the floor, a few feet from the door.
My eyes caught a flash of movement in the darkened closet. Tailor and I spread out to either side of the hallway and continued to inch forward. We were wide open, and doorways were fatal funnels.
Shit, I thought bitterly. I wish we had grenades.
“Hey! Why don’t you come out and die like man?” I shouted. I looked over at Tailor and shrugged. When all else fails, negotiate.
LORENZO
Please, don’t let them have any grenades.
“Hey! Why don’t you come out and die like a man?” one of them yelled. Despite his raised voice, he sounded very calm, almost conversational.
“Why don’t you come down here and get me then?” I shouted around the corner. The closet was decent cover, the walls were solid, and if they wanted me, they had to come down that fatal funnel of a hallway. The first one to stick his head down here was going to die, and they knew it.
“Who the fuck are you?” one of them yelled, clearly agitated. Apparently they weren’t used to somebody speaking English. He was obviously a Southerner.
“Nobody worth dying over,” I responded. “You better hurry. Somebody had to hear all that shooting. You don’t have much time.”
“We’ll make time,” stated the calm one.
Carl came over the earpiece. He was out of breath. “Some skinny guy saw me coming in the market and tried to stab me, so I broke his head.” So Jalal’s man had tried to stop my friend. That was a fatal mistake.
“There are at least three shooters. They’ve got me pinned down.”
“I’ll circle around,” he said. I could hear the Dead Six men talking back and forth in hushed tones down the hallway. The nearest two were speaking in Spanish, but they shouted at someone else in English that they would take care of me.
“We’re on the way,” Reaper said. “But I’m stuck behind some trucks.”
“I’m coming to help.” The female voice over the radio took me a second to process. I could hear the van door open.
Idiot. “Jill, stay put!”
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM
I jerked away from the doorway as the walls shattered. The giant .44 Magnum slugs tore through the building materials with unbelievable fury. The smell of solvents filled the air from leaking containers. I stuck my gun around the corner and fired several wild rounds in response.
“Val! Holy shit, look at all this money!” They’d found the backpack.
“That’s mine!” I shouted. “Assholes!”
“Not anymore, motherfucker!” shouted the obnoxious one. “Ha!”
VALENTINE
“This is taking too long,” I said, dumping a fresh speed loader into my .44. “C’mon, man, we gotta go!” Tailor nodded, slung the backpack full of money, and led the way. I backed down the hallway, keeping my gun trained on the closet at the end of the hall. We’d already told Hudson and Byrne to head back to their vehicle, and the cops would be all over Hasa Market before too long.
“Control, Xbox,” Tailor said, speaking into his radio. “Target neutralized. Egressing now. Will update as I can.” Sarah acknowledged him on the radio as we reached the door at the other end of the hallway.
“It’s your lucky day, asshole,” I said to the man in the closet, even though I doubted he could hear me. Tailor and I then turned and bolted back through the warehouse.
LORENZO
It was quiet. I risked a peek. I couldn’t see anything, but that didn’t mean they weren’t just waiting quietly to blow my head off.
“Lorenzo, there are four of them. Two came in the back. They’re heading west toward the street.” Carl said. “Those two fodas from the video just walked out the front. They’re heading south through the market, trying to play it cool.”
The ones with the box were the ones that mattered. “Tail them. I’m on my way,” I responded, already heading for the exit. I shoved the STI back in its holster as I hopped over the bodies of Jalal and his men. There was no way I was going to let them get away.
The market was continuing as normal. The walls of the old warehouse and the music must have muffled the gunshots enough not to spook the crowd. I walked quickly, as running would have drawn too much attention. A woman gasped and pointed at me. Glancing down, I realized that I was still splattered with Jalal’s blood. “Shit,” I muttered.
“They’re moving south,” Carl reported. “I’m on them.”
“Where?” I hissed. The woman was pointing at me and pulling on her husband’s sleeve. I ducked my head and turned, moving deeper into the throng.