Part 15 (1/2)

CHAPTER 46.

MY HAND dove into the duffel, feeling for the first piece of metal I could find. I pulled out the Glock as he turned back around.

Surprise, buddy. The wall's closing in from this side, too.

I squeezed off two rounds right to his chest, his body thras.h.i.+ng as if he'd just been jolted with electric paddles.

He wasn't the only one shaking, though. I'd never shot anyone before. The feeling was otherworldly, and not in the good way.

Trying to hold it together, I stood over him. His eyes were closed, his body motionless. The only thing missing was the coffin.

Still, something wasn't right. There's something else missing.

There should've been blood-lots and lots of it-staining his white s.h.i.+rt. The moment he opened his eyes was the moment I realized why there wasn't any. He was wearing a vest.

The shots were still echoing in the Dumpster as the hydraulics of the compactor suddenly hissed to a stop. Another sound, someone's voice, immediately filled the silence.

”Gordon!”

He now had a name. We both looked up at the chute. Gordon's partner was calling down to him. He'd undoubtedly heard the gunfire.

With my Glock pointed at Gordon's head, I raised a finger to my lips. Don't answer. I needed a moment to think, not that I really had one.

”Gordon!” came the voice again, even louder.

The only thing I knew for sure was that I didn't want his partner coming down for a visit.

”Tell him you'll be right up,” I said.

Just in case Gordon had thoughts of his own, I tightened my grip on the Glock. As nervous as I must have looked, I'd already pulled the trigger twice.

What Gordon wouldn't have given to know where he'd dropped his gun.

He coughed, his face contorting with pain. The vest had stopped the shots, but the wind had been knocked clear out of him. He was struggling to catch his breath.

”All good,” he finally yelled. ”I'll be up in a minute.”

I didn't look away, not for a second, as I leaned down to pick up the duffel with my free hand.

”You have a badge?” I asked, only to see him shake his head. ”How about a wallet?”

”No.”

Strange thing was, I believed him. In his line of work you don't really carry ID around with you. In any event, I wasn't about to risk searching him.

”I should kill you,” I said.

”But you won't.”

He was right. Shooting a man in self-defense was one thing. Shooting him in cold blood was something else entirely. Something I wasn't.

”Who's behind all this?” I asked. ”Who wants the kid dead?”

He just stared at me. If he knew, he wasn't telling. Where had I seen that before?

Would I really be bothered by the moral implications of an injection that could make him tell me what I wanted to know? Nothing is ever black and white.

Not even the truth.

CHAPTER 47.

”REAL SLOWLY,” I said, ”I want you to pull up your right pant leg.”

If I was ever going to leave that Dumpster alive, I couldn't risk his having a second gun. He pulled up his pant leg to show me there was no s.h.i.+n holster.

”Now your left one,” I said.

No s.h.i.+n holster there, either.

”Satisfied?” he asked.

”Not yet,” I said. ”I want you to tie your shoelaces together.”

I was expecting him to give me a look that said You've got to be kidding me. Instead he just said no.

”No?”

”That's right,” he said. ”No.”

But it was the way he said it. c.o.c.ksure. As if he'd suddenly regained all the leverage. Really?

I knew exactly what he was thinking. Forget the shoelaces, if I couldn't kill him, the only things about to be tied were my hands.

”Fine,” I said.

But it was the way I said it. And had he been paying a bit more attention, he would've stopped smiling well before I lowered my aim and fired one shot into his right foot.