No, the prick is probably calling Verrick right now asking what to do.” That’d cause too much talk around the ol’ department. “Meaning he’s gonna bring a lot of cops down here?” So that means they’re working with Tranter, when he needs ’em… And he’s apparently coming here to ‘clean this up’.” And these Chunkies who just chucked a bottle of burning gas at us have started working for the Club. I think he’s kinda the intermediary between Verrick and the Club. You hear what that guy said about Tranter?” “It’s going the way we were driving,” Seline pointed out. They followed the thin flashlight beam through the hole and found they were in an old rain runoff tunnel, dripping but not coursing with water. Wouldn’t want to miss out on another scenic Chicago hole in the wall.” “I think they’ll wait for orders on that. “They going to follow us down here?” Seline asked. The rusty sledgehammer that had done it was leaning up against the wall by the hole. He hurried down the ladder and found they were in a sub-basement-in one wall another gap had been smashed through. Wolfe had just gotten halfway down the ladder when a burst from an AR15 came spitting through the hole in the wall from the next room, the rounds zipping over his head. Wolfe put away the pistol, put the strap of the AR15 over one shoulder and followed her down. But she put her gun in her pocket and started down the ladder. On the other side they found a concrete floor with a hole broken in it, and a web-laced aluminum ladder stretching down into the darkness. She led the way through the hole in the wall. “Sounds like we go this way,” Seline said. He said we wait here, he come and clean it up.” “I think we oughta wait for Tranter, man. “I need more heat than that, now gimme the fucking Ar-five!” “Motherfucker that’s my gun! You got a niner!” “He shot Kewpie right in the head, man, I’m not getting close to that fucking door.” “Just shoot through the door and kill the motherfucker!” A hole had been knocked into the farthest wall. The beam illuminated a dusty, cobwebbed sofa, a few chairs. She took a small flashlight from her pocket-the flashlight was on a keychain. Then he was through the door and into the dim room. Wolfe ran up the steps, scooped up the weapon and ran back, bullets humming by him. The AK skidded over to the edge of the sidewalk. The thug with the AK47 went down, a bullet in the forehead. He had a flickering impulse to fire at the center of the bull’s eye but instead he aimed at a clearer target. The guy had a bull’s eye tattoo around his right eye. He turned-and saw a dark figure running at him, raising an AK47. The door was padlocked-Wolfe kicked it, hard, three times, and broke the hasp of the lock. It went down to a basement apartment, under the main stairway. Then they were in the doorway, descending.
TRANTER GRAPHICS PHONE NUMBER CRACKED
Two bullets cracked into the wall to their right, spitting chips of brickwork. She clutched his arm and they half-skidded, half-ran, across the oil slick to the sidewalk, stumbling up it. Take my arm and we’ll steady each other-into that doorway across the sidewalk.” “Come on,” Wolfe said firing another shot across the street. Jets of orange licked out from the two guns and someone shouted in pain. He fired, and Seline fired too, their guns barking like two dogs side by side. Someone was raising up behind a dumpster on this side of the street-and pointing a gun at him. He turned, catching a movement from the corner of his eye. “I’ve heard about people doing this… they scare you into hitting the gas, you hit their oil spill and the car goes out of control…” Fire still crackled from the hood of the car. “Hold onto the side… they’ve dumped oil on the street!” She took his hand and helped her slide across the front seats, and out of the car. He saw the glint of light on a gun barrel and he fired twice to keep them back. The Chunkies were half-sheltered behind a tumble of masonry below a half-fallen building. He saw hooded faces watching him from across the street, about where the Molotov cocktail had come from. He held onto the side of the car and looked around. “Hold it, Seline! Stay in the car, put that backpack on, and flatten down!” Come on, put on that backpack and let’s get out before the damn car blows up.”īut when he stepped onto the road his boots skidded and he almost fell-there was oil spread all over the street. “I sure as hell hope the guy has insurance, too. The engine died.įlames continued to flicker across the front of the car. The Explorer spun around three times, and slammed a rear door against a steel post. The Ford Explorer surged ahead, trailing flame, black smoke blotting the windshield, and then it skidded out of control. He wanted to get past whoever had thrown the firebomb before dealing with the fire. “I hope the guy you stole this car from has good insurance on his car,” Seline said, as Wolfe gunned the motor.
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