The Lawless Kind (16 page)

‘Rink, to me, buddy.’

He jerked his head to confirm he’d heard, but he was still kneeling, firing at those nearest him. To stand now would be suicide. I jogged away, zigzagging to avoid being brought down. Up on the roof one of the guards played his flashlight beam over me, and I began drawing fire.

While I ran, skidded to a halt and then backtracked, Rink came up to his feet and began to backpedal, still shooting. I heard him grunt and knew he’d taken a hit.

More people spilled from the front of the house. Had we come here with the express purpose of assassinating Jorge Molina then here was my opportunity. I could see his thick head of hair as he ran down the front steps, shouting orders. But that wasn’t my purpose – despite Walter’s none-too-subtle instruction – so I didn’t fire on him. He was too far away to ensure a hit, and others with guns in their hands warranted my attention. His face was rigid with anger. I spied another face in the open doorway. The light shining from inside cast the man in silhouette, but I recognised his bony countenance and the skull-like shape it made. I fired a round at him. It struck the wall to his right, but it was enough to make the bastard dive back inside.

Engines began growling, and a vehicle nosed round the side of the house, until its softened tyres buckled and split and the rims settled to the ground. The driver threw open the door, using it as a shield as he drew down on us. Rink fired a grouping of three shots at the door and the man was forced to take cover inside, shouting in a mixture of agony and rage. Just then another car rounded the corner. It too came on flat tyres, but the driver was taking it cautiously, flanked by two more guards who were crouching behind the car and using it as a shield.

‘Time to move, Rink,’ I shouted.

This time he was able to run back to the gate, covering me while I also moved towards the guardhouse. Gunfire forced me inside while Rink charged out and on to the open plaza. He swerved right, placing the gatepost between him and the rolling attack. More of those who’d been taking cover were emboldened by the actions of their mates and came out of hiding, moving across the compound in a skirmish line. Bullets began tearing the guardhouse to pieces, cutting through the open door and striking the office space inside. I had to take cover, as much from the ricochets as anything else.

‘Get the fuck outta there, before they corner you!’

Rink’s shout motivated me.

No way could I go back out of the door on this side, and it was the only open exit.

So I took the other option.

I turned my gun on the thick sheet of smoked glass that had been added to adapt the turret into a modern gatehouse.

My rounds punched the glass, but only served to star the thickened pane. I required something with more mass to even hope to make it through. A chair and desk were situated below the window, neither of which would be any good to me: the chair was too light, the desk too heavy. A filing cabinet to the right of the entrance door was a more viable battering ram. Shoving away my SIG I hauled it up, grunting at the weight, before tipping it so the sharp angle of a bottom corner was lined up with the window. I heaved the cabinet, almost tearing the tendons from my shoulders with the effort. The cabinet struck the window, bursting free a chunk of glass the size of my head, then fell on to the desk with a huge bang. It was accompanied by the renewed wallops of bullets striking the inside of the room. Some of the rounds cutting inside the office helped weaken the window, but it remained a substantial barrier.

Not that I was about to give up. Returning to the door, I fired at those advancing on my position from behind the cover of the slowly moving car. Then I turned my gun on the driver, firing through the windscreen. The slide on my SIG locked open. Grabbing for the final cartridge of ammunition in my belt, my hand fell on empty space. Son of a bitch, during my run with Benjamin the clip must have worked loose and fallen out there in the darkness. If I didn’t find a way out of the guardhouse in the next few seconds I was finished.

I ran back to the cabinet, hauling it up and swinging it again at the place where the window was already broken, knocking loose another large shard. To my dismay I saw now that a plastic film had been added to the outside of the pane. It was going to be the devil’s own job breaking through. To remind me how precarious my position was, a fresh volley of rounds cut the air beside my shoulder, the bullets bouncing crazily around the room. A chunk of red-hot metal scored a line across my left forearm.

In the next few seconds Molina’s men would be on me. My first thought was whether I could take the fight to them; perhaps snatch a gun from one before the others brought me down. My second thought: I hoped that my sacrifice had earned Velasquez and McTeer enough time to get Benjamin well out of the way.

A sudden crash against the window brought me round. Rink’s figure had jagged edges, but that was only an effect caused by the shattered prism of glass. He kicked again, driving forward with his heel. The weakened glass was resisting my efforts from within, but pressure from the other side helped tip the balance. Rink – who I’ve seen snapping baseball bats with kicks during demonstrations of his karate skills – slammed the glass a second time. The lower half of the glass buckled inwards. There wasn’t room for me to get out without ripping myself to shreds, but it was enough for Rink to toss me a spare magazine of ammo.

I snatched it up and replaced the empty one in my gun.

The timing was just right, because the car was almost upon me, the driver angling it to block me inside the room. I fired almost point-blank and got him in the chest this time. Using the car as a barricade, the others dropped out of sight, but only for a few seconds. Then they were up again and bullets tore through my sanctuary. I caught another ricochet, this time losing a strip of skin from my right thigh. Hurt like a bastard, but I couldn’t let it stop me. I returned fire, forcing the attackers down. Rink had given up on the window, returning to a position where he could fire at an angle from behind the far gatepost. His crossfire gave me the opportunity to go for broke and I took it.

I ran the few short steps up to the desk, then hurled myself over it. Covering my skull with my elbows, I pounded into the weakened glass. There was no cinematic explosion; the film held the glass together in a gummy embrace, cocooning me. But the window was irrevocably damaged now, and my hurtling bodyweight was enough to rip it from its frame. I tumbled outside, the shards of glass enveloping me, a thousand prickles as they jabbed through my clothing. Thankfully my momentum helped me roll free of the vicious blanket, and I came out of the roll splattering droplets of blood. I dreaded checking the damage, but had to. If I’d severed an artery, then that was it. A quick run of my hands over myself told me I’d picked up dozens of tiny punctures and scratches, but the most significant cuts remained those made by the ricochets on my arm and thigh. The blood trickled from me, but at least it wasn’t pumping out.

Rink was hurtling towards me.

‘Get the fuck outta here!’ He didn’t even stop to scream in my face.

Then we were charging down the plaza.

We were clear of the compound, but it was a long way back to the US border.

Chapter 20

‘Is it them?’

Kirstie jumped up from a wooden stool next to the breakfast counter. She’d heard the thrum of an engine filtering in through the door followed by the soft squeak of brakes as a vehicle pulled to a halt outside the motel room. The wait had been agonising, made all the more interminable by her anxiety that the van might never return. For hours now she’d been on edge, counting every repeated pattern she could find – from the designs in the curtains to the carpets, the bedding, even the tiles on the ceiling – but it had failed to occupy her thoughts. She’d been too concerned about the fate of her boy. She had been separated from Benjamin for so long, nothing mattered but getting him back. Yet another concern worried at her like a toothless old dog on a bone. If, no, when – she must be optimistic – she was reunited with Benjamin, what if he did not recognise his own mother? The trepidation slowed her enough for Harvey Lucas to intercept her dash to the door.

‘Let me check first, OK?’ Harvey went to the window and poked open a gap in the blinds. Down by his side he held a Glock, primed for action should the arrivals be unwelcome.

Kirstie watched the man’s features smooth out, his shoulders relaxing as he exhaled.

‘It’s them.’

‘Do they have Benjamin?’

‘I can’t tell. I can only see Mac in the front seat. Whoa, hold up, Kirstie!’ Harvey grabbed her to stop her from throwing open the door. ‘Give me a few seconds to check everything’s all right.’

Kirstie stood in the centre of the motel room, her hands twisting together. It was probably best that she’d left her handgun in her purse otherwise she’d have been firing rounds into the floor. Harvey returned to his spyhole and peered out once again, watching as McTeer slipped out of the van and headed round the back. Kirstie wasn’t conscious of tapping her tongue on her teeth. She started forward again.

‘No. You must stay out of sight.’ Harvey cracked the door open.

‘I need to know . . .’

‘A few seconds.’

There was a rush of footsteps, and then Harvey admitted Velasquez, carrying a blanket bundle in his arms, followed seconds later by McTeer, who came in backwards, watching outside. Kirstie’s attention was focused on the bundle in Velasquez’s arms. A cry broke from her, part relief, part tortured howl as she lunged for the unresponsive child swaddled in the blanket.

Velasquez relinquished his hold as Kirstie pulled Benjamin into her embrace and tugged free the blanket that covered his face. She feared Benjamin had suffocated and her terror didn’t abate when the boy’s face was revealed. His eyes were shut, his mouth hanging open. ‘Oh, God! What’s wrong with my baby?’

‘Relax,’ Velasquez soothed. ‘The boy’s fine. He’s just a little drowsy, that’s all.’

‘What did you do to him?’ Kirstie’s voice was full of accusation.

‘Wasn’t anything we did. You can blame his daddy for that. I think he’s had some sort of medication to make him sleep. He hardly woke all the way back.’

Kirstie wasn’t listening. Benjamin had stirred, his lips smacking together, his eyelids cracking open a sliver. His pupils were out of focus but very much alive. There were dried tears on his plump cheeks, testament to his short periods of wakefulness. Kirstie couldn’t hold back her own tears, weeping with no shame or self-consciousness before the trio of men. She began kissing Benjamin, her lips feeling the warmth of his skin, the faint tickle of his breath. She wanted to squeeze him so tightly her body would absorb his. The men were in conversation around her, Harvey stalking back and forth between her and the door. The pounding of her heartbeat muted their voices. Yet something impinged, and for the first time she thought of someone other than her child. She tuned into their voices.

‘We should go back,’ McTeer was saying.

‘No. Our instructions were to secure Kirstie and the boy and then get out of here.’ Harvey didn’t appear convinced by his own argument.

‘We could go back,’ McTeer insisted. ‘Velasquez and me. We could take the van now that the kid’s out of harm’s way.’

‘We need the van to move on from here,’ Harvey said. ‘Hunter would have it no other way.’

‘We had to use the van to ram the gates,’ Velasquez said. ‘Molina’s guys have seen it, so it’s probably best we dump it now and find some other form of transportation for Kirstie and Benjamin. I vote that we go back, make sure the guys got out alive, and then torch the fucking thing. Harvey, you could arrange another vehicle in minutes if you wanted to.’

‘I could, but Hunter would have my balls in a sling if I did. You knew what the mission was before we came in, guys: it’s about getting Kirstie and Benjamin safely across the border.’

Still hugging Benjamin, Kirstie peered at the Hispanic man and his rugged-faced companion, McTeer. She knew she should thank them for bringing her boy back to her, but those weren’t the words that slipped from her mouth. ‘You left Joe behind?’

‘Not out of choice.’ McTeer scowled at the ground, as if by meeting her gaze he’d invite further scorn. ‘Rink was trapped inside the compound and Hunter went back to help him. Nothing we could say or do would have stopped him. If you know Hunter and Rink, you know they’re attached at the hip. Hunter made us leave, and it’s probably best for the boy that we did. Fuckin’ gunfight was going crazy by then.’

Kirstie blinked in astonishment. Not at McTeer’s explanation, but at how hard his words hit her. Hell, she barely knew either man, and though she’d shared an intimate moment with Hunter, well, that shouldn’t mean much. It was just a moment of weakness where perhaps she’d have sought comfort in anyone’s arms. Nonetheless, the thought that she’d never lay eyes on Hunter again twisted a sharp blade through her heart. ‘He . . . uh, they’ll be OK though, won’t they?’