The Stranger by Mark Ayre (books you need to read TXT) 📗

She knew time was almost up.

Thirty

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” said the man who was probably Francis. “I’m a busy man. Plenty to do. Hope I’m not keeping you from anything?”

Down the stairs. Fast. Silent. Okay, not entirely silent, but who knew how long remained? Ten minutes? A minute? Ten seconds? Five?

“It’s about the money, Francis. About Danny’s debt.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Abbie slipped through the door into the lobby, turned, rushed past the desk where patrons were expected to pay for a night of fun to the doors which led into the main bar area. Through the glass panel, she could see Francis’ guy, palms down on the bar, smiling like a sociopath. Abbie couldn’t see his gun. Knew it was between those hands. From her pocket, she drew her knife, which she had retrieved from Balcony Guard’s throat. Held it tight in her fist—blade towards the door. The gun, stolen from the guard’s death grip, she clasped in her other hand, by her side.

“Don’t worry about the money,” said confirmed-Francis. “Forget the debt.”

Eddie gasped. He was shocked. Abbie wasn’t. Something had changed last night. Francis knew the truth. Or he didn’t. He might only suspect, but Eddie’s meeting request had driven a change of approach. It was an opportunity too good to pass up. If so, if Eddie died, it would be Abbie’s fault.

“Forget the debt?” said Eddie. His voice trembled with both hope and fear.

Abbie put her hand on the double door, began to ease it silently open.

“Forget it,” reiterated Francis. “In lieu of cash, my friends here will ensure you endure several hours of excruciating pain. Then I’ll put a bullet through your brain.” Abbie could almost hear the monster’s broad grin. “No one will ever find your body.”

Abbie stepped through the door, holding it open with her knife hand, as Eddie garbled, trying to process what he had heard.

Hand still on the door, Abbie took another step. While pointing her gun at the Barman’s head, she moved to bring Redhead and half of Francis into view. The protruding booth wall still hid both Eddie and Kline from Abbie.

At Abbie’s final step, Barman’s peripheral vision revealed to him a newcomer. He twisted his head, and Abbie did as Francis had threatened to do to Eddie, putting a bullet through Barman’s brain.

Redhead spun. Abbie fired three times and dropped him. Now stepping towards the bar, she swung her gun to Francis and fired again.

Francis was turning. Kline was moving. The latter grabbed the former and yanked him aside as Abbie fired. The bullet hit the wall.

At the same time, Kline twice pulled his own trigger. Abbie avoided losing her throat and an eye by diving behind the bar.

Keeping low, Abbie moved, stopping above Barman’s body. His gun remained on the bar. Abbie didn’t risk going for it. From the dead man’s jacket, she extracted a spare magazine containing nine rounds. She traded it for her own, which was almost spent.

“Abbie? Is that you, Abbie? She knows where the money is. We can give you your money.”

Eddie finished speaking then cried out. A clunk indicated Kline had pistol-whipped him. This duo plus Francis would be grouped together, Kline aiming for the bar. Francis would have a gun on Eddie. If Abbie rose, Kline and Francis could fire simultaneously.

Something needed to happen. Somehow, Abbie needed to change the dynamic.

A gun fired. Above Abbie’s head but a metre along, two bottles of suspended vodka exploded. Clear liquid and shattered glass rained to the floor.

“Abbie?” mused Francis. “You must be the lovely lady who embarrassed two of my guys. In fact, so embarrassed was Ronson he refused to report for duty today. Luckily, Kline is more professional.”

Another bang. This time two whiskey bottles exploded on Abbie’s other side. More glass and liquid rained to the ground.

“I like a strong woman,” said Francis. “My wife is a ferocious lady, as you seem to be. I thought you were just protecting that stupid kid Travis, so I let you be. Now you come here, kill at least two of my men—and probably four, given the guys I posted on the door and balcony aren’t intervening—and interrupt a business meeting. I hope you understand; I cannot let that slide.”

Abbie said, “Oh, I understand.”

“You’ll have to share a grave with Eddie here. Will that be agreeable?”

“Tell him where the money is,” Eddie interjected.

“Yeah, Abbie, tell me where the money is.” Francis spoke with a laugh in his voice.

“Will you let us go if I do?”

“Could I let you go?” Francis retorted. “Or is your heart set on ending my life?”

This was a valid point. Abbie almost smiled.

“The money,” she said, “is in one of your safes. I assume the same one from which it was taken. And you won’t leave this club alive.”

Francis laughed. To Eddie or Kline, he said, “I like her. She’s smart.”

Another shot. More bottles exploded. Abbie ducked. Covered her head with her hands. Shards of glass littered her back. Stinking booze soaked her already blood stained top. When she pulled her hand away, the back of one was cut. Blood ran down to her wrist and dropped to the floor. Pain roared through the wound as whiskey seeped in.

“This won’t end the way you want,” said Francis.

Abbie was moving. Keeping below bar top level but on her feet, so the shattered glass which covered the floor didn’t slice her palms or knees, she moved to the far end of the bar from where she had entered. Here was another swing door. Beyond that: the wall and STAFF ONLY door through which Francis had first appeared.

“We hear you moving,” said Francis. “What exactly is the game plan?”

Abbie would never have responded to the question. Still, she wished she knew the answer.

Whatever she did, it would have to be soon. Static indecision only brought Eddie closer to death. Francis would quickly grow tired of the standoff and was in a good position to shoot Eddie