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At the Dybek reception, Co
“You look like somebody crapped in your breakfast cereal,” Rocky said.
“It’s been a long day.”
“This’ll cheer you up.” Rocky pulled a cedar box out of a bottom desk drawer, slid it across to Co
Co
“Hell if I know,” Rocky said. “You’ve seen the place. We have all kinds of stuff around here. I thought maybe you’d know since you enjoyed-” Rocky jerked his head up, cocked an ear toward the door. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Co
“Be quiet, please.” Rocky jerked open another desk drawer. His hand dipped in and came out again with a nickel-plated.45 automatic. His hands shook. “God, I hate this thing.” He fumbled in the magazine, cocked the pistol. Rocky didn’t look at Co
Co
“I just thought… Maybe I’m imagining things.”
And then Co
He answered. “What’s going on? What? Damn! Yes, do it. Do it now!” Rocky slammed the phone down. “Jesus!” He opened his desk drawer again, came out with another, smaller automatic, slid it across the desk to Co
Co
Pops again. Gunfire.
“Somebody’s here. I don’t understand. Nothing like this has ever- Christ, they’re getting closer,” Rocky said. “Pick up that pistol. Check the clip.”
“Who’s getting closer?”
“I said check your fucking weapon,” Rocky yelled. “I don’t know who they are. They just busted in and started shooting up the place. We got five dead men out there and-”
The phone rang. Rocky grabbed it. “Talk.”
Co
“Well, stop them. What do I pay you for?” Rocky slammed the phone down again. “They’re through the strip club.”
Co
“A.380. Point and squeeze.”
Gunshots exploded alarmingly close. Co
The phone rang again.
Rocky grabbed it. “What the hell’s going on out there? Jesus, it sounds like they’re right on top of us.” Another flurry of shots. “In the warehouse? Get them out of there. Get everyone.” His voice rose as he spoke, squeaky and panicked. “Don’t let them get back here. You understand what- Hello? Hello?”
He threw the phone down. “Goddammit!”
Co
“Don’t go out there!”
“I’m getting out of here.”
“I’m telling you my men will handle it.” Rocky didn’t sound like he believed it. “Stay put. Don’t go to pieces.”
Screams on the other side of the door. Back-and-forth shouting. More gunshots. Co
Co
Rocky stuck his pistol in his waistband, grabbed the edge of his desk. “Grab the other end. Help me move it against the door.”
Co
Rocky picked up the phone, listened, put it down again. “Dead.”
Footsteps. Coming toward the office.
Rocky pulled the automatic from his waistband, swallowed hard. “I wish Otis were here,” he whispered.
Co
“Can’t.” Rocky crouched behind his desk. “I had it made special. Bulletproof.”
The door swung open, and Co
Pete tilted on his feet. He didn’t look good. “I think… I think maybe…” He teetered sideways, hit the wall and slid into a sitting position. He dropped the machine gun, both hands going to his gut, the bloodstain widening, making his shirt stick to his belly. “Oh… no.”
Rocky ran to him. “Hang on, Pete. Oh, Christ. Co
Co
His fingers had just touched the knob when the door flew open. The heavy door smashed Co
Gunshots.
He opened his eyes, blinked away the colored lights. He glimpsed Rocky for a split second, firing his automatic. Bodies fell. Then bullets tore into Rocky. His body twitched, red blossoms across his chest. He hunched over, fell to the floor. His face turned to Co
Co
Japanese men.
One took the DiMaggio card from Rocky’s desk. He showed the others. They smiled, nodded, talked gibberish. Co
One of the Japanese saw him struggling. He was lean, wicked, mouth curling in contempt. Sideburns. He said something to his pals, and they all laughed.
He pointed his pistol at Co
Click.
The Japanese guy shrugged at his gun, ejected the empty clip, shook his head as he looked down at Co
Darkness.