Don’t Blink

Barely!

I pushed through the door to the stairs. For a split second I allowed myself to look back. Just one glance.

It was all I needed. Make that much more than I needed.

Storming out of my apartment, a gun fitted with a suppressor snug in his hand, was the man who should’ve killed me when he’d had the chance in that alley next to the pizza place in the South Bronx.

At least I’m sure that’s what Carmine Zambratta, the Zamboni, was thinking as his eyes met mine.

He raised his gun and my heart nearly stopped.

Keep ru

Chapter 80

I PRACTICALLY FLUNG myself down the stairs, my feet barely keeping up with the rest of me. Could I outrun him? Would he get a clear shot at me? I didn’t see why not.

I was about to press the hell out of my panic button to alert Brison in the lobby, when a voice kicked in from the one brain cell remaining that wasn’t drowning in adrenaline. No, wait! Don’t come to me, Brison – I’m coming to you!

And I’m bringing company.

I kept flying down the stairs – the ninth floor… the eighth – my shoes pounding away on the concrete steps, my heart pounding away at my chest.

How far back was he? Was he gaining on me?

That’s when I heard it.

Nothing.

There were no footsteps from above, no sound of the Zamboni gaining on me. I was alone in the stairwell and that one working brain cell of mine immediately figured out why.

He was taking the elevator.

Shit!

On the landing of the sixth floor I skidded to a stop, gasping for air, trying to think in straight lines.

Up?

Down?

Stay put?

What do I do?

In a flash, I thought I had the answer. I’d go hide in someone’s apartment – just keep banging on doors until somebody let me in. Then I’d call the police.

Oh no! The police.

The image of Brison on that couch in the lobby suddenly came crashing into my head. He was a sitting duck down there. I had to warn him.

You know that company l’m bringing, Brison? He might get there first!

I jammed my thumb against the panic button as I took off again down the stairs.

The fifth floor…

The fourth floor…

My lungs were on fire, my legs aching – but what hurt the most was not knowing what was going to happen.

How would Brison respond to my hitting the panic button? Would he head straight for the elevator and Zambratta?

“Will you walk into my parlor?” said the Spider to the Fly.

The third floor…

The second floor…

I had to get to the lobby first!

Nobody else could die on my watch.

Chapter 81

THE LITTLE THINGS we take for granted.

Like the glass window cut into the door between the stairs and the lobby. Seven years living in the building and I’d never once noticed it. Not one time.

But there it was, no bigger than a loaf of bread – hell, even smaller; make that a slice of bread – but still big enough to catch a glimpse of Brison as I raced down the last set of stairs.

He had his gun drawn, his mouth twisted into a scowl so tight I thought his face would crack.

He was aiming the gun dead square at the elevator. Watching. Waiting.

I did neither.

I bolted straight through the door like… well, like the crazy, panicked guy I was. Only when Brison turned on a dime and nearly blew my head off did I realize that maybe that hadn’t been such a good idea.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he said, his trigger finger still twitching. “I could’ve killed you!”

“Sorry.” What the hell else could I say?

Brison swung his gun back at the closed door of the elevator, and I followed his eyes to the line of floor numbers above it. The five was lit up. Then the four.

“It’s Carmine Zambratta,” I said quickly, still out of breath.

“I know.”

“He shot O’Shea.”

I could tell from Brison’s face he knew that, too. Or at least was assuming it. “Is he still alive?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t think so.”

Brison swallowed hard, digesting the news like the bitter pill it was. But that’s all he had time for. Otherwise both of us would end up just like O’Shea.

“Get the hell behind the counter!” he yelled at me. “Hurry! Stay down!”

I dashed behind the doorman’s desk – which looked more like a counter you’d see at an airline gate – while wondering how Brison had known Zambratta was in the elevator or that it was Zambratta at all.

That’s when I saw the closed-circuit monitor with a split screen on the wall right above me. Brison had obviously checked it when I had hit the panic button. He also must have told the doorman to skedaddle out of there. And call for help?

I stared at the monitor, my eyes bouncing back and forth like a game of Pong. On one side was the revolving door of the front entrance. On the other was the inside shot of the elevator.

And there he was in black and white. Grainy and fuzzy, too. Not to mention scary as shit.

The Zamboni.

For sure Brison had recognized him right away. How could he not? The guy was the poster boy for mob enforcers. A celebrity, practically. He killed people and got away with it. Probably have his own show on cable soon.

I could see the gun with the suppressor in his meaty hand, his huge shoulders pressed tight against the side of the elevator wall. Carmine Zambratta was coming for me, and he wanted me dead. Very badly.

Yet he couldn’t have looked more relaxed and in control. How freakin’ screwed up was that?

“What’s he doing? Is he still on the side of the elevator?” asked Brison, his voice clipped. His throat must have been dry as dirt. If he was trying to sound calm, it wasn’t working – and I was the last person on earth who could blame him for some nerves and high anxiety.

Crouched low and out of sight, I could still see the monitor perfectly. From where Brison was positioned, he couldn’t. Not at all.

I would have to be his eyes.

Don’t blink, Nick.

Chapter 82

“YES,” I TOLD BRISON, quickly wiping away the sweat dripping from my forehead. Zambratta was still hugging the side of the elevator. He hadn’t moved. What was he up to?

And where the hell was the elevator?

The damn thing should’ve reached the lobby by now, right? And then -

DING!

Right on cue. The elevator landed, the sound of the high-pitched bell cutting through the silence of the lobby. Here we go…

I braced myself, my eyes glued to the closed-circuit monitor. No need to look at Brison now.

“He’s raising his gun!” I called out.

I listened to the squeak of Brison’s shoes against the white marble floor of the lobby as he shifted his stance. I was waiting for the next sound – the elevator door opening.

It didn’t come!

Brison called again, “What’s he doing?”

I squinted at the monitor. I couldn’t tell at first – the image was flickering all over. When it finally steadied I could see Zambratta’s hand against the panel of buttons inside the elevator.

“He must be holding the door closed,” I said. “He’s got his – oh, shit!”

“What? What’s the matter now?”

It happened so fast.

Zambratta shot the lens of the security camera, the muffled sound of the smashing glass and metal followed by the monitor in front of me – half of it, at least – going black as night.

I poked my head up above the counter to tell Brison I was no longer his eyes.

“STAY DOWN!” he yelled at me as he dashed for the couch on the opposite wall. He ducked low behind the armrest, his gun and eyes never leaving the door of the elevator.

I dropped below the counter, holding my breath. The showdown had turned into a stalemate. Something – or someone – had to give. So what did it come down to? Who was the better shot?