Panic

“There are enough parked cars to keep you covered,” said Jerome. “If you move fast enough, you’ll make it.”

“And if you miss?”

“I won’t.”

Leopold opened his mouth to protest, but was too late. The bodyguard bounded toward one of the upright garbage cans and used it to launch himself high enough to catch hold of the fire escape that ran down the side of the apartment building. His fingertips caught hold and he used his momentum to grasp the bottom rung of the ladder with both hands. He swung his legs upwards and climbed to the lower platform. The rusty iron creaked under his weight as he ascended the metal staircase that led to the roof. As he approached the summit, Leopold saw him give the signal.

Pushing his nerves to the back of his mind, Leopold took a deep breath and shot out into the street, diving behind the damaged car that Jerome had used for cover earlier. Leopold closed his eyes and braced for the bullet, but none came. Relieved, he assumed a crouching position and prepared to make a dash for the next parked car, just a few feet away. He kept low and moved quickly, keeping his head out of sight.

He reached the next car and leaned up against the rear bumper. There had still been no sign of gunfire, meaning the shooter had either moved position or was waiting for a better shot. In either event, Leopold knew he would have to present an easier target to draw fire in his direction, allowing Jerome an opportunity to take the sniper out from the roof. A simple plan, but he knew that if the bodyguard missed, it was all over. The next bullet would be aimed directly at Leopold’s chest, and he didn’t fancy his chances of getting out of the way in time. Everything rested on Jerome’s ability to make that one shot count.

Leopold screwed his eyes closed and bunched his fists. He counted to five silently and tensed the muscles in his legs, ready for his next move. Gritting his teeth, he rose to his feet and stepped into the middle of the road.

The sound of the gunshot was deafening, even from a distance. Leopold jumped in his skin and clutched at his chest, instinctively checking for blood. But there was none. The street fell silent and Leopold heard his heart thump against his rib cage, before realizing he hadn’t taken a breath in nearly a minute. He exhaled deeply, relief flooding his body, and stumbled back to the alleyway, using the parked cars for much-needed support as he went. He rounded the corner as Jerome landed with a heavy thump, having jumped the ten feet from the fire escape to the ground.

“Did you take him out?” asked Leopold, leaning against the wall to give himself a chance to recover.

“I managed to catch the rifle and shatter the scope,” said Jerome. “I think I may have wounded him, but he’s still alive. I’ll need to get closer to be sure.”

Albert peeked out from behind his hiding place as Mary began to groan softly.

“Looks like she’s awake,” said Albert, kneeling down by her head. “I can make sure she’s okay. You go ahead.”

Leopold caught Jerome’s arm as he walked past. “I’m going with you. You’ll need backup in case there are any surprises.”

He saw the bodyguard consider his words carefully, before nodding slowly.

“Fine. But you’ll need to keep up.”

Leopold nodded and followed him to the edge of the alleyway, both checking for any sign of movement in the street. When the coast was clear, Jerome counted down from three and they both sprinted as fast as they could manage in the direction of the shooter’s position.

They reached the building in a matter of seconds, vaulting the fence and landing in the alleyway where the building’s fire escape ran up the side wall. Jerome used a nearby dumpster to add height to his jump and grabbed hold of the railings, hoisting himself onto the rungs with relative ease. Stepping back a few feet to allow a ru

He reached the roof just a second after the Jerome, who drew his weapon as he surveyed the area. The roof was deserted. Other than the abandoned rifle and a handful of spent shells in the far corner, there was no evidence anyone had been there at all. A large air-conditioning unit sat square in the middle of the roof, making just enough noise to blank out the sound of distant traffic. Leopold kept his eyes on the unit as Jerome moved toward the broken rifle, his Colt .45 held in both hands.

Leopold saw the sniper attack as Jerome passed the air conditioning unit. The man wielded a short but lethal knife in his right hand, the blade angled away from his body to allow for a more effective attack to the throat. The bodyguard feigned surprise, which spurred his opponent’s attack, but at the last minute he side-stepped out of the way.

The knife met only air as it narrowly whispered past Jerome’s face. The shooter used the momentum of his failed attack to bring his left elbow around to catch the bodyguard’s jaw, twisting his entire body to add extra force.

Leopold cringed as he waited for the blow to land, not knowing whether he should rush in to help, but Jerome was too quick and again sidestepped out of the way. As the sniper’s body finished its rotation the two men were now face-to-face and square with each other. Jerome raised his handgun and squeezed the trigger, but the shooter dashed forward and parried the gun with his left forearm, angling his knife for an attack the throat.

Leopold saw Jerome drop the gun and bring his left arm up quickly under the shooter’s wrist, pushing the knife harmlessly to the side. The sniper’s momentum carried him forward and the bodyguard bent his right forearm to allow a clear path to the man’s exposed throat. Jerome lunged and made contact with his fist, the combined force of their movements choking his opponent and opening up the chest area to further attack. He didn’t waste any time and used his right fist to deal a powerful blow to the sniper’s solar plexus while his left held the knife at bay.

As the shooter doubled over in pain, Leopold watched as Jerome brought the man’s head down onto his knee, breaking the nose with a wet crunch. He wrenched the man’s right hand away from his body, breaking the wrist with a sharp cracking noise.

Leopold held back a retch as he remembered the sound Dolph’s skull had made as it shattered. Shaking his head to push away the memory, he ran over to join the bodyguard, who grabbed the sniper by the hair and pulled his head back.

“How many others are left?” growled Jerome, raising his fist over the man’s exposed throat.

“Fuck you,” the shooter gurgled, blood streaming from his ruined nose.

“Last chance. How many others are there?”

The sniper spat in the bodyguard’s face and swore again. Jerome brought his right arm around the front of the sniper’s throat and placed him in a choke hold. The man struggled, but could barely move under the force of the bodyguard’s grip. He held the shooter’s throat fast, increasing the pressure until Leopold saw him draw his last breath, his windpipe crushed under the fierce hold. Jerome felt for a pulse and found none. He let the body fall to the floor and walked back toward the fire escape, pausing long enough to let Leopold catch up.

Neither spoke a word as they made their way back to the alleyway below.

Chapter 35

When they reached Hank’s apartment building the front door was open, wedged ajar by the decorators who were on their way out for the night. Leopold stood to the side to let them through and then slipped inside before the door closed, holding it open for Jerome, Mary, and Albert. The four of them made their way upstairs to Hank’s apartment, where Mary pulled aside the police tape and stepped through into the living room.