Penance

Cu

He unclipped the leather wrist cuffs from the sides of the box. Heavy bastards, big buckles. He looped one cuff through the other, and buckled them tight. He held the cuffs in one hand, snapped his wrist a little. All together, maybe two feet long, good heft, decent leverage. He fiddled with them a bit so that the heavy buckles were right where he wanted them.

Motherfuckers would have to open the damn box eventually.

Weaver held on to the door grip as the van spun out of the spot behind Ma

The three guys in the van were all long-time InterGov pros. They knew the drill. At this point, it was get away or get dead.

Just as the van neared the end of the alley, a PD truck pulled into the alley from the south, blocking their exit.

The InterGov driver swung the van hard left into the parking lot on the north side of the church, barreled through the church lot out on to Sheridan on a diagonal, clipping the front end of a car as it made the turn east.

A Chicago squad car shot out an alley on their left, trying to cut them off. Weaver’s driver swerved to give Weaver an angle. Weaver already had the M4 out the window. No aiming for legs now. He put most of a clip through the windshield of the squad as the van shot past it, two wheels up on the curb, pedestrians diving out of the way. The cop car swerved, slowed, bounced up the curb and crunched into the brick three-flat across the street.

Weaver couldn’t believe it, but they just might get clear. One more block. He could hear sirens, but nothing in sight. He hit the button on the door opener and the van shot down the drive into the garage, pulling up next to the rentals. Weaver put the door down behind them.

Weaver turned to the guys in the back. “Do me a favor. Open the box and shoot the cop. We won’t be needing him.”

Cu

The cuffs caught the guy right across the eyes, the heavy buckle ripping into one of them, blood spurting. The man’s head snapped back against the side window of the van, and his hands flew to his eyes, the automatic he had been holding clattering to the floor of the van next to the body box.

Cu

Cu

The man he had whipped with the cuffs tightened his right forearm against Cu

The man broke his grip and slumped back against the window, both hands pressed to his face, something between a sob and a scream coming through his hands. Cu

Cu

Cu

“Freeze and show us your hands,” one shouted.

Cu

“Got four in the van,” he said. “Three dead, one cuffed. My name’s Cu

“We’ll see,” said one of the cops, walking up behind him. “Just give me one hand, nice and easy.”

Cu

Lynch rolled past the car and then started ru

An arm reached out from under the truck, holding a rifle by the top of the barrel. It dropped the rifle in the gutter next to the curb.

“Chicago police!” Lynch shouted. “Slide out from under the truck. Slowly. Head and arms first.” Lynch looked across the street. No more firing from the Ma

Lynch saw a man’s head and arms extend from under the truck, the man easily sliding out, rising to his feet. He was Lynch’s age, shorter, maybe five-eight, compact, his face placid.