Fifth Ave 02 - Running of the Bulls (55 page)

Like Carra, Lasker and the reporter, Wolfhagen also had been strung up.
 
But he managed to break free and take the gun Carra's assassins placed on the bar before they left.
 
They put the gun there and said that freedom was just below should anyone want it.
 
What they really meant is that whoever broke free first could have the gun, kill the rest and escape before they were found out.

Wolfhagen was that person.
 
He was taller than the rest and found enough footing on the bar to lift himself up, remove the noose, topple to the ground and grab the gun.
 
He came up here to find a grislier way to kill them all when he heard a commotion, the sound of bodies dropping, and then Andrews directing the police.

Carra was wrong.
 
He wasn't afraid of death.
 
If it came, it came.
 
What frightened Wolfhagen more than anything was not leaving a mark.
 

Since he had transformed himself at Yale, it's what he always feared--the idea that he might slip back and become that nobody freak everyone loathed when he was growing up.
 
Now, if he could pull this off correctly, he had a chance to not only take out the police, but also everyone else in the room below.

After that, he faced the challenge of getting out alive, but if he could manage it, all Wolfhagen needed to do was get to the front door.
 
Run out into the night.
 
Disappear forever into the world.

*
 
*
 
*

Marty and Maggie moved around the bar and came to the grand staircase that led to the second floor, which was in darkness.
 
Maggie ran her hand along the wall to the left searching for a light switch while Marty darted across the staircase and did the same on the right wall.

The switch was on the left.

They stepped back into the first floor’s main room, tucked their bodies against the wall and looked at each other, their guns poised and ready.
 

Maggie tapped his thigh.

Gingerly, Marty reached out and snapped on the lights.
 
He jerked his hand away and listened.
 
Light was now fanning down the stairwell toward them.
 
They listened and, at first, could hear nothing.
 
There were no footsteps.
 
There was no movement.
 
And they wondered.
 
Was Wolfhagen waiting at the top of the stairs for them?
 
Was he waiting for one of them to peer around so he could blow a hole through their head?

Quietly, Marty dropped to the ground and got on his stomach.
 
He positioned his gun in such a way that it was pointing up the stairs.
 
Maggie inched forward and leveled her gun in front of her.
 
The barrel was about an inch from the end of the wall.
 
If Wolfhagen shot at Marty, she'd swing around and take him out.

He looked up at her, saw that she was ready and eased his head so he could look up the staircase.

Nothing.
 

He motioned for her to look.
 
And when she did, nothing changed to something.
 

The floor started to creak.
 
They could hear the distinct sound of something rolling.
 
It was coming quickly, so quickly, in fact, that Marty got to his feet and looked up at the staircase with Maggie.
 
And when they did, there was the sound of something igniting, a fresh blast of heat rolled down the staircase, and then a large bloom of fire mushroomed toward the second-floor ceiling as it came into view.
 

What they saw was a grand piano.
 
It was engulfed in flames and it stopped just short of going over the staircase.
 
Behind it was Wolfhagen, his face caught in the curling cascade of flames.
 

He was grinning down at them.
 
Maggie took a shot at him but missed.
 
Marty ran to the other side of the staircase to see if he could get a better view, but it was worse here.
 
Wolfhagen was hidden behind the growing fire.
 

And then came Wolfhagen's voice.
 
"You want to fuck with me?
 
Then you better have the balls to fuck with me.
 
Tonight, I win."

Maggie took aim and shot again just as he gave the piano a massive push.

*
 
*
 
*

It was as if it came from hell.

Ablaze and dripping liquid fire onto the staircase’s old carpet, which quickly caught with flame, the piano teetered for a moment at the top step before it started to thump and bump down the staircase.
 
Flames sprayed and sparks flew as it shook the building and built momentum.
 
And then there was the sound it made--thousands of notes playing at once, wires snapping, wood splintering.
 
It was a concerto of the damned and the music it made filled the space as if a madman was directing it.

Transfixed, Marty and Maggie watched it come toward them.
 
They watched it jump over stairs and gather speed as it flew through the air like some fiery, misshaped, musical comet.
 
In the vacuum of heat building within it, the piano's lid blew off and shot toward the ceiling, where it hung in the air just long enough to catch the ceiling on fire before it smashed back onto the piano.

“Run!” Marty shouted.

The piano slammed into the wall at the base of the stairwell.
 
The force was so great, it blew the piano apart, but the fire remained and it quickly spread, licking the old wallpaper and moving with surprising speed up the walls, over the ceiling and into the room on the second floor, where Wolfhagen now was trapped and would bake if he didn’t get out soon.
 

Maggie looked at Marty, who was peering up the stairs, and when she did, she saw Carra Wolfhagen’s face emerge faintly in the room behind him.
 

Given the veils of smoke, the debris and the fire billowing up from the piano, Carra appeared to be an orange ghost hovering behind him in the dark room.
 
At first, Maggie wasn’t sure why she was here.
 
Was it to see her husband burn?
 
But as Carra drew closer and Maggie saw that she was holding a gun, she knew differently and took position.
 

The next few moments were a blur.

The flames were growing.
 
Pieces of the ceiling were crackling down onto the piano and the stairs.
 
It was difficult to see clearly.
 
Worse, Marty couldn’t hear Carra walking behind him because of the fire’s roar and the falling plaster.

Carra was an encroaching funnel of orange light.
 
She looked across the haze at Maggie, cocked her head at her and then quietly lifted her gun to Marty's head.
 
A large chunk of the ceiling gave way and smashed onto the piano.
 
Hot air and flames fanned out, creating a blizzard of smoke and ash as Maggie took aim at Carra's chest.
 

But too much smoke was blowing into the room.
 
It was almost impossible to see.
 
Time slowed.
 
She held her hand as steady as she could and fired at Carra just as another piece of the ceiling dropped.
 
Marty turned away from it and moved into Carra's path.

And when he did, the bullet cut through him, he sank to his knees and fell hard on the floor.

*
 
*
 
*

For an instant, Maggie stood there, unbelieving.
 
She shot him.

For an instant, Carra looked down at Marty and then through the smoke at Maggie, unbelieving.
 
She shot him.

Carra turned to run, Maggie fired off a shot but missed.

She was about to run after her when she heard footsteps running across the second floor.
 
She looked up at the staircase and watched, stunned, as Wolfhagen leaped from the top step and fell through the smoky air.
 

His legs scissored beneath him.

For balance, he kept his arms held out at his sides.

In one of his hands was a gun.

His shock of white hair turned increasingly orange as he neared the fire.

He was heading straight for the center of the burning piano, where the lid was burning.
 
She reared back when he smashed on top of it.
 
The lid broke but Wolfhagen was invincible.
 
He leaped out of the pit and into the room.
 
He came face to face with her and lifted his gun, which she swatted away with her own.
 
She punched him hard in the face with her free hand and then hit him harder with her gun against his left cheek.
 

He stumbled back, but Wolfhagen was nothing if not quick.
 
He fired at her and missed.
 
The room was smoky, he couldn't see.
 
Neither could she.
 
Eyes and lungs burning, she pointed her gun where she thought he was standing and fired.
 
She listened but didn’t hear him fall.
 
Instead, she heard him running toward the door that was across the room.
 
Freedom was there.
 
They both knew it.
 

But she wouldn't allow him freedom.
 
Rage drove her forward.
 
At the front of the room, the air wasn't as smoky.
 
There was a distinct breeze and the sound of traffic mingling with the sound of flames.
 
And Maggie knew--Carra Wolfhagen was gone.
 
She'd run out and left the door open.

Maggie ran faster and as she did, she began to make out all of him.
 
He turned over his left shoulder to see how close she was.
 
His face appeared to her--that face that she hated.
 
He was breathing hard, panting like the animal he was, his crowded teeth bared into a tight smile of triumph.
 
He knew he was going to make it.
 
She could feel it.
 
She swung around one of the tables in the center of the room, lifted her gun and steadied her aim.
 

She heard Mark say something behind her, something about the smoke.
 
But he wasn't her focus.
 
This was her chance.
 
She was taking Wolfhagen.
 
He charged forward and then turned toward her again.
 
"Love your face," he said.

"Love yours more."

When she fired, his head exploded.
 
But she was running so quickly, she ran straight through it as it exploded.
 
She felt blood and brains and bone collide against her face.
 
He went down and she jumped over his falling body.
 
One look told her what she needed to know.
 
He was dead.
 

At last, she was rid of him.

*
 
*
 
*