The Payback Assignment (26 page)

           
Morgan weighed his options during a brief lull in the firing.
 
He had a pretty good mental fix on the riot gun user.
 
He planned to slip around the couch on the end toward the door.
 
He would pop up and take out the shotgun man with his automatic.
 
Number two would fire at the bright pistol blast.
 
He would score or he would not.
 
If he failed to kill Morgan, Morgan would surely kill him with one shot.
 
It was a gamble, the only one in town.
  

           
He poised on his haunches behind the end of the couch, both hands gripping his pistol.
 
He would make his move now, following three deep breaths.
 
One.
 
Two.
 
What was that?
 
As he stared in frozen disbelief, he thought he saw two green cat’s eyes enter the room, just inches from the floor.
 
He knew those eyes.
 
They disappeared briefly behind the big chair, but reappeared a few seconds later against the middle of the far wall, slowly rising to five and a half feet above the floor.
 
She was standing straight up.
 
What was she doing here?

           
Silence spread through darkness of the small apartment, and for one brief moment, time froze for Morgan.
 
When things finally moved again, they seemed to do so in slow motion.
 
Turning to face the kitchen, Morgan lifted his pistol over the edge of the arm of the couch.
 
In the kitchen doorway, a riot gun barrel was raised.
 
A single drop of light splashed off Morgan’s automatic.

           
The man lying under the small table shattered the silence.

           
“I got you now,” the killer snarled in a strong Spanish accent as he raised his revolver.
 
He was unaware of the woman straddling his upper body but Morgan could see her eyes above him, blazing with hate.

           
“Paco!” Felicity shouted, bringing her makeshift club down between her ankles, and into his face, with all her strength.
 
Simultaneous with the Mexican’s squeal of pain, Morgan sprang to his feet, firing twice, quickly.
 
One final shotgun blast exploded into the ceiling and the figure in the kitchen fell backward and crashed to the floor.

           
Paco bolted for the door, holding his face with both hands.
 
Felicity followed, and two quick sets of footsteps clattered down the single flight of stairs.
 
Morgan followed as best he could.
 
There was no point in checking the man in the kitchen.
 
Morgan knew with cold certainly that he was dead.

           
Out on the stoop, the Mexican was trying to run with a hellcat on his back.
 
One of her hands was clenched in his grease-slicked hair.
 
The other was raking his already bloodied face.

           
“I told you I’d get you, you son of a bitch,” Felicity screamed, her voice thick with her native Irish brogue.
 
Paco was also screaming, while he fought to escape this mad eyed, red headed she devil by moving across the vacant lot.
 
He stumbled on some broken bricks and she was on him again, clawing and scratching like a maniac.
 
It was an interesting new side of Felicity to the lone observer.

           
Standing at the top of the stoop, Morgan chuckled at how overdressed the woman was for this.
 
He was not sure what it was the little man had done to deserve this furious attack, but Morgan certainly hoped he never did it himself.
 
The guy was trying to protect a smashed-in nose by hiding his face in his arms.
 
Felicity was pounding on him now with clenched fists.
 
It seemed a comical sight, until Paco reached down and grabbed a broken bottle by its neck.
 
The smile dropped from Morgan’s face.

           
“O’Brian!
 
Roll clear!”
 
Morgan’s voice carried piercing authority.
 
Felicity sprang away from Paco, his broken glass weapon cleaving empty air.
 
Forty-five meters away, Morgan raised his nine millimeter one handed, at arm’s length, aligned the three dots of the combat sights, and squeezed off a single shot.
 
Paco had turned toward Morgan when the back of his tee shirt flared, and then blackened.
 
He was dead before his scream stopped.

           
Without a hint of hesitation, Felicity dashed across the lot toward Morgan.
 
As she approached he considered the picture he must have presented.
 
His right side was shredded, as if some wild beast had raked his ribs with giant claws.
 
His left arm hung limp and temporarily useless.
 
He straightened his posture and forced a small smile onto his face.
 
He didn’t want his minor injuries to look worse than they were.
 
Felicity stopped in front of him, with one bare foot on the bottom sandstone step.
 
He saw a brief flash of worry crease her forehead.

           
“I’m thinking we’d best be going,” she said.
 
“Somebody’s going to want to be asking a lot of questions about that creep.
 
And I assume there’s a dead body upstairs.”

           
“Well, two actually, but who’s counting?”
 
Morgan replied, wincing his way down the steps.
 
Looking up, he spotted a deep black Corvette with polished aluminum racing wheels.

“That’s just got to be your ride, right?
 
Nice wheels, Red.”

Felicity hustled him across the street without a response, thumbing a fob to unlock the doors before they reached he vehicle.
 
Once inside she reached across to open the door for Morgan.
 
He hurried to slide into the velour seats that, like the carpet, matched her eyes.
 
Once under his seat belt, Morgan could do little but hold on while Felicity got them several blocks from the shootings.
 
When she slowed below thirty he thought something must be wrong.

           
“Morgan,” she said, keeping her eyes focused ahead.
 
“I got here but I’m not quite sure how to get back to my place.
 
I’m afraid I don’t know The Bronx.”

“Well, lucky for you, I do,” he said, massaging his left shoulder.
 
“Hang a left here, and don’t be in such a hurry, okay?
 
This car will draw enough attention without speeding.”

For half of the drive back Morgan watched her drive in silence, except when he gave occasional directions.
 
He recognized all the signs of a person slowly coming down from an adrenaline rush.
 
He also noticed her complete lack of nervous habits.
 
That is, she did not play with her hair or drum her fingers on the steering wheel or anything like that.
 
She seemed to be just peacefully enjoying that deep calm that comes after a successful mission.
 
When he thought she was completely relaxed, he broke the silence.

           
“So, you had history with the Spanish guy, huh?”

           
“You could say that,” Felicity responded.
 
“He was one of the boys who gave me that Safariland tour.”

           
“Well I got to hand it to his boss.
 
Whoever set up that trap was a real pro.
 
Of course, I guess that deal in Mexico gave you a good reason to hate these guys.”

           
“Damned right,” Felicity said.
 
“And on top of that, the Mexican made improper advances.
 
I told him I’d see him off, too.
 
Of course, I didn’t really expect to watch him die.”

           
She lapsed into quiet long enough to draw a deep breath and slowly release it in a long sigh.
 
He accepted her pensive silence without feeling a need to rush in and fill it with words.
 
Powering down his window, he leaned his elbow out, inviting the air in.
 
They had reached Manhattan and were on a wide southward street, moving slowly enough to let an occasional car pass them.
 
After a moment Felicity looked over at him and smiled.

           
“You know, this feels pretty good,” she said.
 
“I mean, I’ve been on some pretty hairy capers in my time, but I never had anyone to share the letdown period with.”

           
Morgan nodded.
 
“I think I know what you mean.
 
After a good mission, or even after a shambles like today, it’s nice to get with the guys and tip a couple of brews and just enjoy that relaxation.
 
And refine the stories you’ll tell.
 
Man, I can’t believe I walked into a trap like that.
 
And the poor slob who led me in, he didn’t even know the setup.
 
They blew him away trying to get at me.
 
By the way, you were great in there.
 
Quiet as a pro.”

           
“Well, I am a cat burglar,” Felicity said.

           
“Yeah, I guess.
 
Can you really see in the dark?”
 
He stared into her face.

           
“Better than anyone I know,” Felicity said, smiling.
 
“Born with it.”

           
“Pretty handy in your line of work.
 
By the way, how did you find me?”

           
They were in front of Felicity’s building and she let the question pass.
 
The Corvette purred down the ramp into the parking garage.
 

-23-

           
Felicity wanted to feel useful but Morgan wasn’t making that easy.
 
He winced when she grabbed him around the waist and bellowed in pain when she tried to support him by gripping his left arm.
 
He politely declined assistance on his way across the parking garage, but by the time they reached the elevator she was squeezing his hand.

           
Once in the apartment, he headed straight for the bathroom.
 
On the way, he shed his light windbreaker, shoulder holster and shirt in a trail along the floor.
 
Felicity gave one brief huff of exasperation and followed, picking up garments as she went.
 
By the time she reached his shirt, Morgan was washing his side.
 
Felicity’s eyes widened as she watched blood flow into the sink with the soapy water.

           
“Ow!
 
I didn’t realize,” she said.
 
“That’s a lot worse than it looked with your jacket on.
 
What’s the damage report?”

           
Morgan grimaced.
 
“Less than I deserve.
 
Some bruised knuckles.
 
Sprained left shoulder.
 
This flesh wound here, where some shotgun pellets scraped me.
 
Don’t seem to have any in the skin.
 
Sure hurts though.
 
You got any gauze and maybe some surgical tape laying around?”

           
“Wait a minute,” Felicity said.
 
“What I have is a doctor who won’t be asking any questions.
 
Let me get him on the phone.”

           
Felicity was in the living room and had punched the first four numbers when Morgan said, “No thanks.
 
I’d just as soon handle this myself.”
 
After only a moment’s hesitation, Felicity put the telephone down and joined him in the bathroom.
 
He was rummaging around in the medicine cabinet.
 
Felicity went to the shelves behind sliding doors, which stood to the left of the sink.
 
A quick scan across those shelves revealed everything he needed, and she gathered up the armload of supplies as he pointed them out.