Wiseguys: Blast From the Past (7 page)

"Only saw one," Tony said.

"That leaves two more."

"We start shooting up the neighborhood, people are gonna notice."

"Then we do this quiet," Carter said. He crab-walked over to where Tony had his back to the front wall of the house alongside the front window, and gave Tony a hard, fast kiss. "I still got your back. I'm gonna set up by the back door. Anybody comes in that way, I'll take care of 'em."

"I got the front," Tony said.

One more kiss and Carter was gone, faded into the shadows of the house.

They'd locked the back door before Tony had gone to bed. That wouldn't stop anyone determined to get in. With any luck, the shooter thought he'd taken Carter out, which would leave the odds three to one in the bad guys' favor. When they busted in the house, they'd find that the odds, with Carter still healthy, were just about even.

Waiting in the dark by himself, Tony had nothing to listen to except the rapid beating of his own heart. He wasn't going to kid himself. These guys were pros. They couldn't be intimidated like the Munroe brothers, and they weren't about to make any stupid mistakes. Enforcers who made stupid mistakes died young. The guys Tony had seen in the crosswalk weren't young.

He'd known all along that this day might come. The only way they could have avoided it would have been to stay on the road, never stopping anywhere for long, never leaving a trail. That wasn't any way to live.

Had they been fooling themselves all along? Living on borrowed time since Jersey? Nothing more than dead men walking?

Not if he could fucking help it.

Tony shut his eyes just long enough to center himself.

He couldn't risk looking out the window. That was just asking to get the top of his head shot off. So he stayed there, back against the wall, eyes open now, his breathing and heart rate back to normal.

Waiting for the shooter to make the next move.

It didn't take long.

At first, the sound seeping in through the bullet holes in the glass sounded like the rustle of wind through the leaves in their front yard trees. Except there was no wind, not even a light breeze. What Tony heard was the soft tread of someone coming up their driveway and disturbing the leaves that had blown from the trees during the last windstorm.

The guy had probably scouted their house. He was good, but he wasn't perfect. Even with night vision gear, walking silently outside at night was harder than it looked. Or else maybe he didn't think he had to be that careful. Anyone who knew Tony and Carter well enough to be sent to kill them also knew Tony wasn't the muscle.

Tony left the wall and crawled across the floor to the couch, which was across the room from the chair where Carter had been sitting. Tony grabbed one of the throw pillows off the couch and crouched down behind it. He propped the pillow on the tip of the couch and buried the gun in the pillow. It wouldn't absorb as much noise as a suppressor, but it was better than nothing.

From his spot behind the couch, Tony had a clear shot at the front door. The pillow would fuck with his aim, but all he needed was a body shot, and the door would frame the guy nicely. Tony didn't think the shooter would try to come in through the window.

He was right.

In the almost non-existent light, Tony heard more than saw the guy try to turn the doorknob. The front porch creaked as the guy shifted his weight. Tony could almost see him freeze, then try the handle again. The door was locked, just like the back door, but then Tony heard a click and a thump -- the guy had a lock gun -- and then the sound of the handle turning.

The guy did have night vision goggles on. The goggles distorted the size and shape of his head, made him look like some movie monster instead of just another goon from back home.

Tony didn't move, he didn't even breathe. He held the pillow steady so that it would look like it had been tossed on the back of the couch. He watched the guy with only one eye, keeping most of his head behind the pillow. Tony's hair was dark again, not blonde like he'd bleached it after they first left Jersey. Tony hoped he looked like just another shadow in the room, even through the goggles.

At best, he'd get one, maybe two shots before the guy trained his own gun on Tony. The best bet would be a shot to the guy's torso, the biggest target, but so far all Tony could see of the guy was his goggled head and the gun he held out in front of himself.

Tony made himself wait. Kept his hand steady, his breathing light and as quiet as he could. He watched as the guy swept the front room with his gun, his goggled head slowly turning in Tony's direction.

When the goggles were pointed directly at him, Tony froze. He didn't breathe, didn't move, didn't even blink. Not enough of the guy was in the room to take a chance at shooting him. If Tony shot now and the bullet didn't take the guy down, Tony would be as good as dead.

In reality, the guy probably didn't look in Tony's direction any longer than at any other point he examined with his night vision gear, but to Tony it felt like an eternity. The guy turned to the corner where Carter had been sitting. The guy lowered his head to look at the floor where he no doubt expected Carter to be bleeding out.

This shooter was a pro. He didn't flinch when he saw the floor was empty, but he did take one more step into the room.

It had to be enough. Tony couldn't wait any longer.

He let his breath out and squeezed the trigger.

Stuffing sprayed out from the pillow along with the bullet. The sound of the shot wasn't as loud as it would have been without the pillow of muffle it, but the noise was still startling in the absolute silence of the house.

The guy with the goggles turned back to Tony before Tony could even tell if his bullet hit the mark. Tony squeezed the trigger again and again. And again, hoping each time that one of the bullets did enough damage to keep the guy from firing back.

They didn't.

The guy fired. Tony winced, but the guy's shot went wide and smacked into the wall to Tony's left.

Then the guy crumpled to his knees, and Tony saw a wet patch glistening on the front of his dark shirt.

Tony stayed where he was until the guy face planted on the floor. Moving as fast as he could, Tony got out from behind the couch and kicked the guy's gun away from his outstretched hand, then picked it up. He checked the guy's pulse under the jaw line. He still had one, but it didn't seem like a strong, steady beat. Tony didn't want the guy dying in his house, but he wasn't the one who'd brought the fight here.

Tony thought about taking the night vision goggles, but decided against it. Now wasn't the time to play around with technology he'd never used before. The gun, though -- that Tony kept. The guy'd only fired four shots, and a suppressor was better than a pillow any day.

The adrenaline rush Tony had felt when the guy first turned the door knob was beginning to wear off. His side hurt and his head pounded, but the job wasn't over yet. There were two more guys out there.

He risked a quick look out the open door. Nothing moved in the shadows. No more black-clad men in night vision gear crept up their driveway. Did that mean the other two would be coming around the back?

He hadn't heard anything from Carter since he left to cover the back of the house. Carter hadn't yelled for him after the shooting started, but then again, Carter wouldn't. He'd wait until the fighting was over to make sure Tony was okay.

The decision to join Carter at the rear of the house was an easy one. Tony padded softly down the hall and into the kitchen, pausing to check at each open doorway in case someone had come in through a downstairs window. No one had.

"It's me," he said softly when he got to the kitchen.

Their back door opened off to the right of the stove onto a little concrete pad where Carter had set up a gas grill. The top half of the back door was a lattice-pane window. Their back yard neighbors had landscaping spotlights that illuminated their trees. The realtor who'd first shown them this house warned them that some people found the lights annoying, but they were within code, so if they rented the house, they'd have to put up with the lights. Tony thought it was an odd sales pitch, but he and Carter were used to city living where there was constant light and noise. Tony found the lights soothing in the same way that Carter enjoyed lit candles.

None of their neighbors had turned on any outdoor lights. Maybe that meant none of the neighbors had heard the shots Tony fired through the pillow. Enough ambient light from the spotlights on the neighbor's trees shone through the back door window that Tony could see Carter with his back up against the wall to the side of the door. He'd be out of sight to anybody coming in through the door until it was too late.

"You okay?" Carter asked.

"Yeah. I got the guy's gun."

Carter made a soft sound, and Tony knew he was grinning. "Always knew you were a tough guy."

Tough guy. Coming from Carter, that was a compliment. Uncle Sid never thought Tony had it in him, one of the reasons he'd never had a closer relationship with his uncle. He didn't have enough of a killer instinct to be real family, not in his uncle's eyes.

It struck him then that if the hitter in the front room died, he'd be the first person Tony had killed. Would that finally make his uncle proud?

It didn't matter. His uncle was dead, he and Carter were alive, and Tony meant to keep it that way. "I got your back," he said.

"Never doubted it," Carter said.

It didn't take long before the other two guys made their move. They would have recognized Tony's muffled shots for what they were, and they'd know there was no longer any need to be stealthy.

A shadow blocked out part of the light coming in through the back door. The glass window in the door shattered inward, and a gloved hand felt around inside for the lock.

Carter let the guy unlock the door. As soon as the guy started to step through the open door, Carter grabbed his arm and pulled him all the way into the kitchen. Carter used the momentum to swing the guy around and slam him up against the wall.

The guy had a gun in his other hand, but when he slammed into the wall, the gun went flying. Carter quick punched the guy's face and belly, and he dropped to his knees. Carter clubbed the guy in the back of the head with the butt end of his gun, and the guy fell flat on the kitchen floor and didn't move.

Tony let out the breath he'd been holding.

Two down. One left.

That one guy left had to be the guy Tony had pegged as the leader, the man with the dark hair that would have been slicked back from his face in Jersey. Muscle always went in first on a hit. The last guy in would be the thinker. Tony was counting on that.

Tony almost didn't see the last of the shooters. He'd been too intent on Carter's fight with the guy who broke through their back door. When Tony turned back toward the hall, he saw a dark blur, and then a fist connected with his jaw.

Tony's head rocked to the side and backward, and he lost his balance.

The third guy had come in through the open front door. He'd waited until he heard the commotion in the kitchen, then made his own move.

By the time Tony got his gun up, the guy had a gun of his own pointed at Carter.

"Looks like we got a stalemate," Carter said. His hands hung loose at his side. He stood in the middle of the dark kitchen seemingly unconcerned about the red dot in the middle of his chest.

"Put the gun down," Tony said, his voice far calmer than he felt. He held his own gun steady, pointed at the center mass of the guy's chest. They stood close enough to each other that he didn't have to be particular about his aim.

"You put yours down," the guy said.

"I do that, you kill us both," Tony said. "Don't see the percentage in that. Do you?" he asked Carter.

"If I was you, I'd just shoot him now," Carter said.

"You'd be dead, too," the guy said to Carter. "You're the muscle here, not him. Even if he shoots me, I still get a shot off at you, and I'm pretty damn good at what I do."

"You got no reason to be here," Tony said. "You shoot, and you're gonna die for no good reason. That how you want to go out?"

The guy's eyes flicked off Carter for a split second to look at Tony. Tony made sure his aim never wavered. He wanted the guy to know he was serious.

Tony could almost hear the gears turning in the guy's head. Enforcers were ruthless, skilled hunters who did what they were told. Even enforcers who were thinkers like this guy weren't always the best at working outside the box. Back when Carter had worked for Tony's uncle, he hadn't thought much beyond his orders, either. Out here and away from the family, Carter had stretched beyond what he'd been back then. Even if Tony's uncle magically resurrected, no way could Carter -- or Tony -- ever go back to the way things had been.

This enforcer was maybe thirty, tops. Enforcers didn't live long unless they moved up in the organization to a position that didn't require them to knock heads for a living. This guy was either on his way up or on his way out. Tony was banking that he was on the way up and smart enough to take an opportunity when it was presented to him.

"I die, I'd go out killing a couple of faggots," the guy said.

Carter's expression hardened. "Watch your mouth," he said.

The guy laughed, humorless and short. "If I knew I was coming after a couple of fags like you, I'd have done the job for free."

He was trying to provoke Carter into doing something stupid. Tony had to get the guy's attention, and the easiest way to do that was to turn the insults around.

"How's it feel?" he asked the guy. "Knowing you got beat by a couple fags like us?"

"From where I'm standing it don't look like I got beat."

"Yes, you did." Tony nodded his head at the guy sprawled on the kitchen floor. "You're all that's left. Your boss sent three of you, and you're all that's left. You shoot now, and you won't be left, either. Whatever happens, you still got beat by us. And you want to know what's funny about that?"

The guy didn't want to ask, Tony could tell by the expression on his face, but he couldn't help himself. "What?"