$200 and a Cadillac - By Fingers Murphy Page 0,106

up the sack he had dropped to the ground when he came out of the truck. His movements were relaxed, casual. He was taking his time.

Eli’s vision was blurred, and he tried to wipe at his eyes. But he was having trouble getting his arms and legs to work right. Instead, he writhed and turned on his side and tried to spit the loose bits of teeth from his mouth, but nothing seemed to work. Everything was either numbness or sharp, shooting pain. He reached out toward Ron, groping for a hand up but finding only air.

Ron stood there laughing at him. The gun in one hand, the sack of money in the other. “Eli,” he said, “you’re even dumber than I thought you were.”

Eli struggled up to a kneeling position, facing Ron. His vision and awareness reassembled itself, and it was only then that Eli realized what had happened. How poorly things had gone.

Mickey watched from the hill. Ron standing there. Eli kneeling before him. What were they doing? What was in the bag? Mickey heard the sharp static of the radio again. His focus shifted for an instant. And then Ron Grimaldi raised the gun and shot Eli in the face.

Mickey watched the red cloud burst from the back of Eli’s head. The body flopped back against the ground, propelled by the force of the shot. He watched the execution with an amazed fascination. In an instant, just like that, and it was done.

Then Ron stepped forward and fired another round into Eli’s chest. The body jumped like it had been kicked from behind. As though the Earth itself had given it a nudge in the back.

Mickey was unsure what to do. There was nowhere for Ron to go. There was no way for him to escape. He should call Jimmy for backup. But that would take half an hour. What would he do in the meantime? What if Grimaldi tried to leave?

Mickey had started to turn back toward the Suburban when he heard another shot. He turned to see Ron jerk sideways and spin around, his arms flailing outward from the centrifugal force. The surveyor was coming across the parking lot, aiming a pistol, looking for cover. Mickey took off at a run, down the hill, toward them.

Hank came around the corner of the building fast, heading for the truck and squeezing off a shot before Ron managed to turn all the way around. The bullet caught Ron in the shoulder and spun him, but it didn’t take him down. Now Hank needed to get the truck between himself and Ron before Ron had a chance to recover. He didn’t make it.

Ron saw the movement from the corner of his eye, but turned too slow. The bullet shocked him more than hurt him, piercing the outer edge of his shoulder and going straight through. He brought the .44 up, aimed for the runner, and fired without caring who it was or why he was there. And then a faint recognition came over him the moment he pulled the trigger. The recognition sent an alarm through him. This was someone he knew. A professional.

That single thought almost caused him to fire a second time, immediately, without aim but merely in the general direction. But the man had already disappeared behind the truck. Or did he go down? Ron wasn’t sure, but he knew he’d better save the bullet. Instead, he ran up against the side of the truck, tucking himself low, against the driver’s side rear tire, trying to protect his legs from a shot under the truck.

Hank did the same on the other side. He crouched up against the front tire, keeping his head below the hood. He looked down at his left shoulder. The flesh was torn open and he tried to pack the fabric of his shirt into the wound to slow the bleeding. At the same time he listened for movement and ran through the sequence of events.

He’d been lucky. The bullet had barely hit him, but the large caliber had taken its toll. Any better aim and he’d be dead already. But Lugano had fired once at him and twice at the kid. Three shots. And the gun had gone off once when the kid dropped it. That was four. Only two shots left, unless he was carrying another gun—which seemed likely.

Hank thought he heard footsteps somewhere and he turned quickly, rolling backward around the front of the truck and coming around the