hand in his jacket pocket. So did his partner. The albino and one of the buyers traded unsmiling nods, then were gone behind the last row of stock.
“All here now,” I said.
We listened to the rain and each other’s breathing. Some time went by like that, then Malone spoke.
“We best go, Country,” he said quietly.
“Okay,” I said.
I stood up and moved to the door. I undid the safety on my gun. I looked out, saw no one, and opened the door.
Wayne was out without a word, bolting across the floor to the center aisle. He held his gun up next to his head and pressed his back against the cartons. He began to edge his way to the back of the warehouse. I could see sweat reflecting off his forehead.
I walked out and moved quickly to the end cap of the second row. I felt Malone move with me. We glanced at one another. He moved his pistol from his left to his right hand. I wiped my palm across my jeans, got that hand around the grip of the Browning, and jacked a round into the chamber.
The rain had intensified. It beat against the metal roof with a steady rumble. Below that sound was the bass of their voices. We stepped away from the boxes, moved into the aisle, and walked towards them.
They were standing in a group at the end of the aisle. The buyers had their backs to us and the briefcase was at their feet. The other four were facing them. Everyone was armed.
We came within twenty yards of them. Then the loose-limbed Jamaican, the one who had blown me a kiss, locked his eyes into mine and stiffened. I stopped and raised my gun, pointing it in his direction. The buyers turned to face us.
“Don’t nobody move,” Malone said evenly.
Wayne appeared suddenly from the right, stepped in quickly, and put the barrel of the Colt to the head of the South Carolinian who had broken my nose. He pulled back the automatic’s hammer. It locked with a click that rode over the sound of the rain. The man dropped his gun from his left hand and let it fall to the concrete floor.
The Jamaican seemed to study me and then grinned. I squinted and looked down the sight of my gun to his chest, but it wasn’t enough. A cowboy, just like Dane said.
He began to raise his gun from his side. He must have crouched down into a shooting position just as I squeezed the trigger.
The slug tore into him above his shirt collar, on the Adam’s apple. A small puff of white smoke and some fluid shot away from his neck as he was blown back to the floor.
Wayne squeezed a round off into the head of the South Carolinian. His scalp lifted and his forehead came apart like an August peach. Then Wayne moved his gun to the face of the man’s startled partner and shot him twice at close range. As he fell back, I saw a nickel-sized spot steaming above the bridge of his nose. His mouth was moving as he went down, but he was dead before he hit the ground.
Malone had shot the albino twice in the chest. The tall man stumbled, and still standing, pumped off two loads in succession from his shotgun. Malone screamed. In my side vision I saw him falling backwards in a “V,” still firing. The albino was tripping forward. I emptied two more rounds into his long torso.
The dreadlocked buyer was spinning slowly from the rapid fire of Wayne’s automatic. The second buyer raised his gun in my direction. I screamed Tony’s name.
I saw fire spitting down from above. I covered my face with my arms. There was the sound of ripping cardboard, splintering wood, and concrete ricochet. Glass exploded around me, and I went to my knees.
Then there was only the sound of the rain hitting the roof. I stood up. Tony dropped the empty clip from above. It hit the floor and bounced once. He slapped in another clip.
Wayne walked towards me through the smoke, his feet crushing glass. He stopped at the second buyer. The man was kneeling with his head tucked between his knees. Wayne pointed his gun at the back of the man’s neck and looked at me. I shook my head.
The powder smell was heavy. I waved smoke from my face and turned. Behind me someone screamed out for Jesus and moaned, then stopped moaning. I