his Glock toward the building across the street and squeezed the trigger. But nothing happened. No explosion. No discharge. Just a quiet click.
In situations like this, Payne was taught to use a simple corrective technique known as “tap, rack, bang.” He tapped the bottom of the handle to make sure his magazine was properly engaged. Then he racked the gun, ejecting the misfired round and chambering the next one. Finally, he pulled the trigger again, hoping to hear a bang.
But in this case, the only sound he heard was another click.
“Well?” Jones called from inside the shop. He had tried the same technique without any luck.
“We’re so screwed we should be wearing condoms.”
Jones grinned. “Don’t give up hope yet. What kind of shot is this guy? Any good?”
Payne glanced at the holes in the sidewalk and sighed at the damage that had been done. “Not really. If he was, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now.”
“And he’s probably working alone, huh?”
“If he wasn’t, his partner would’ve nailed me by now.”
“If that’s the case, then what are we afraid of? Are we going to let some redneck knock off two of this country’s best soldiers, or are we going to come up with a plan to take this guy out?”
“If I was a betting man, I’d put my money on the redneck.”
“I’m serious! We’ve been in several situations worse than this, and we’ve always made it out.”
Payne grunted as he stared at his broken Glock. “Fine, let’s list everything that we have, and maybe a plan will become obvious.”
Jones nodded. “As far as I can tell, we have two defective handguns and . . .”
“And?” Payne muttered, hoping that he was forgetting something important.
“And that’s about it! As far as I can tell, we have two broken Glocks.”
Payne leaned his head against the Chevy Celebrity that protected him and groaned. Their current inventory wouldn’t stop a mugger, let alone a well-placed sniper. “Is there anything else in there that can be used? A gun behind the counter? A telephone? A flashlight?”
“Oh, shit!” Jones suddenly shrieked. “I just thought of something big!”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“Levon!”
The answer stunned Payne. Somehow he had completely forgotten about Greene. “Holy hell! Why don’t you see where that badass is hiding?”
“Be back in a flash.”
Payne snuggled up against the car the best he could, trying to conceal his body under the maroon frame. He realized if the sniper attempted a ground assault, the only way he could protect himself was by hiding under the car. Thankfully, before that was necessary, Payne detected a sound in the far-off distance. At first he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not, but after a few seconds of listening, he knew that he wasn’t. It was the wail of sirens, and they were headed his way.
“Jon?” Jones shouted from the back of the shop. “Is that what I think it is?”
Payne peered underneath the Chevy and saw several squad cars pulling onto his street. “Yes, Mr. Jones, the cavalry has arrived!”
“Thank God.”
“You said it.” Payne leaned back on the sidewalk, his legs still underneath the car for protection. “By the way, how’s Levon doing?”
Instead of shouting his response, Jones scrambled out of the store and took a seat next to his friend. Once he was safely behind the car, he turned toward Payne and looked him dead in the eye. “You’re not going to believe this. You’re really not.”
“What now?”
“I don’t even know how to start, but . . .” Jones struggled for the right words to break the news to his friend. “Levon is gone.”
Payne sat upright, the color draining from his face. “Oh, my God! How did he—”
“No,” Jones said as he grabbed Payne’s arm. “He’s not dead gone. He’s gone gone. I don’t know how he did it, but that slippery son of a bitch managed to escape.”
CHAPTER 22
AS the police pulled to a screeching stop in front of Sam’s Tattoos, Payne stared at Jones, trying to determine if his best friend was serious. After several seconds, Payne decided that he was. “Levon has disappeared?”
“Yep. He’s gone.”
Payne shook his head in disbelief. “How is that possible? He’s, like, eight feet tall and weighs five hundred pounds, yet you managed to lose him in an empty room.”
“That’s what I said.”
“I thought you were supposed to be a professional detective.”
“I am. And in my professional opinion, I’m telling you he’s not in there.”
Payne leaned closer to Jones and tried to smell his breath. “Have you been drinking?”