Apaches Read Online Free PDF Page A

“What tree you shake him off of?”
    “He takes two of yours before he buys the plot,” Boomer said. “That means only three walk out. We can save ourselves all that shit and make it easy for you and me.”
    “I got ears,” Skeeter said.
    “You let us lead you out of the building,” Boomer said. “The manpower walks. It’s only you we want.”
    “Don’t think so, white,” Skeeter said. “I was born in this fuckin’ building. Just as soon die in it.”
    “Well, you can’t shoot a guy for trying,” Boomer said.
    Boomer heard the click of the semi before he saw the flash. He jumped to his right, landed on one knee, and fired four quick rounds toward the men by the kitchen door. Behind him, Dead-Eye laid out the two on the couch, fast-pumped them from head to heart without so much as a twitch. It all happened so quickly, Skeeter had no choice but to remain frozen in place, still holding the handful of bills.
    Dead-Eye flipped over a coffee table, landed on his feet, and fired three shots into one of the men near the kitchen. He aimed his other gun at a crouched man coming out of the bathroom, had him in his sights, when Skeeter threw the money in the air and came up shooting. His first shot split the wall. His second got Dead-Eye in the shoulder.
    “I’m hit, Boom,” he said, falling to the ground, shooting his gun at anyone without a badge that could still move.
    “Stay down,” Boomer shouted through the smoke, gunfire, and moans. “Reload and stay down.”
    Skeeter jumped over the table and made a run for the door, slipping over the thousands of dollars that were now raining on the faces of dead men.
    Boomer followed him out.
    “I’m on him,” he shouted back to Dead-Eye. “There’s two more in the kitchen.”
    “They’re either gonna stay in there or die out here,” Dead-Eye said. “Either way, they’re mine.”
    •    •    •
    B OOMER CAUGHT S KEETER in the middle of the third-floor landing. He threw him against the wall and swung a hard left that found the thin man’s stomach. Skeeter gave out a grunt loud enough to echo through the halls. He came back with a right hand of his own, grazing the side of Boomer’s temple. Then he went for the throat, both hands wrapped tight around Boomer, pushing him hard against a shaky railing. Boomer’s hands went up against Skeeter’s jaw, pushing the dope dealer’s head back, causing his eyes to flutter toward the ceiling.
    “You gonna die, you fucker,” Skeeter said, tightening his grip. “Gonna die right here. In front of me.”
    Boomer pulled one hand away from Skeeter’s chin, moving it down his chest, trying to reach the .22 he kept in a crotch holster. As his hand found his pants, he heard the wood of the railing behind him start to give way. Skeeter’s eyes were bulging now, spittle coming down the sides of his mouth, the strength of his hands cutting the air from Boomer’s throat, forcing him to take short breaths through his nose.
    Boomer had his hand around the gun when the railing gave way.
    The two of them fell together down through the next railing, linked like dancers, wood and rusty iron flying through the air, one shard slashing the right side ofBoomer’s face. The muzzle of Boomer’s gun was flush against Skeeter’s stomach.
    Boomer felt a sharp pain in his right side the instant his gun went off. He looked at Skeeter’s face and knew the man was dead. If it wasn’t the bullet that did him, it had to be the iron rail lodged through his throat. Boomer turned his head and saw half a rail hanging through the right side of his own chest, blood flowing out of the hole in his jacket.
    He and Skeeter had fallen down three stories, taking every railing with them. There had been a fifteen-minute firefight only minutes earlier. He could still hear Dead-Eye and the kitchen help exchanging shots. Sirens wailed in the distance. Yet despite that, not one apartment door had opened.
    Boomer sat there, unmoving, blood oozing