Big City Jacks Read Online Free PDF Page B

grip, pointing it skywards.
    The door was unlocked. They were told it would be.
    Lynch reached for the handle, which he turned with agonizing slowness. Then, with a surge, he leapt into the room, brandishing the shotgun, legs spread, body hunched, and he accompanied his grand entrance with the scream of a banshee.
    The scream died in his throat as he realized the room was empty. He uttered a stream of swear words and went to the wire-framed bed, heaving the soiled mattress off with his left hand, making certain that Snell wasn’t hiding underneath.
    He spun to Bignall. ‘Bastard’s legged it!’
    Bignall actually looked relieved. His shoulders sagged and he breathed out.
    â€˜Musta seen us coming,’ Lynch said. ‘He won’t be far away, c’mon. Here,’ – he handed Bignall the shotgun and took the revolver off him, then pushed past his partner back into the dingy hallway at the exact same moment that a terrified Snell burst out from the cover of an alcove near to the top of the stairs.
    Snell’s courage to remain in that deep, dark recess had deserted him. He made a manic dash for freedom and loosed off one of the barrels of the shotgun in the general direction of his two hunters.
    Both ducked instinctively, but Bignall emitted a loud howl of pain and staggered backwards, then dropped on to his backside.
    Snell hit the stairs running.
    Lynch lurched into a forward roll, the sound of the shotgun blast in the confines of the narrow hallway echoing disorientatingly in his ears. As he came up on to his feet, the revolver cocked and ready, Snell was halfway down to the next floor.
    â€˜I’ve been fuckin’ hit!’ screamed Bignall, his hand coming away from his shoulder dripping with blood.
    Lynch didn’t pause to see. His mind was concentrated on his quarry. He slammed his body against the wall at the top of the stairs, weapon held steady in both hands ready to fire, but Snell dived out of sight, raced along the landing and hurtled down the next set of stairs to take him down to ground level.
    With a snort, Lynch hurled himself in pursuit, taking the stairs six at a time, steadying himself with the bannister as he landed hard and unsteadily. Using his lack of balance to aid momentum, he ran on and spun towards the next stairway just in time to see the fleeing figure of Snell heading towards the front door.
    His face a hard mask of anger, Lynch threw himself down these stairs, aware that if Snell made it out through the front door and on to the street, he might as well say ‘Adios’ to him and the money. Lynch knew from experience that scrawny little thieves-cum-druggies could run like a hurricane when they had to. It was only when they knew they’d escaped did they stop and cough up their lungs. They could be very slippery bastards when necessary.
    As Lynch landed in the ground-floor hallway, Snell had just snaked out through the front door.
    For a nanosecond Lynch thought about taking a shot at him . . . but he held back. He was too far away to guarantee a hit.
    Lynch ran, determined that Snell would not be going far.
    In his time as a low-level crim, Keith Snell had been forced to outrun the law on many occasions and, more often than not, he had been successful. This was because he had learned one thing about being chased: never, ever hesitate. The trick was to keep going and hope for the best, because it didn’t matter where you ran, it’s just that you needed to keep on doing it.
    Having said all that, he had never before been hunted down by someone with a gun and a grudge.
    As he landed on the footpath outside the guest house, he gyrated on his heels and sprinted down the street, then cut out between a couple of parked cars to put some sort of barrier between himself and Lynch, then turned on the speed.
    Each pound of a foot on the ground was matched by a similar one in his cranium, in his ears and behind his eyes. His whole head seemed to be