By Reason of Insanity Read Online Free PDF Page B

jump seat beside him. Then he heard Solis’ voice again. “I’ll kill him, so help me,” Solis screamed. “Open it!” Druski knew the man would pull the trigger. Moving swiftly now, he did as he was told.
    Unseen by the two men in the black sedan, their attention riveted on the armored car in front of them, Harry Owens had already left the Buick and was sprinting toward the truck. They spotted him as he jumped in, the rear door slamming behind him. “Where the hell did he come from?” one said irritably and reached for the radio again.
    A moment later the Overland truck roared to life, Harry at the wheel. Jamming the gears, he slammed down on the accelerator, and the armored car shuddered—and stalled. Cursing, Harry frantically worked the gears and tried again, the rain muting the sound of the starter. No luck, the motor wouldn’t catch. Precious seconds were being lost as the whining continued.
    In the Buick Carl Hansun saw his future fall apart. The truck wasn’t moving, something was wrong. All he could think of was the driver, that he didn’t unlock the compartment door. Hansun started the car. He had hoped there would be no shooting, he had told the Solis brothers not to shoot unless absolutely necessary. He was so damn sure the driver would obey. The next moment he swerved into an open lane and roared the Buick down to the truck, slamming to a stop across the back. He banged on the door, shouting, until it opened. Inside he quickly saw the trouble—Harry Owens. The dumb son of a bitch couldn’t even make it move.
    “Get the bags,” Hansun shouted. “Get all you can in the car.” He grabbed one and flung it out of the truck. “Not the coin bags, just the money.” For the next few seconds three of them tossed bags of currency into the waiting hands of Johnny Messick while Don Solis covered the driver-guards. “Keep them away from the guns back here,” Hansun ordered, picking up a Mossberg pump-action riot gun and a shotgun. In the cab Harry was still kicking the starter.
    Nearby the Overland backup team watched anxiously, waiting for reinforcements. If necessary, they would follow the car. What they didn’t understand was why the gang didn’t just drive off with the truck. “It’s dumb,” said one. The other agreed. “I hope they’re not so dumb they kill the guys in there.” The driver’s eyes narrowed. “If they don’t take any hostages, we won’t either.”
    Up ahead Hansun jumped out of the truck. “There’s still bags up here,” Don Solis shouted. He was told to leave them. “C’mon, we got enough,” said his brother on the way out. Solis looked at all the money still in the cab, then he slowly turned to Harry Owens getting out of the driver’s seat. “It’s all your fault,” he said softly as he shot Harry twice. Racing past the two guards, he banged the rear door shut and followed the others into the car.
    “He shot them,” whispered the driver of the black sedan in disbelief. He turned the engine. “The bastard shot them,” he repeated, zooming out of the space and after the fleeing Buick. “The hell with waiting. We’ll take them now.”
    In and out of busy lanes the two cars weaved in a wet zigzag scramble for the road. Messick spotted the tail. “Cops,” he muttered savagely. At the next parking intersection Hansun sped across, braked a sharp left at the first lane and suddenly swerved into an empty double space. “The shotgun,” he yelled to Messick as the squealing of tires came closer. Throwing open the door on his side, Messick stepped out as the sedan flashed into view. “Now!” roared Hansun, and Messick let go with both barrels dead on the moving target in a heavy rain at fifteen feet.
    The sedan shuddered as the shotgun loaded with sabot blasted away much of the front end. That it kept going at all was due to sheer momentum. With the left front wheel collapsed, the car skidded madly for a moment before flipping over and crashing up against a panel