Dirty Harry 06 - City of Blood Read Online Free PDF

steps that descended from the Cavanaugh-Sterling building. Another man did the same to Asabuka, causing the small man’s head to bang against the step, an injury much easier to recover from than a bullet wound.
    But the assassins on the rooftop had the advantage not only of surprise but also of a commanding location. They could—and did—fire at will, scattering a hail of bullets along the steps, riddling three of the guards, two who now lay lifeless, draped over Asabuka and Davis and one of Davis’ vice presidents.
    More unpleasant than being in danger of his life, in Davis’ view, was lying helplessly on the steps while his bodyguard’s blood leaked steadily onto his back and then began running down his face.
    Only the Japanese seemed unconcerned; actually, he looked a bit entertained as though this were a Wild West show he’d somehow stumbled into. That he might meet his end any moment now was a fact that had yet to register in his mind.
    One of the vice presidents, injured in an arm which hung limply at his side, a bloody swath of sinew where his shoulder ought to be, decided to climb back up the steps into the safety of the building. Groaning, he scrambled quickly and made it to the revolving door, perhaps thinking that his effort had paid off, only to discover that his progress had not gone unnoticed by the men on the rooftop. They busied themselves, almost in a sporting manner, emptying much of their clips into his back, causing blood to erupt in a dozen places. In this red shower the vice president promptly ended his career at Cavanaugh-Sterling. All things considered, he would have preferred a pink slip.
    By this time, of course, witnesses inside the Cavanaugh-Sterling complex had caught on to what was happening and several phone calls had been made to the police.
    Sirens could now be heard, signalling their impending arrival, but while the gunmen must have taken note of this they did not relent. On the contrary, they increased the intensity of their fusillade.
    Davis realized that the assassins would have undoubtedly provided for an escape route, over onto another rooftop or through a secret passageway in the building whose rooftop they now occupied, and that it was likely the police had not been informed of what sort of opposition they should expect. A SWAT team would be necessary, not a contingent of patrol cops.
    Despite the danger, Davis was only marginally interested in how this confrontation would turn out. For one thing, he was convinced, with that certainty that had gotten him this far, that he would survive. For another, he had business to attend to, a dinner date with a pretty woman, and this assault was going to make him very late. What’s more, he would have to go back to his office and change; he was unaccustomed to having blood all over his Brooks Brothers suit.
    At last a police cruiser came into view, stopping just past the intersection, out of the line of fire. Two patrolmen appeared, guns raised, but no sooner had they emerged from their car than they recognized how little good they could do in a situation like this. They returned to the safety of the cruiser and radioed in for more substantial backup.
    In the meantime, other cruisers pulled up along with the occasional unmarked car. Inside one of these unmarked cars, with a license plate that began with the letter Z—the telltale sign of police proprietorship throughout the country—sat Harry Callahan and his newest partner, Drake Owens.
    It was Owens’ decision to accompany Harry; whoever the snipers were they were clearly not the Mission Street Knifer and that was all, theoretically, that Owens was responsible for. However, he had insisted, partially, Harry suspected, because he wished to prove that he had a talent for doing something other than playing bit parts in Grade B movies.
    Though his colleagues were seemingly content to sit and wait until reinforcements and additional firepower arrived, Harry refused to wait along with them.