Prohibition Read Online Free PDF Page A

the scared eyes by the neck and threw him into the thug on his right. Both fell back, crashing through tables.
    The man standing behind Quinn tried to jump on his back. Quinn shifted and stunned him with an elbow to the throat. The man staggered back, gagging. A left hook that sent him back through the front door glass and into the street.
    Out of the corner of his eye, Quinn saw Shapiro bringing up a .38 from beneath the counter. Quinn hit the deck as three bullets smacked into the wooden tabletops above him.
    Quinn pulled his .45 as he rolled to his feet, but Shapiro had already hopped the counter. He was fumbling with the lock on the back door.
    Shapiro turned as Quinn stood up. Shapiro jerked up his .38 but Quinn fired first. The bullet hit Shapiro in right shoulder, bouncing him off the door before crumpling to the floor. The .38 dropped as he fell and skidded down the hall.
    Quinn wasn’t exactly elated. He’d just shot Howard Rothman’s best boy. Rothman wouldn’t be happy. Neither would Archie.
    The two thugs who’d crashed through the tables made it to their feet. The smell of gun smoke in the air made them careful. Quinn held the .45
    on them and they slowly put up their hands.
    Quinn waggled the .45 toward the door. “Go outside and drag your playmate back in here.”
    The middleweight dove for Quinn’s gun, but Quinn was ready. He swung it out of reach and brought the butt down hard on the base of his neck. He was out cold before he hit the floor.
    Quinn pointed the gun back at the last thug. “What about you?”
    “Not me, mister,” the man said as he stepped through the gaping door.
    He tried to get the unconscious man to his feet, but couldn’t. He opened the broken door and dragged his friend as gently as he could over shards of broken glass.
    “Drag him over next to your boss in the hallway,” Quinn said moved to pick up Shapiro’s .38.
    The middleweight was coming to, trying to pull himself up on all fours. Quinn kicked him in the ribs and he collapsed back to the floor. “Drag this piece of shit back there, too. Keeping my eye on all of you.”
    He looked over at Johnny, who was cowering at the corner of the counter. “Take it easy, kid. We’ll be out of here in no time.”
    Quinn watched the last man standing drag the middleweight into the narrow hallway and take a seat on the floor next to his boss. It was quite a scene. Two of them unconscious. Shapiro shot, bleeding heavily from the hole in his shoulder.
    “Fine group of boys you hired, Ira,” Quinn said. “You always did have an eye for talent.”
    “Donkey bastard,” Shapiro slurred. “Whaddya think Rothman’s gonna do when he finds out about this? Your life won’t be worth shit by tomorrow.”
    Quinn fished out a Lucky from his overcoat pocket and lit it. He knew Doyle wouldn’t be happy, but he’d get over it. If it was worth it. Quinn had to make it worth it.
    “Why don’t you want me talking to Johnny, Ira?”
    Johnny the Kid whimpered like a sick dog. “Please, God. Please. I don’t
    want to die. Not me. Not now. Not here.”
    “Shaddap, you goddamned Mary!” Shapiro yelled from the floor. “Keep your mouth shut, you hear?”
    Quinn moved to block Shapiro’s view of the Kid. “What are you hiding, Ira?”
    Shapiro tried to straighten himself against the back door, but there was too much blood on the floor. His blood and more of it every second. “Fuck you,” Shapiro slurred. “Fuck Archie Doyle...things...are changin’ now...” Shapiro faded and Quinn fired into the door only inches from Shapiro’s head.
    The shot boomed loud and woke Ira jumped. “Next one catches you in the belly. What’s all this about things changing?”
    As hurt as he was, Shapiro still managed to try spitting at Quinn. “You’ll find out soon enough, you son of a bitch.”
    Quinn wanted more, but a loud banging noise from the front of the pool hall cut him off. He turned to see Officer Liam O’Hara rapping on the busted door