Repairman Jack [10]-Harbingers Read Online Free PDF Page B

heartbeats. Zeklos hated Miller. Cal couldn't believe he'd take his side on anything. But then again, it was pretty damn cold.
    Miller clapped his hands. "I guess that's it then. Let's get into uniform."
    "Why not just do it now—as we are?"
    Miller shook his head. "No way. This is a public appearance and I want it known that this jerk was hauled away by men in black."
    Cal sighed. "All right. But one of us should be stationed at that alley over there, just in case there's a back way out."
    "Good idea," Miller said. "Zeklos—think you can handle that without screwing up?"
    The little man glowered at him. "You are driving the car of obnoxiousness, Miller."
    He turned and started across the street.
    "You forgot your suit," Miller said.
    Without turning, Zeklos raised his right hand and gave the single-digit salute.
    "You've been coming down pretty heavy on him. Lighten up."
    Miller snarled. "Everybody cuts him too much slack. He's a fuck-up. We trusted him with that simple hit-and-run last November and he blew it. He should be working in Home Depot or something."
    They returned to the Suburban where they struggled back into their black suits, ties, hats, and sunglasses.
    Back on the sidewalk Cal gave himself the up and down, then Miller. They both looked rumpled.
    "Not exactly our usual clean, pressed look."
    "It'll do." Miller pulled out his H-K and checked the breech. "What do you think: yes or no to the suppressors?"
    "Yes. They're scary."
    "Okay. Let's do it."
    "Do what, exactly? What's the plan? We need to be synched up before we go in there."
    "We'll keep it simple. We go in guns out. You keep everyone down—maybe crease one or two if they start to look restless—while I grab the asshole and haul him out. We jump in the car, blindfold him, then take him Home where we can work on him. Good enough?"
    No. It was cowboy stuff. Cal preferred a more finessed approach.
    "I'd rather let him come to us. Grab him out here."
    Miller turned on him. "Look. I'm going in. Either you're with me or you ain't, but I'm going in."
    Discipline… going, going…
    Cal sighed. "Okay. Let's go."
    He let Miller take the lead, and nodded to Zeklos standing at the mouth of the alley. Then they were through the door and standing just inside it with their pistols waving back and forth.
    "This is gonna make you think you're in a bad movie," Miller shouted, "but if everyone sits quiet, no one gets hurt."
    Cal scanned the room. To the right nothing but empty tables, a jukebox, and the dead plants. A couple of guys at the bar along the left wall. Another dozen-fifteen guys sat at tables arranged in a semicircle across the middle of the room. No one to either side… everyone in front of them. Something wrong with this picture but he couldn't say just what.
    "Which one is he?"
    Miller looked around. "Fuck! I don't—"
    Cal froze at the unmistakable sound of a hammer being cocked—no, many hammers cocking.
    Pistols had appeared all over the room—semiautomatics and revolvers of all shapes and sizes and finishes.
    Cal's saliva turned to dust.
    Now he knew what had bothered him: The arrangement of chairs and tables allowed for perfect field of fire on the doorway.
    "I missed that," someone said. " Who won't get hurt?"
    "Say hello to my little fren'," said a voice to his left.
    Cal glanced over and found himself looking down the barrels of a sawed-off ten-gauge coach gun. This close they looked like the entrance to the Mid-town Tunnel.
    "Okay, easy now," he told the little guy with highly developed muscles and a very low temperature in his eyes. "Eeeeeeasy."
    "Be happy my little fren' don't say hello first. She speak double-ought."
    Cal didn't know if the guy was putting him on with the accent, but did know a sweat had just broken out all over his body. What kind of place was this? Like an armed camp. It gave him a surreal feeling, like he'd stepped into a saloon in the old West.
    He lowered his pistol and raised his empty left hand.
    "Our mistake.