"Lower the gun," I said.
The man started at the sound of my voice, right behind him. He began to turn and then thought better of it and just stood there, gun still trained on Jack.
"Lower the gun now," I said. "Or I put a bullet in the base of your brain."
I pressed my gun barrel to his neck. He flinched and tried to cover the reaction by pulling himself straighter. He still didn't lower his gun. He did, however, make the small concession of aiming slightly away from Jack.
"You've been duped," I said. "As you might have figured out, we're not your typical marks. You're the second pro they've sent after us. Do you want to guess what happened to the first?"
The man said nothing.
"We tried to extend him professional courtesy," I continued. "All he had to do was answer a few questions about who sent him. He wouldn't. Are you going to be smarter?"
Still no answer. Which proved, sadly, that the guy probably was smarter--smart enough to guess I was bullshitting and that nothing he said was going to get him out of this situation alive.
Jack motioned that he'd take over. The moment either of us moved from our position, we provided an escape route, so I kicked the guy in the back of the knee to send him down. He anticipated that and feigned a fall. Then he spun on me, gun going up. Jack kicked him so hard the guy almost took me down as he fell. Jack was dropping on him when someone called, "Over here!"
Jack pinned the guy as another voice called, "Hold up!" A drunken giggle. "Where'd you go?"
"Over here! Come on!"
A third voice said something, the words too slurred to make out. Drunk kids. Three young men from the sounds of it. They were on the path heading into the park.
"Hey!" our target called, the cry cut short as Jack slammed his face into the ground.
"Shut the fuck up," Jack whispered.
"Did you hear something?" one of the boys said.
"Nah. Come on. You have to see this!"
Our guy tried to yell again. Jack ground his face into the dirt, but he kept trying, his muffled cries as loud as shouts in the quiet night.
"I heard something," a boy said. "Seriously, man. It sounded like someone in trouble."
"And what are you? The Caped Crusader?"
"No," another giggled. "He's Brother Power the Geek."
"Hey, I've heard of that one. Didn't--"
"I mean it. I hear something. In the woods over there."
The whole time they were talking, Jack stru
ggled with our captive, trying to shut him up. The guy wasn't listening. His nose was broken, blood streaming into the dirt. When Jack yanked the guy's head back, his lips were bleeding, too, one front tooth broken. Still he managed a stifled cry. Jack got his hands around the guy's throat, knees pinning him as I crouched in front, gun at the guy's forehead, whispering for him to shut up, shut the fuck up, knowing he wouldn't because I wouldn't, because this was his only chance.
Even with Jack's hands around his throat, the guy kept gurgling. Jack squeezed harder. Then harder. The guy's eyes bulged and I wanted to tell Jack to stop, that we needed him alive, but no matter what Jack did, the guy made all the noise he could, thrashing now, arms and legs beating the ground.
Pass out. Please just pass out.
It seemed to take forever, but finally, his eyes closed, and his arms and legs went still. I moved to check his pulse, but Jack stopped me and motioned toward the drunk kids. He was right, of course--that was the priority. They were crashing about in the woods now. And I do mean crashing, moving with so much noise that it was impossible not to know exactly where they were.
"It's stopped," one of the boys was saying. It was the one who'd noticed the noise first--the one who seemed the least incapacitated.
"Yeah, because whoever it was heard us coming," another said. "Probably some poor guy trying to get lucky and now you've fucked it up for him. Way to go."
I kept my gaze straight ahead, not daring to look over at Jack. Adrenaline had knocked my hormones back in check, but there was a little part of me still going, Shit, of all the lousy timing . . . And I didn't mean the boys coming into the park and disturbing our interrogation, either.