Chapter52
“SON OF A BITCH!”cried out Decker.
He and Lancaster leapt out of his car, which was parked down the street and across from Katz’s building. They drew their guns and hunkered down next to the vehicle.
“There,” said Lancaster, pointing to the opposite building. “The shot came from there. I saw the muzzle flash.”
“Call in reinforcements,” bellowed Decker as he punched in Mars’s number.
It rang and rang, with no answer.
“Shit.”
“Do you think the shooter’s still there?” said Lancaster, putting away her phone after making the call. “If we go to check on Mars and Katz?”
“Right, he’ll pick us off.” He glanced at Lancaster. “It could be the same guy who killed Brimmer. You wait here for the cops to show. Keep trying to call Melvin.” He texted the number to her phone.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going after the shooter.”
“Amos—”
But he was already running down the street, keeping right next to the building where the shot came from, to make it difficult for whoever was in there to draw a bead on him.
He reached the front entrance of the building and looked it over. Plywood on the lower windows. The place looked abandoned. But it had a perfect sightline into Katz’s apartment from the upper floors.
He raced up the steps to the front entrance and noted that the large double doors were chained shut. He heaved his bulk against them, but not even his size and strength could budge them.
He hustled on down the street, turned left at the next intersection, and raced down it. He was listening at the same time for a car starting up or footsteps running away. The night air was brisk and the sky clear for once.
He could hear nothing except his own breathing.
He reached the next corner and peered down it.
Nothing. No one and no car waiting to take the shooter away.
He forced himself not to think about Mars’s fate. He had said a simple prayer that his friend was okay. And if he wasn’t, Decker was going to risk his life to avenge him.
He raced over to the rear entrance, and that was where his luck turned. The door was open. And Decker well knew why.
The shooter had entered this way.
He eased the door open and stepped through. He knew he was a big target, and he squatted down to make himself less of one.
He took stock of the situation. The shooter might have already fled, out the door, and either driven off or used his own two feet to get away.
Only Decker had heard nothing that would indicate either had happened. And he doubted enough time had elapsed for the shooter to make his exit.
That would leave the person still inside an empty building, probably with a long-range, high-powered rifle, while Decker only had his new pistol, which he had never once fired, and would not be that accurate over any meaningful distance. The shooter could nail him from a lot farther away than Decker could the shooter.
He saw a bank of elevators but knew there probably was no power turned on in the building. That left the stairs. He used his Maglite to show the way and reached the door to the stairwell.
Like Lancaster, he’d seen the muzzle flash and downloaded the image in his head, counting up the floors.
Sixth.
He cautiously opened the door and made his way up, slowly. He might meet the shooter coming down. Or the person could be up there waiting for him.