was unlocked. Hunaker had already checked that out. The door handle was big and
round. He turned it, pushed, went through fast, the silenced SIG in his right
hand, Hunaker behind him, Koll at the rear.
They saw a large hallway, wide stairs facing them, a passageway to the left
diving to the rear of the house. There were closed doors right and left. The
hallway was unlit except for chinks of light below the doors.
There was a strong stink of incense mixed in with the burned straw smell of
happy weed. Ryan could hear the mutter of conversation from the door on his
left. Muted laughter, nothing else. J.B. materialized, moving quickly but
silently up the passageway toward him, followed by Rintoul and Sam. Hennings was
therefore out back. Good. A murderous bastard at the best of times who stood no
nonsense from antagonists.
J.B. and the other two turned to the stairs, raced silently up them, keeping to
the side. They fanned out on the landing above and disappeared. Ryan nodded to
Hunaker, then gestured at the door on the left. She now held a squat Ingram
MAC-11 LISP, a classic weapon. Koll stood by the now-closed main door, a little
to one side, a LAPA in his hands.
Ryan moved to the left-hand door, Hunaker at his side. Without hesitation he
twisted the handle and shoved the door inward. They both jumped into the room,
taking in everything in a split second.
Seven men, black jacketed or in shirt-sleeves. Five sitting at a round table in
the center playing cards, one standing beside the table, smoking and holding a
bottle, one in the act of walking unhurriedly down the room toward another door
at the far end. There were three kerosene lamps, one hanging from a hook on the
ceiling. Many candles. The sudden opening of the door caused the flames to sway
and gutter, a ripple effect that threw shadows crazily across the room. It also
caused the seven men, as one, to gape in stunned amazement.
As Ryan pushed home the door, two of the men at the table sprang up, shoving
their chairs back, pulling at shoulder-rigged pieces. It was enough. Hunaker,
her body taut, her eyes narrowed, a feral growl at her lips, squeezed off her
mag with about as much noise as a dozen guys having a spitting contest all at
once might make. A long-drawn-out Phyyytt-t-t-t’t’t As she fired she tight-arced
the thrust-out gun, casings spraying. The three seated men were punched backward
in their chairs, arms flailing, thudding to the carpeted floor. Of the two who’d
reached their feet, the nearest was slammed into the other and both seemed to be
glued together as they spun across the room, gasping, scarlet holes magically
appearing in their chests. Then their feet tangled together and they toppled,
crashing to the floor.
As Hunaker had begun her squeeze, Ryan had thrown up his SIG. His prime target
was the man at the end of the room, the man near the far door. Ryan bent at the
knees and sent two rounds at him. Both hit, the first slamming through the
spinal column as he half turned away and punching out the sternum in a wild
spray of blood, the second going higher, shattering the collarbone from the
side, almost taking the guy’s head off on its way out.
Without pause, Ryan swung to the right and heart-shot the man with the bottle.
The man choked out an “Uggh!” quietly and hit the wall behind him, slid down it,
arms wide, coat riding up to his shoulders as he sank. The bottle had already
left his nerveless fingers and now lay on the floor, its contents soaking into
the worn carpet.
Her right hand remagging the MAC, Hunaker sprinted across the room, silently
hurdling the bodies. She reached the end door with Ryan at her heels. Again he
gripped the handle, twisted, this time pulling it open. Hunaker sprang through
the gap before it was fully opened, Ryan jumping through after her, his SIG
left-handed now.
A passage, short, one door at the end half open and light streaming through the
gap, though mostly blocked off by a man standing in the opening holding a tray