Paul the bouncer was in the process of disarming one guy who was far bigger and younger than he was. As Puller watched, Paul whipped the guy around, clamped two hands around his neck, and jerked to the right. Puller could imagine the neck snapping cleanly in two with the move.
The man died without making a sound. Paul let him go and the man slumped to the floor.
Puller stepped into the doorway, pointed his gun, and fired two rounds crisply at the man who had his gun pointed at the bouncer’s head. The man caught both rounds in the torso and fell forward, as dead as the other guy, only with a lot more blood.
Rogers stared over at Puller and then turned to see the dead guy, his gun still in hand.
Puller called out, “Any others?”
Rogers shook his head. “Don’t think so. Four in here and three outside.”
Another shot rang out a moment later. Puller whipped his gun in the direction. Rogers ducked down and looked that way too.
A man fell forward, the pistol still clenched in his hand.
Behind him was Suzanne Davis. She lowered the gun she’d just used to kill the man.
Rogers slowly rose.
“You owe me,” said Davis.
“Yes, I do,” said Rogers. He jerked a thumb at Puller. “I owe him too.”
Puller kept his weapon out and looked around at the others. They were young, drunk, puking, crying, some bawling. All on the floor, the living shit scared out of all of them.
Only he, Davis, and Rogers were standing.
“I’m Suzanne Davis.”
Puller nodded and introduced himself. “You handle your weapon well.”
Puller suddenly saw a flash of movement behind the bar and swung his gun that way.
Helen Myers emerged from under the bar, shaky and pale.
Puller lowered his weapon.
They could all hear the sirens now.
“What the hell happened?” said Puller.
Myers came around the corner of the bar. “These men came here…” She looked down at the body of the big man with the white hair.
“That’s Karl,” she mumbled. “He’s my head of security. Was my head of security.” She fell silent and covered her face with her hands.
Puller looked over at Rogers questioningly as Davis came to stand next to him. She put the gun away in her purse and slung it over her shoulder.
Rogers touched the body of one dead man with his foot. “These guys were professionals.”
Puller had already come to the same conclusion.
“And Karl?”
Rogers cocked his head and listened intently as the sirens drew closer. He looked back at Puller, the muscles tight around his neck. “Two of these guys burst in with Karl between them. I went to help him and they shot him right in front of me.”
Myers said, “Karl called. He was coming in late tonight. I think…I think he must have run into these guys maybe in the parking lot. Maybe he tried to stop them.”
“Wrong place, wrong time,” commented Davis.
Rogers looked at her. “Where’d you learn to shoot?”
“Same place you learned to fight, school of hard knocks.”
Rogers nodded, his eyes once more looking over Puller’s shoulder, in the direction of the sirens.
Puller slowly lowered his weapon. “So you took out…six armed men with just your hands?” he asked Rogers.
“I got lucky.”
Puller looked at Rogers’s arm. “You’re bleeding.”
Rogers didn’t even look at the wound. “It’s fine.”
The door from the upstairs room opened and Josh Quentin cautiously peered out, his face ashen. “Is it…is it over?”
Puller looked up at him and then saw the women crowding in behind, all looking disoriented.
“Who are you?” asked Puller, though he knew the answer.
Myers answered. “That’s Josh Quentin, a customer.”
Puller considered this and said, “The shooters outside?”
“Same sort of crushing injuries. Don’t know what sort of weapon was used.”
“I don’t think you’re going to find a weapon,” said Puller.
“Why’s that?” she asked.
Because the weapon is gone, thought Puller.