In the next instant that consideration was taken away.

I heard an engine burst to life and a car came hurtling out of the yard in reverse. I had to dive clear and went down on my chest. Twisting around, I saw the bulk of the vehicle spin past me as Rickard hit a skid that angled it away from us. I fired into the body of the vehicle, but I must have missed him, because Rickard hit the gas and the wheels spun furiously before biting into the road surface and launching the car away from me.

Rink held his gun with both hands as he fired repeatedly. The back windshield of what I now recognized as an older-model Ford Taurus imploded, and as I rose up I caught only a fleeting glimpse of the top of Rickard’s head where he hunkered low in the driving seat.

I took a few running steps after the accelerating vehicle. Came to a halt. Centered myself and fired. The front windshield exploded but Rickard continued on. At the far end of the block, he spun the wheel and the Taurus was gone.

Shoulder to shoulder, we stood there in silent contemplation.

It’s never a nice feeling when you realize you’ve failed, but at least we had one thing going for us. We were still alive and could take up the chase again. Too many others in Liberty City weren’t so fortunate.

Chapter 29

29

Escaping from the police cordon was his first priority. Everything else could come later. Rickard dumped the Ford Taurus at an underpass beneath Route 95, then walked out and into an industrial estate struggling to remain viable in the current market but falling into decay. He left behind all but his own gun and knife. During the gun battle he’d used up all the ammunition for the Glock 18: he’d have liked to hold on to it for a little longer, but in the circumstances it was simply dead weight. At the very most his own gun held four rounds and he knew he’d have to rectify that soon.

At a mail forwarding depot, he ducked inside the nearest door and found a woman sitting behind a desk. She was surprised by his sudden appearance and had to put away the gossip magazine she was reading. Evidently she didn’t get too many visitors in a day. She definitely wasn’t the public face of the company, dressed as she was in a dull gray sweatshirt and matching pants, her brown hair scraped back into a ponytail held in place with a rubber band. The polish on her nails was chipped and stained by the cigarette wedged between her pinched lips.

She squinted up at him. “Sorry. We don’t allow personal pick-ups from the office.”