“Or what?” their leader said. “Are you are going to kill us?”

“Probably.”

More laughter, but the man who had spoken didn’t join in. He was a little older than the others and didn’t seem quite as stupid.

“You’re going to get us killed with all this hand wringing,” Randi said, no longer bothering to play the role of frightened woman. “Crazy Eyes goes first. Their ringleader’s yours.”

“Wait! We might be able—”

But she didn’t wait. She reached behind her for the six-inch knife she’d brought in her checked luggage and with an underhand flick of her wrist sent it spinning through the air. Smith recognized that it was too late to stop this and launched himself forward.

The speed of her action and dim light made it impossible to follow the weapon, forcing him to make a few quick assumptions. The chest was the easiest target but getting good penetration would be almost impossible at this range. No, Randi would take the riskier approach. She always did.

Smith was already reaching for Crazy Eyes’s neck when the knife passed by and lodged there. Dead center, but her rotation was off a bit. Not so much that it didn’t penetrate a good inch into his windpipe, though.

Shouts rose up around them, but he barely heard, concentrating on getting hold of the knife’s hilt before the others could process what was happening. Smith drove it in the remaining five inches before yanking it out and spinning, building enough momentum to ram it deep into the lead man’s stomach.

Randi was already running toward the car in the intersection when Smith pulled the blade and followed. The young man wouldn’t die, which was a good thing, but really just an ancillary benefit. Stomach wounds were nasty and had a tendency to demoralize everyone around.

Smith had made it only ten meters when the expected wailing started from the wounded man, but so did the pursuing footsteps. When he looked back, all three of the uninjured men were chasing at a full sprint. Apparently concern for one’s comrades wasn’t one of this group’s virtues.

He ducked a wrench thrown by the man in the lead, but focused on the one who had stopped to dig a hand desperately into his jacket.

“Gun!”

Randi kept going, but crouched and began zigzagging as the first shot sounded. Smith did the same, daring another quick look back to confirm that they were holding the gap to their pursuers. Youth, adrenaline, and rage couldn’t quite overcome the disadvantage of too many cigarettes and heavy boots.

Ahead, Smith could hear the sickly sound of a starter motor as the man who had been watching tried to get his engine to fire. Randi was pulling ahead and he said a silent prayer that she would just run past the car and into the darkness.