The briefcase came up fast, a roundhouse swing that any two-handed man could have deflected. But Lester had one hand on Jackie’s arm and the other in a sling. He ducked his head, taking the blow on his shoulder. She was a big woman in excellent shape. And though he had twenty or thirty pounds on her, he was shorter, frailer, and barely recovered from a ferocious beating. He staggered and went down. The fall probably saved his life.

“This is going south,” Duran said. “I can’t wait for backup.” He was out the door, gun in hand, before Ted could take it all in. Without a thought, he followed.

-77-

-77-

In motion Stavros Nikitopoulos had both the size and the nimble grace of a fullback. And the speed. He burst out of the pizza parlor down the block. The traffic on Sutphin did not slow him down. He was crossing the plaza before Ted cleared the door. Ted saw his arm come up holding a long-barreled revolver.

“Gun! Gun!” Duran yelled, running in a crouch across the sidewalk and into the street.

Kasabian heard him and turned to face the threat. “Police!” His weapon in one hand, gold shield in the other, he yelled louder, “Police! Clear the way.” Pedestrians on both sides of the street scattered, but Ted thought this was in response more to the sight of the guns than to the sight of the badge.

There were at least a dozen people on the sidewalk and two lanes of traffic. Neither cop would risk a first shot. But the giant would and did.

He shot twice at Jackie and she fell.

Ted screamed, “No!” A shaft of despair pierced his heart. And where was Lester? Had he been hit, too? Ted kept running toward the scene, fear for his own safety buried under a blinding anxiety.

Nicky swung around and fired four more times—a subdued smack, smack, like the slamming of a book on a table. It surprised Ted. How could something so deadly sound so innocuous?

It was a long shot for a small handgun, across half the plaza, but more than one bullet found its mark. Kasabian staggered, hit somewhere that Ted couldn’t see. Ahead of him Duran plunged into the traffic. Immediately behind Ted an older Asian woman with a wheeled laundry cart cried out and sagged to the sidewalk, blood blossoming on the front of her sack-like housecoat. A single shoe—a shearling moccasin—stood guard on the bags of laundry.

A motorist, panicked by the sight of guns to either side, revved his engine and plowed into the car ahead of him. Another driver abandoned his car and ran.