Cliffe looked up from his magazine when Jay was halfway across the road. His reaction was quick and a little unexpected. Jay figured he would have made the distance with Cliffe glued to the spot, staring at the raging bull headed his way. But it wasn't to be. The magazine floated to the ground and Cliffe reached into his jacket. Still Jay drew closer. Although he was on the pavement, he knew he wouldn't make it in time. The pistol came out of the jacket fast and Cliffe's right hand extended. Jay was almost on to him, only a couple of paces left. Instinct and training kicked in. He veered to Cliffe's left, knowing that the pull at the trigger would force the bullet to fly slightly to the right. The blast compression hit Jay a split second before he readjusted his direction and rammed Cliffe with a full body blow.
Glass shattered on both sides of the street, not registering as loudly to Jay as it should have. A pistol fired at close range screamed in his ears. He lay sprawled on the ground below the now shattered office window. Shards of glass showered down on his back. He shut his eyes tight and dared not move until the last of the pieces bounced off his leather jacket. Eventually he rose to all fours, tilted his head sideways and looked back across the street. A glass pane from the front of the bank was missing. Shannon was rushing to the security guard who sat facing the window gripping a shoulder. The guard had copped Cliffe's stray bullet.
Jay caught his breath and stood. Broken glass crunched under his boots as he moved to peer inside the office block. Cliffe lay three-quarters of the way through the window on his back, one leg hanging out of the building, the other at an angle and caught in the window-pane. A large piece of glass protruded from his torso and smaller pieces surrounded it. There wasn't much blood and Jay knew he was dead. He looked beyond Cliffe and noticed that he'd pushed him into the office reception area. A stunned secretary leaned over the counter. She saw Jay and started screaming. Jay was glad he couldn't hear all that well. A bald man in a business suit minus jacket came running from around the corner, his bright orange tie flapping over his shoulder. He stopped, his foot resting on the pistol. He looked from the pistol to Jay, tried to say something but couldn't.
'Call the police and tell them that the pistol belongs to the dead guy in your window, and don't let anyone touch it,' Jay said. It sounded like he was talking into a tin can and he hoped he hadn't whispered the instructions.
He got a slight nod in return. Good. He picked up his backpack, brushed off a few stray shards of glass and turned toward Pat.
The screaming secretary seemed to have started a vocal Mexican wave as passers-by, shoppers and workers alike joined in; the inner-city street was a cacophony of shrieks. Jay's hearing was returning. He hated screaming. Got enough of it from terrified young soldiers who thought they were about to be tortured.
Still sitting in the stationary government car, Pat stared at Jay. Jay glanced across at Shannon in the bank. She saw him, gave a nod and calmly walked away from the window, no doubt to ring an ambulance. She would have called the police by now.
Jay felt like the eyes of the world were on him as the screaming died down. He didn't care; he had a second target to go after. He transferred the backpack to his left hand and withdrew the pistol from behind his back. Two construction workers who were racing toward him, probably to help, stopped in their tracks. Both raised their hands and told Jay to calm down. They backed away as Jay strode past them toward Pat. He dropped his backpack, raised the weapon and held it in both hands, pointing at Pat, who was now getting out of the driver-side door. Age was against Pat as he slowly brought up his own pistol. Jay didn't hesitate; his target was in sight. It allowed him enough time to vary his aim. Too many members of the public stood in the background, watching on. Some were within danger range for a badly aimed shot. Too risky for a double tap, he released a single well-aimed shot before Pat could clear his arm of the door to take his own shot.
The bullet collected Pat high on his right shoulder and the pistol fell from his hand. The impact sent him back against the side of the car. Jay had disabled his target but he wouldn't finish him off – not yet. He grabbed his backpack, came around the side of the car, reached in and took the keys from the ignition. Pat was holding his shoulder and groaning.
'I can't believe you just shot me,' Pat breathed heavily and continued to groan.
'You better believe it. Not as if you weren't going to shoot me.' Jay picked up Pat's pistol and put it in his backpack. The sound of screeching tyres made him look up, beyond Pat. Taylor. Perfect timing, Jay thought.
Jay grabbed Pat by the collar and used him as a shield from Taylor, who was two car lengths away and propped behind his door. Predictably, Taylor positioned himself like a cop in the movies covering the entrance of a bank robbery in progress, just waiting for the bad guy to come out with the hostage. Jay didn't want to disappoint. Taylor had created his own problem; he had stopped the car right in the middle of the road. Nothing stood between him and Jay except Pat, his choice of cover poor. Jay manoeuvred Pat to the back of his vehicle, keeping him between himself and Taylor. He stopped when he drew parallel with Taylor's vehicle.
'Don't do this, Jay. We can work this out. We're family, boy. I need that tape.' Pat's voice betrayed his desperation and pain.
'Shut up!' Jay tightened his grip on Pat's collar, causing him to groan.
Taylor leaned over the roof of his vehicle, weapon trained on Jay and Pat. Jay knew he wouldn't shoot while Pat was between them. He pushed Pat forward so that his pistol rested at extended arm's length on Pat's shoulder.
'Put it down, Taylor and walk away. You're not going to win this battle. Cliffe is dead and your boss here is in no position to help you. The best thing you can do is run. The police know all about your involvement in kidnapping my father.'
Taylor didn't waver and Jay knew he wasn't getting through. He must have really held a grudge from the ice bath.
Jay gave it one last try. He whispered to Pat. 'Tell him to put the gun down or I will shoot him.'
'What do I care? He's a liability anyway – you did me a favour with Cliffe.'
Pat's statement put the final nail in the coffin. Jay now knew that his assumptions about his Uncle Pat were correct. The façade over, he addressed Taylor again. 'Now I'm certain the Director here won't help you. Drop the weapon and run. Now!'
Taylor closed one eye, dropped his head and looked over his pistol. He was shot before he could pull the trigger. Jay had lowered his aim and shot through the passenger-side window. Pat instinctively ducked down and Jay followed suit as a bullet whistled over their heads.
The pistol slipped from Taylor's hand and slid down the windscreen. He moved his hands over his abdominal wound and looked down at the blood oozing from it. He staggered back and fell to his knees.
Jay bounced up, holding his pistol in one hand. He used his free hand to push Pat face-down onto the ground. 'Starfish position and don't fucking move,' he said to Pat.
He put both hands on the pistol and moved toward Taylor.
'What the fuck have you done to me?' Taylor asked as Jay closed in on him.
'I told you to run. I gave you plenty of chances. Shit, I even let you escape my father's house so you could leave. Never learn, you blokes, do you? Always thinking that you are as good as the SAS boys. Fucking wannabes.' Jay shook his head as Taylor bent over and started crying.
Jay looked around. The screaming and noise of the city had ceased. Like a minute's silence for the fallen, except Taylor and Cliffe weren't national heroes. He retrieved Taylor's pistol, unloaded it and threw the magazine across the road. He left the pistol on the bonnet and made his way back to Pat.
'Get up!'
Pat took his time getting to his feet and Jay grabbed him under the damaged shoulder. It made the process quicker. He pushed Pat forward toward his car and told him to get into the passenger seat. He got into the driver's side before Pat opened his door. Reaching across the seats, he retrieved his pistol and checked the magazine. As expected, the rounds had been removed. Jay cocked the weapon and noted that it had been cleared. Pat opened the door and witnessed Jay checking the pistol. 'Couldn't leave it loaded,' he said.
'Just get in the car.'
Pat got in and, with difficulty, started to pull the seatbelt across.
'Nope. Leave it off.'
'What?'
'You heard. Makes it easier to send you through the windscreen if I have to.'
Pat let go of the belt and sat back. He placed a hand over his damaged shoulder. Blood had started to soak through to his jacket. 'I need to get to a hospital.'
'And I need my father back.'
Jay kicked the motor over and drove down the street as the sirens converged on the city block. He looked across to the bank and caught Shannon's smile. She gave him a wave and he nodded back.
'OK, Uncle Pat. Better find something to stop that bleeding. We're going for a drive.'