Gannon slung the rifle across his back and left Kit where she was in the already running van as he ducked down and headed west along the parked cars. As he approached 20th Street again, he made sure to keep the federal building’s corner between himself and the elevated garage.
As he hurried forward, he heard the first police car arrive a block to his right. He could see its blue-and-red strobe light on the pale facade of the federal building.
Ignoring it, he turned up the Motorola’s volume, then keyed in the push-to-talk.
“Calling asshole,” Gannon said. “Come in, asshole. Over.”
He smiled at the silence of chatter that followed his announcement.
That had gotten their attention, hadn’t it? he thought.
“That was a nice shot, buddy,” Gannon said as he reached the last row of cars.
He looked left and saw something on the sidewalk corner that just might work.
“I’m not kidding. Truly a pucker factor of eleven,” Gannon said as he ducked down and slowly began to make his way back toward Stout.
“You just missed a hair high,” he said. “If I had to guess, your assumed zero is off. You didn’t factor in the elevation change, did you? The air’s thinner up here in the Mile High City, dummy. You forgot to consider the decrease in drop. But I admire the attempt at a head shot. Go for broke or why bother. I’m with you, bro. I’m the same exact way. They must have taken you down from the top of the shelf.”
There was a pause then.
“Thanks for the tip,” came a voice.
It was a foreign voice, Gannon thought as he strapped the gun onto his back and knelt down and began to crawl now behind the row of cars closer to the corner.
German maybe? he thought as he crawled more slowly now. Some mercenary or something. Were the assholes bringing back the damn Hessians now? The fricking Nazis?
He stopped as he came past the last car and spotted something on the corner. It was the meter box where drivers paid to park. It was just large enough to scrunch in behind, and on the other side of it, he would have a shot north up Stout.
“Anytime, stranger,” Gannon said. “I’m full of good advice. Here’s some more. Pack it in. You’re backing the wrong team here. You need to stand down.”
“Is that right?” the foreigner said in his earbud. “Or what?”
“Or you’re going to be assuming room temperature like those four little Indians over on the next block,” Gannon said. “You do know how the end of that song goes, right?”
“You’re some real badass, huh?”
Gannon got to a crouch and turned the gun around in front of him as he stepped behind the meter box. He got his back on it and edged himself up slowly against it until he had his feet back under him a little better.
He took out his phone and turned on the video. Quick as a card trick, he stuck it out the other side of the box and back and then smiled as he froze the still.
Five stories up at the top corner of the garage was a large white van backed up against the edge.
He studied the phone and put it away. Then he adjusted his weight and got his feet completely right as he tucked the rifle butt high and hard and deep into his shoulder.
He took a deep breath. He would only have a second, he knew.
But a second was all he would need.
“Deep breathing now? Making you nervous, am I?” the foreigner said.
This is it, kemosabe, Gannon thought to himself. Put the devil in a body bag or die trying. All in with the chips. For all the marbles.
“I thought you were a badass,” the mercenary taunted.
“Well, put it this way. I’m not a helpless stripper or even a park ranger,” Gannon finally said as he rose up until his head was just under the metal box’s top.
“No?”
“No,” Gannon said as he put the rifle to his cheek and stepped right in a balanced lunge.
He saw the top of the Mercedes center into his scope pretty as you please just as he came to a solid wide-legged stop.
“I’m smarter than your average grizzly,” Gannon said as he buried the trigger.