14

Juba watched the team split into two groups and race into the building. He considered following them but decided to wait at the front.

He had learned the skills of a hunter a long time ago. When you were preying on a wild beast, you could use your energy stalking it or you could send in lesser men, the beaters, to flush it out of the bush and be ready to take it down.

Juba touched a hand to his lip, which he’d split during his tumble down the stairs. The painful throb only added to his eagerness to lay hands on this hired man; it would be a pleasure extracting information from him. He would have been much happier if he’d brought along a shotgun or his Ruger 9mm. That would have saved a lot of this running around but Barcelo didn’t like the boys waving guns about—he believed they were for killing, not displaying. Maybe he was right.

* * *

Danny waited in the hallway for the next party of Locos to clump their way up the staircase. He lifted the telescopic baton with his right hand and held the knife along his left forearm in a reverse grip, ready. He crept towards the stairwell door knowing that this was an optimum location to engage the enemy. The narrow doorway forced them to bottleneck, which meant there was less chance of them surrounding him. More voices drifted up the stairs, betraying the direction they were coming from.

Danny crouched to the side of the door and tried to calm his breathing to its resting rate. He exploded into action as the first of the gangsters opened the door.

The baton cracked into unprotected shins with bone-splintering force and a wide-shouldered Spaniard went down with a howl, clutching at his legs. This left his head unprotected, and Gunn whipped the steel cudgel across the back of his skull. The blow resounded with a satisfying crack.

The second man lurched at Danny as he began to rise from his crouch. The guy was on him in a second, pushing Danny into the wall. Instead of trying to force him back, Gunn gave ground, dropping back to one knee. He jabbed the knife into the soft cavity behind the man’s knee and pushed down hard into the structure of the joint. The blade wedged deep between the two large bones, instantly immobilising the leg. The Loco dropped like a sack of wet washing and his face began to contort into a parody of a kabuki mask.

The third gangster proved wily. He backed off from Danny and snapped out a baton of his own.

Danny inched forward in a semi-crouch and dropped his knee across the neck of kabuki-guy, putting a crushing pressure on the carotid arteries. The remaining Loco lunged in with a slashing blow to Gunn’s face, followed with a kick and a wild flurry of strikes—any one of which could have ended it for Danny if they had landed cleanly.

This was the most skilled fighter Gunn had faced from the Locos. He was fast but he knew not to charge in blind or hesitate for too long either; the fine line for any fighter. He had a wrestler’s build and a face to match… a real bone-crusher type. His flattened nose told of countless fistfights, and the deep scars around his face told of more than one encounter with an unfriendly blade.

Danny blocked with his own baton, each strike sending a shockwave reverberating down into his hand. Both men exchanged blows. Danny’s thigh stung from a whip just above the knee, which would have cracked his kneecap if timed a split second earlier. Bone-crusher winced from a palm heel to the ear and a numbing slash across the fingers. Danny feinted left then another diagonal whip sent the steel club tumbling from bone-crusher’s broken hand. The man cursed, clutching the damaged hand to his chest.

“Espero que no tocas el piano.” Danny doubted that the man had ever played the piano but grinned at the resulting look of hatred on his face. Danny skipped back over the two fallen Locos.

As bone-crusher started to advance again, Gunn reversed his direction and blasted into him, aimed a headbutt full into his face and scored a direct hit to the bridge of the nose. A noise akin to a coconut being cracked against a wall resounded down the corridor but the Loco remained on his feet. A knee to the face, a baton strike to the head and another open palm to the ear followed but still he rolled with Danny’s blows and scored with a raking headbutt of his own. A kidney punch staggered Gunn and he almost went down on his knees. The heavyset brawler was still proving very dangerous, despite his broken hand, as he seized his chance and surged forward. He caught Gunn in a tight grip from behind, throwing his injured arm around Danny’s waist and the other around his throat. The intense pressure on his torso forced the air from Danny’s lungs but he was unable to escape.

Danny knew if any more Locos arrived now he’d be finished. This fight had lasted way too long at the twenty or thirty seconds mark. He dropped the baton, knowing it was useless at this range. Danny then grabbed at the arm around his throat and focused all of his strength into bone-crusher’s fingers. The hands were slippery with sweat but he managed to secure a tight hold. The gangster’s arm felt like a steel band around his neck. Danny twisted his wrist in a tight arc. Two of bone-crusher’s fingers snapped back further than they were designed to and the grip was broken. Sucking in a welcome breath, he felt his vision swim momentarily as his equilibrium sought to right itself.

Gunn pivoted, fully reversing their positions, so now he could apply his own counter-choke from behind. Gunn’s knotted arms bit deep into bone-crusher’s neck, cutting off both oxygen and blood supply to his brain. But Danny knew to wrap his hands in deep to prevent his own fingers being prised and broken. Squatting as he applied the hold, Danny then levered the man backwards so only his toes were touching the ground.

Bone-crusher tried to claw the choke away but with both hands now broken and Danny pulling him off his feet, the attempts were brave but futile. He tried to throw Danny over his shoulder but Gunn again blocked the move by dropping his weight and stamping his heel hard against the back of bone-crusher’s knee. The brawler finally slumped to the ground, limbs completely slack, but Gunn kept the sleeper hold tight a few more seconds just to make sure. When he did release the hold the man dropped face down like a corpse.

Time to go.

Danny moved more cautiously; if he encountered another of bone-crusher’s ilk he might not make it out. He trotted silently down the stairs and emerged onto the ground floor. He paused to spit out a mouthful of blood and saliva and wipe his eyes clear of sweat, then peered out of the entrance doors. He spotted another Loco sitting with his back to him on a low wall, smoking a cigarette. A ribbon of thin smoke wafted up and over his head. He was dressed head to toe in the required urban camouflage but stood out like a Buddhist monk in a bordello. Danny scowled; whoever thought that vibrant greys and blues provided camouflage needed a slap with a sock full of gravel.

Danny slipped off his belt as he closed silently on the gangster. One quick motion and the leather strap ensnared the man’s neck. Gunn pulled sharply and the garrotted Loco was snatched backwards over the low wall. He landed on the back of his skull and shoulders with a telling crack and Danny didn’t need to employ his raised fist to finish him off. The young man pawed once at the air then lay still. The glowing ember of his cigarette emitted a weak shower of sparks as it landed on the ground next to him.

Danny pulled his belt free and walked away.