Deluge (The Best Thrillers Book 2) by James Best (ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt) 📕

Now it was Smith’s turn to laugh. “I guess that means we aren’t going to be lifelong friends.”

Chapter 31

Evarts flipped off all his lights and drove by the Hotel Corque at a pretty good clip. He saw two police cruisers sitting catawampus in the parking lot and gun barrel flashes coming from both the cars and the hotel. He whipped around a long block to pull in back, and after skidding to a stop, jumped out of the car while chambering the shotgun. He pushed another shell into the loading port to give him six shots. A passageway led past the pool area to a rear door of the hotel. He threw open the door, and in an instant, spotted two armed men with their attention focused away from him. He halted and swiveled around the door frame to put his back to the outside wall just before a hail of bullets tore into the space he had just occupied.

Whoa, close. Too close. As expected, the startled gangbangers kept firing until they’d exhausted their ammunition. That was the problem with fully automatic weapons. They consumed ammunition like a famished dog emptying his food dish. Evarts swung back into the doorway, firing the shotgun as fast as he could pump the slide action. The 12-gauge buckshot staggered the two gangbangers backward, and they collapsed to the floor in a misshapen heap.

Evarts swung back against the outside wall and reloaded.

He stuck his head around the corner for a quick peek and jerked back. Only two bloody bodies in sight. The automatic fire and shotgun blasts would alert other gang members that cops were breaching the back entrance. If he hung around, they would have time to get ready for him. Better to charge in while the realization of an assault from behind still formed in their minds. Evarts sprinted around the corner, leading with the shotgun.

He encountered no one, so he kept moving past the bodies and toward the front of the hotel. Gunfire came from outside. He peeked through a window, but hedges blocked his view. He was tempted to call to see how long before his other officers arrived, but he knew those precious moments would consume whatever surprise remained of his attack. He pressed on.

He reached the end of a hallway that opened on the lobby. A quick scan revealed two more gangbangers holding the night-shift staff hostage in the middle of the room. This presented a huge problem. They blocked his path forward to help his fellow police officers, but challenging the gunmen directly would put the hostages at risk. Then he remembered his mud-splattered casual clothes. He laid down his shotgun, slipped off his holster, and tucked his Glock in the small of his back. Next, he removed his shoes, outer shirt, body armor, and heavy belt, all dead giveaways of law enforcement. After mussing his already mussed hair, he stumbled into the lobby, playing a hungover sleepyhead.

“What the hell is going on? People are trying to sleep, for god’s sake.”

“Hey, you! Shut the fuck up! Get over here, you piece of shit.”

“Whoa, I’ll just go back to my room. Didn’t mean to disturb.”

He didn’t retreat to the hall but continued to stumble into the lobby. The one who had spoken stood farther away, but he presented a clear shot, while hostages sat between Evarts and the closer gangbanger. Because he stood tall behind the hostages, the closer assailant presented a good target, but hitting him required shooting over their heads. The farther gangbanger aimed his gun at Evarts, while the closer one kept his gun aimed at the hostages. Evarts had a dilemma. Damn. Not really a choice.

Evarts stumble-kicked a side table to topple a lamp as a diversion and drew his Glock.

He double-tapped the assailant standing behind the hostages.

Time moved agonizingly slow. Noise and gun smoke assaulted his senses. As he swung his gun toward the other assailant, somewhere his mind registered that he was being shot at. He didn’t hurry. He probably had only one shot, and it had to count. In a two-handed grip, he focused on the front sight and squeezed. Twice.

The 10mm hollow points found their mark, and Evarts saw the bullets rip at the bad guy’s shirtfront. As he started to stumble away, Evarts put a third bullet in his head, then turned back to the first target. He no longer stood.

The hostages looked unharmed but scared shitless.

Evarts immediately brushed a hand down his chest and stomach. He found no new holes. Then he looked behind and saw that the lobby wall had so many holes, it looked like the set from a low-budget gangster movie. Luck had been with him. At least for the moment.

He approached the hotel entrance in a crouch, wishing this night’s work were done.

Chapter 32

With Oakland came cell service. Baldwin called her husband, who she knew must have been worried sick. It went immediately to voice mail, which probably meant that he had turned it off to get some sleep. She guessed he wasn’t all that worried about her after all. Then she sloughed off her irritation, realizing that he had no way of knowing how precarious her night had been. It had been scary, it had been tiring, and it had been wet, but now they were safe and dry and on their way to San Francisco, one of the greatest cities in the world.

Maybe not. Having reached high ground, they were safe from the flood, but evidently cage fighting didn’t pay enough to move out of tawdry neighborhoods. Or possibly, Jemmy found these dilapidated surroundings comfortable. Smith declined to take the tractor on to the BART station. He not only didn’t know how to drive it, but the police would surely have a BOLO issued for the rig. Besides, with cell coverage, they could call a taxi or car service.

Jemmy parked the tractor on the street a few blocks from his apartment. When he threw the keys on