Three shots pierced the night, all close by, all extremely loud. Thorn could tell just from the sound of them that they weren’t from a normal small sidearm, certainly weren’t being passed through a noise suppressor like the one seen on the surveillance video from a few nights before. Instead they were loud and heavy, distinctive barks through the quiet night air.
“Kelley,” Thorn whispered, listening as two slugs slammed into metal. The third caught the pavement nearby, a spark igniting on contact.
Not wanting to be a victim of friendly fire, and not trusting Kelley enough to tell the difference, Thorn remained rooted in place. He listened as a new voice drifted out toward him. None of the words spoken were English, the tone tense and non-negotiable.
A few seconds of silence passed, followed by another trio of shots. In their wake was the sound of work boots smacking against pavement, lumbering footsteps of someone growing closer.
“Robert, you alright?” Kelley called out, his voice close by, interspersed with heavy panting.
Peering out around the edge of the container, Thorn glimpsed Kelley bent at the waist, his head hanging down and his gun pressed along the side of his knee.
“Robert?” Kelley called again, his eyes screwed shut and his face contorted in pain as he stood to full height, his stomach pulling in and out, trying to catch his breath.
As much as Kelley was a target standing out in the middle, Thorn remained where he stood. His finger slid from around the outside guard of the trigger, ready to fire at a moment’s notice.
From the darkness on the opposite side of the pier emerged a single figure, his body wrapped in black, a fedora atop his head. He seemed to materialize from nowhere, crossing the open expanse of the pier in three quick steps. Before Thorn had a chance to react he was on Kelley, snapping a vicious kick into his ribs that sent him sprawling across the concrete.
The man took a step forward to continue his assault, pulling up short as Thorn stepped around the corner, gun in hand. In one fluid movement he hooked a hand under Kelley’s arm and drew him up, using his body as a human shield.
A pained gasp crawled from Kelley’s mouth as he swayed unevenly in place, the man holding him upright like a life-sized marionette. From where they stood the only thing that was even visible was his eyes, just peeking out beneath the brim of his fedora.
“Drop it,” the man said, his right hand extending up from beneath Kelley’s arm. In it was gripped his captive’s .44, the oversized weapon leveled at Thorn.
Five steps from the edge of the container, Thorn was completely exposed. There was no way he could get back to safety without being shot, no way he could cover the gap between them without being an open target.
“Drop it,” the man repeated, just the slightest hint of humor evident in the tone.
A dozen curses at Kelley and his situation flitted across Thorn’s mind as he assessed the situation. While he had no real loyalty to the man, he couldn’t let him get killed and he certainly couldn’t risk shooting him in hopes of getting his attacker.
Fighting against his every instinct, Thorn uncurled his fingers from the base of the gun, the weapon falling to the ground beside him. It landed with a sickening smack of metal against concrete, the sound only serving to drive home the point that he was exposed against a talented opponent.
Raising both hands by his side, Thorn stood and waited, trying to create a list of next moves, plotting out his reaction if the man opened fire.
To his surprise though, the man didn’t. Instead he shoved Kelley to the side, the much larger man falling to the ground, not to move again.
A thin smile grew across the man’s features as he turned the gun sideways in his hand, opening his fingers the way Thorn had and letting the gun fall to the ground.
In that moment, there was no doubt what came next. Thorn had no idea why the man was intent on a fight, no clue why he had tossed aside the weapon when victory was his, but it didn’t really matter. Whatever power imbalance that existed a moment before was now gone, Thorn back on the level.
If an altercation was what the man wanted, he would be happy to oblige.
Both men moved at once, the man opening the volley with a snap kick that just missed Thorn’s ear. Sliding to his left, Thorn shot out a quick jab, his knuckles knocking the fedora to the ground.
Swinging beneath the blow, the man fired a right hook that caught Thorn just beneath the eye.
Ignoring the sting of the shot, Thorn used the momentum of it to spin on the ball of his foot and swing a hard chop across the man’s jaw. The sound of solid contact filled his ears as the man stumbled back a few steps, shaking his head twice. He raised his right hand and used it to work his lower mandible from side to side, a look of disdain crossing his features.
A low grunt slid out of the man as he launched himself forward again, swinging a hard heel kick at Thorn’s head. Without thinking, Thorn dropped to a knee, feeling a rush of air pass him by as he smashed a palm strike at the man’s exposed knee.
Thorn heard a small click as the knee locked itself out, a single gasp rising from his opponent. In rapid fashion he drew his hand back to fire another, watching as his target seemed to disappear as a hard chop connected with his left ear.
A dull ringing settled in as a hint of cobwebs grew on the edge of his vision as Thorn spun up to his feet. For a moment both men took a step back, circling slowly, assessing one another. The man flexed his leg several times at the knee as he walked while Thorn shook away the gray fuzz.
After a full half minute both stopped, each intent to move forward again.
The man opposite him was just a bit quicker than Thorn, going in for another heel kick before pivoting on his foot and swinging a leg up high. Once more Thorn dropped down, anticipating the move, waiting for the man’s knee to become exposed again.
Halfway through the kick, just before the opening presented itself, the man paused and snapped his foot straight down. The heel of it connected square between Thorn’s brows, lights erupting in front of his eyes as a stream of blood shot down from his nostrils. It rolled straight down over his lips, the salty taste finding his tongue, as he rolled through the blow and came up on a knee, his hands at the ready in front of him.
Standing ten feet away, the man studied Thorn for a moment. His glare seemed to bore into Thorn, his face relaying he wanted nothing more than to continue, before he barked out a single command. From the darkness opposite them the two men Thorn had dispatched earlier appeared, both staggering past with their heads down.
In a span of no more than ten seconds all three melted from sight, Thorn rising to give chase, arriving on the opposite side of the pier just in time to hear an engine roar to life. Twin rooster tails rose from the harbor, a thick white wake churned up behind them as the boat circled wide, heading south.
“You alright, man?” Kelley asked, letting out a groan as he appeared beside Thorn, watching their intruders disappear into the night.
“Yeah,” Thorn muttered, his voice low. He could feel Kelley’s gaze looking him over, but to the man’s credit he didn’t comment.
“What the hell was all that?” Kelley wondered aloud.
A handful of responses came to Thorn’s mind, though he let them all pass in silence.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Liberation Day - A Thorn Byrd Novel Page 33
