A Shot In The Night (John Harper Series Book 2) (31 page)

The 'Seasonal Shooter' stepped off the elevator on the tenth floor. 
He had taken care to press for the thirteenth with a well bloodied finger and
the button for the floor he exited on with the metal barrel of his pistol.  He
was running low on weapons but the one in his hand was specifically needed for
his plan to come off.  Walking to the door of a flat he knew well, he knocked
with base of his pistol.  Putting the weapon back in his jacket pocket and he
concealed the shape and size through a hole he had specifically cut in that
pocket for that particular reason.  Removing the hood and mask from his face,
he waited for the occupant to come to the door.  He could hear someone on the
other side and the small dot of white light that was visible through the people
was momentarily eclipsed, “What you want?” a voice asked from behind the door.

“Looking for some lemon, mate,” the gunman raised a small wad of
twenty pound notes from his pocket.

Next there was the sound of a metal chain being slid across the latch
and the clicking of locks being opened.  The door swung inwards to reveal a
young man.  Wearing a white t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms, the man was dressed
for a quiet night in and not the bitterness of outside.  A thin layer of
stubble coated his jawline and his sunken eyes looked at the visitor warily,
“How much you looking for?”

“None,” the shooter said as he fired the pistol from his pocket into
the man's gut. As the drug dealer fell back another shot hit him in the head as
the gun was quickly reloaded.  It had been the most difficult to procure of all
the weapons he had prepared for this night.  It had cost a small fortune but
the silenced pistol was instrumental in his plans.  The exact model was
something of a Special Forces collector’s piece; a weapon devised and used
during the Second World War known as a Welrod.  He could have made a suppressor
of his own and attached it to any of the guns he owned but he wanted to ensure
that he retained accuracy and that it worked sufficiently for his purposes. 
The problem was the weapon still sounded like a gun being fired, if somewhat
muffled, but was a lot quieter than most suppressed weapons, barely over
seventy decibels.  Still the aim was for the people above him not to hear the
discharge and he was confident that the suppressor had done its job.

The flat he entered was one of the few that sold drugs in the
building.  Normally the Elsworth gang tried to keep their product out of Oak
Tower just in case there was a large police raid but for convenience they
allowed a couple of dealers to operate.  It did not take long for the gunman to
find the stash of cocaine that he had asked for.  Locking the door and carrying
the bag of drugs he went to the bathroom and sat down on the edge of the bath. 
Delicately he took off his jacket and the hooded jumper and cleaned his gunshot
wound.  His blood completely soaked one white towel and then another as he
carefully washed away the dried blood and sugar surrounding the wound.  He
winced in agony as he tentatively touched the puckered skin.  Opening the bag
of cocaine, he poured the white powder over both the holes and then on his
leg.  The drug’s anaesthetic properties would provide a brief respite from the
pain and should give him the time to see his plan through to the end.

He taped another towel to his shoulder with a roll of duct tape and
walked out of the bathroom and into the bedroom of the flat.  Trawling through
the wardrobe, which was the only piece of furniture other than the bed, he
found a grey hooded sweatshirt that would fit him and delicately put it on.  He
then put on his black jacket and hung the mask around his neck.  Doing another
check of the flat, he found a loaded revolver, which he identified as a Colt
Detective Special and placed it in his waistband.  Drinking some water from tap
in the bathroom, he prepared himself for the mission ahead.

Walking out of the flat, he walked up the stairwell with his hands
inside his jacket pocket. Feeling better with the effects of the cocaine
reducing his pain, he focused on finding his target.  Avoiding the eleventh and
twelfth floor, he was stopped on the thirteenth by two men.

“What are you doing here?  This floor is out of bounds to you, you
know that?  Fuck off back to where you are wanted,” one of the men said to him,
pushing him back.

“I just wanted to speak to Kai.”

“And do what?  Tell him about the error of his ways?”

“No, I was here to warn him that there is a policeman coming to
arrest him.”

The second man just laughed and allowed his partner to answer, “Yeah
we know, unfortunately for that busy, we got the drop on him.  He's being
worked over as we speak.”

“Thank you,” the gunman said as he smiled and pulled the trigger
again on his silenced pistol.  One shot fired out and into the man on his right
high in the chest, close to the heart.  It would have taken too much time to
pull back the bolt action on the specialised weapon so the shooter removed a
sharp knife from his left pocket and he jabbed it into the other man's neck. 
Blood sprayed over the gunman's face, momentarily blinding him. Removing his
right hand from the grip of his pistol, he put it over the man's mouth so he
could not shout out for help.  Pulling out the small blade as the man fell to
his knees, the serial killer pocketed the weapon and moved to the stairwell
door.

The supplies he was carrying were nearly empty.  It might not have
been the most fetching of apparel but he was wearing a money purse underneath
his underwear and inside he removed two wooden door wedges from the detritus of
bullets in the small bag.  Kneeling gingerly, hoping he would not rip open the
wound on his thigh he placed both wedges under the door and hammered them home
with the pistol before he once again pulled back the bolt on the weapon and
moved upstairs.

Taking a deep breath he placed the mask back on his face and put the
long barrel of the silenced Welrod to the small glass window of the stairwell
door on the fourteenth floor.  He leveled it with the back of someone’s head,
who he suspected was guarding the floor.  It made sense that the person would
not expect anyone to be coming up from the stairs, just that someone may make a
run for them.  The shot echoed in the empty hallway but the sound never carried
into the hallway of the floor ahead.

Reloading once again he pulled open the door and dragged the body
with him.  Once the dead man was in the stairwell, he slowly crept into the
hallway.  Closing the door, he took a quick look around the hall but there was
no one visible.

A door wedge would not work due to the direction the door opened but
he had thought of this eventuality.  Around his waist he wore two bike chains
held on by two padlocks.  It had made it extremely difficult for him to walk
around especially with wound on his leg since they were quite heavy.  He looped
one through the stairwell door and the other through the door handle of room
that was labeled refuse.  Neither chain was long enough to reach on their own
so he attached them to each other by padlocks.  Snapping the key in one lock he
filled the other with a small tube of superglue, no one would be opening that
lock anytime soon.

The gunman knew that the other stairwell was completely blocked from
the eighth floor with shopping trolleys, plasterboard and other assorted
rubbish.  It made it easier for the gang to regulate who came up since above
the eighth floor it was predominately the domain of their members and
associates.  Anyone who had been in the elevators also knew that there was no
button for the top floor, they had been ripped out completely.  The one
entrance and exit was now only accessible by him.

Walking down the hallway towards where the elevators were located,
he raised the Welrod with his good right hand and rested his left hand on the
grip of the snub-nosed revolver he had taken from the apartment four floors
below.  He still had another pistol of his own but was more than happy to kill
drug dealers with their own weapons.

Before he reached the elevators there was a set of double fire
doors, one of which was open.  On the other side of the lifts was another set
of double doors but both of those were closed.  The gunman moved low so as not
to be seen through the small windows.  Briefly he popped his head up to see the
one lone sentry leaning against the wall.  The Welrod was not a weapon designed
for long or middle distance shooting, ideally it was placed close to the
target, if not into their body, and then the trigger pulled.  Still he was
trying to remain quiet till he found Nelson and, if he could, the irritating
figure of John Harper.

He pushed open the door and in one swift action raised the Welrod
and took careful aim.  His shot missed by inches smashing into the wall to the
guard’s left, startling him into action.  However the 'Seasonal Shooter' was
faster and he opened fire with the Detective Special.  One shot hit the man's
arm, the second exploded the gang member's head.

Standing there in the hallway he could hear the noise of people
moving and he raised the handgun.  Walking forward slowly he saw the door at
the bottom of the hallway open and he moved to the side and fired one shot into
the wood. As he did so, two men turned the corner.  He recognised them both and
fired a parting shot as they ducked back from whence they came.  His accuracy
was rewarded with the sight of blood splashing against the back wall indicating
he hit someone.  A yelp of pain and a dull thud accompanied it and he was about
to follow when the door he fired upon earlier suddenly burst open and two young
men ran out and darted around the corner.  They moved surprisingly fast and
were out of sight before he could make a shot.

Letting out a groan of anger at himself the gunman set off after the
four men.  Since at least one of Kai Nelson or Josh Murray had been wounded by
his first couple of shots he wanted to finish the job.  Running around the
corner he nearly fell over the corpse of Murray who was missing the majority of
the left side of his face.  The gunman turned to the second corner expecting to
fire at the backs of running men when he was met by the bloodied face of John
Harper who was wielding a gun of his own that barked in response.

With his back against the wall he fired blindly with the revolver
till he heard the click of the metal hammer landing on an empty cartridge. 
Once again the detective was stopping him from eradicating the drug dealing
scum of the city.  Somehow he had survived his encounter with Nelson and was
now even helping the gang leader.  It would, however, be the last time Harper
ever interfered in his business again.

I stood back from the deafening sound of a pistol being fired in the
close confines of the apartment and steeled myself for something I knew was
rather stupid.  I knew from my training with the Army that you did not want to
be pinned down under fire like that.  My fear was that myself and Alex would
run out of ammunition before the gunman did.

“Okay gents, I'm going to make a run for it,” I said once Alex stood
back from the wall.

“Where the hell are you going to go?” Dom asked.

“I'm going to get him to follow me.  I’ll go down the stairwell
opposite and lead him straight towards the cops.”

Alex shook his head, “It’s just a dead end, the stairwell is just
full of rubbish.”

I thought for a second and then said, “Right, what if I can make a
dive across to that room next to the stairwell without getting hit, then we
will have him at two angles.  Then I'll move down the hall.  Barricade this
door shut.  I'm positive he would rather follow me than clip you two.”

I could tell from the look on those two gang members faces they
wanted me to stay.  I suspected it was because they liked the fact that I was
willing to issue them orders and had kept them alive up to that point.

“Look guys, I’ve been a pain in his arse all day.  He’ll come after
me; you just give me some covering fire, ok?”

They nodded in unison and Dom ran into the living room and started
carrying the furniture into the hallway.  Taking off my cufflinks, I rolled up
my sleeves, which were now covered in grime and blood.  My hands were still
inside the black leather gloves and I chose to keep them on as I clicked the
safety off my pistol, “Right, when I say go, you fire at the wall till I make
it across to that room.”

“Once you are in there you will have nowhere to go.  That used to be
a maintenance room but is completely disused.  There’s loads of rubbish in
there,” said Dom.

“Yeah and piss and crap,” his friend said, “Not many working toilets
up on this level.”

“I’m surprised you guys are allowed up here.”

“We were getting tooled up,” Alex said and then realized he had said
too much.   After the encounter at the fight and my disarming him coupled with
my threat he was wary of admitting they were going to get more weapons; even if
that gun was the thing that had kept us all alive.

I smiled, “I’m not here to vilify you boys, if anything I’m happy
you have a gun.  Just get ready.”

Taking a couple of deep breaths I shouted, “Now,” I was nearly
deafened as Alex opened fire with his pistol next to my head as I ran out into
the corridor with my pistol raised.  I put my good shoulder through the door
and stumbled into the room.  The smell hit me first and I stayed as close to
the doorway as possible since there was no light in the room itself.  Two
bullets smashed into the door frame, dark blue paint and splinters of wood
flying into the air.

I put my gun around the corner and nodded to Alex who fired his
pistol till I heard the dull click that indicated he was out of ammunition. 
That was my cue and I sidestepped out into the corridor once more.  The
gunman’s arm was visible as he was aiming at Alex and I fired.  My shot missed
but it made the killer back off.  I turned and ran down the hallway, diving
through the double doors as bullets followed me once the gunman regained his
confidence.

“Stupid, John, very stupid,” I said, admonishing myself.  Running to
the next set of doors I heard the foot falls of the gunman following me.  Even
if he did kill me then at least the two gang members would be safe.

Sliding across the floor, I grabbed the wall and pulled myself
behind cover as more bullets flew towards me.   Getting to my feet, I went
around the other corner, hoping to stay ahead of the gunman.  I raised my
pistol at the sight of Kai Nelson wrestling futilely at a set of chains around
the stairwell door.

“Harper, don’t,” he said raising his hands above his head.  The
metal chains clunked against the door and I took careful aim and fired
shattering two of the links.  We had an escape route but unfortunately the
gunman was too close for us to wrestle the metal wrapped around the door free
as we could hear him coming.

“Run,” I commanded and we both sprinted for the door to the
elevators but our luck and speed ran out as two loud gunshots rang out and
Nelson crumpled to the floor.  My instinct to carry on running was there but it
was overruled by the knowledge that if I continued on I would be dead.

So I turned around and raised my hands, “So what now, Thompson?”