Beck ran parallel to him, about fifteen yards to Stepanovich’s right, but far enough behind so that Stepanovich didn’t yet know he was being chased.
The shotgun blasts from behind ended. Beck figured Ciro had emptied the Benelli. He hoped he wouldn’t stay to empty the rifle. Get out now, Ciro, thought Beck. If you get caught by the police, everything goes to shit.
Beck closed some of the distance between him and Stepanovich, but he was still ten yards behind him.
Police cars were converging on Reed Street.
Stepanovich turned to see the first police car slide to a stop, lights flashing. Then two more. And a third. He had a Mac-10 machine pistol in his right hand. He stopped and threw it as far away as he could.
Beck closed the distance between them by a couple of yards, but Stepanovich was still out ahead of him. Beck’s only hope was that the fence on Beard would slow him down.
Stepanovich ran full speed toward the fence.
Beck knew Stepanovich’s goal. Get out onto the street, unarmed, and try to walk out of the neighborhood. No way. No fucking way.
He heard a garbled voice yelling commands through a police loudspeaker. All of the remaining six men began firing. A fusillade of bullets erupted from the cops. More police cars arrived, screeching to a halt, adding to the forces.
Beck ignored everything and kept running.
Stepanovich approached the fence at a full run, jumped, and grabbed on nearly halfway up. He quickly climbed up until his waist was level with the top of the fence. A single spiral of razor wire was all that prevented him from going over. He leaned his right arm and shoulder between two loops of razor wire, pushing them out of his way.
Beck closed in on him fast.
Stepanovich leaned sideways, his winter coat protected him enough so that he managed to get one leg over the fence.
Beck ran furiously to catch Stepanovich before he made it over.
Stepanovich finally heard Beck’s footsteps. He turned to look behind him.
A full-scale gun battle raged on Reed Street between the Bosnians and the cops.
Beck leaped at the fence, lunging for Stepanovich’s leg still on his side.
Stepanovich lifted his right foot away from Beck and kicked downward, stomping into Beck’s left shoulder. He dropped to the ground. Stepanovich made it over the fence.
Stepanovich hit the sidewalk on Beard Street. Beck leapt onto the fence, scrambled up and jackknifed over, ignoring the razor wire, depending on his leather coat to protect him. He made it to the other side, ready to drop down when Stepanovich ripped a vicious punch into Beck’s kidney. The searing pain made him lose his grip on the fence. He fell to his knees, smashing them into the hard pavement.
Stepanovich immediately tried to kick Beck in the face, but Beck grabbed Stepanovich’s right leg with both arms. He stood and lifted the leg out from under the Bosnian. Stepanovich went down hard on the sidewalk, but ripped his leg free and tried to kick Beck, who backed away still grimacing from the pain in his right kidney. Beck rolled his left shoulder, swinging his arm, trying to dispel the effect of Stepanovich’s kick.
Stepanovich spun around on the ground and kicked Beck’s right leg out from under him. Beck went down sideways, but he was up quickly. Stepanovich made it to his feet, too.
Beck gave a quick glance over to Reed Street. The street was filled with flashing blue and red lights. The gunfire continued, but it was starting to wane. It seemed like more fire engines were pulling onto Conover. So far, Beard Street was clear. All the cops had converged on the gunfight, but Beck knew the entire area would be sealed off soon.
Stepanovich backpedaled away from the fence so that the police on Reed Street wouldn’t see him. Beck followed, knowing only one of them was going to leave this street alive.
Stepanovich bared his teeth at Beck, and spit at him. Rolling his head. Flexing his long, powerful arms, ready to do battle.
Beck bent his knees trying to dispel the pain from landing on the sidewalk. He rotated his left arm. It was still numb. Stepanovich’s kick must have hit the brachial nerve bundle. Feeling was coming back, but maybe too late.
Suddenly, Stepanovich jumped toward Beck, reaching for his head with both hands to pull him in close.
Beck ducked under Stepanovich’s arms and twisted two right hooks into his ribs. The Bosnian mostly blocked them with his elbow, and grabbed the back of Beck’s head, pushing down hard as he lifted a knee into Beck’s face.
Beck barely managed to block Stepanovich’s knee with crossed forearms, but the force of it drove Beck’s arms up into his face. Stepanovich tried to knee Beck in the face again. Beck countered by grabbing Stepanovich’s thigh and tried to twist the taller man down onto the ground.
Stepanovich pushed Beck away and pulled his leg free. Beck lunged forward and punched Stepanovich hard in the side of his neck. He kept coming forward, banged his forehead into Stepanovich’s broken nose, and hooked punch after punch into Stepanovich’s face before Stepanovich landed a desperate blow into the side of Beck’s head, knocking Beck four feet back.
For a moment, everything went black. Beck instinctively ducked and covered up with his forearms. Another punch landed on the other side of his head. Beck twisted a blind left hook into where he figured Stepanovich’s ribs might be. The punch landed solidly. He heard Stepanovich grunt in pain. Instantly, Beck hit again, with all the force he could muster. And again. He felt a sharp pain as the impact against Stepanovich’s ribs crunched his knuckles and bent his wrist. He accepted the pain, knowing he had done major damage.
Stepanovich twisted an elbow at Beck’s head that would have knocked him out if it landed, but Beck just managed to duck under most of the strike, feeling Stepanovich’s elbow skip off the side of his head.