Nicholas yelled to Mike, “Call it in, I’m going after him,” and ran out the door.
The man was at the end of the hall, going through the emergency door to the stairwell. Nicholas sprinted after him, made it through the door in time to see a black-sneakered foot running up toward the roof. He squeezed off three shots, but the man didn’t stop.
Up three more flights, and the man threw open the door to the roof and slammed it shut behind him, slowing Nicholas for a moment.
When he eased open the roof door, Nicholas was met with a deep silence. It was dark, but there was enough ambient light from the streets below and the rising full moon to make out shadows and shapes.
There were plenty of places to hide up here. The housings for the air-conditioning units acted as dividers down the length of the roof; the man could be behind any of them.
Nicholas held himself perfectly still, listening. There, labored breathing coming from about twenty feet away. He edged forward, his steps light on the gravel. Ten feet, five, then the door to the roof opened, light flooding the dark, and the man jumped up like a quail flushed from the brush. He ran hard down the roof.
Mike joined him, whispered fiercely, “Let’s get the bastard.” They could see the man bobbing and weaving, and fired.
There was a muffled grunt and the man stumbled. Good, Nicholas thought, one of them had hit him.
Mike peeled off to the other side to flank him. Three more steps and Nicholas tackled the man. They rolled to the ground, twisting, punching, kicking, trying to gain an advantage. Nicholas saw blood and realized a bullet had nicked the man’s rib cage. Why didn’t it slow him down? Nicholas flipped him onto his back, jammed his elbow in the wound, and wedged his forearm under the man’s chin.
“Who sent you?”
The man gurgled, and Nicholas eased off only to get a vicious hit in the back knocking him sideways. The man was up on his feet, his fists lashing out. Nicholas rolled over and up and went at him. He struck him in the face with his fist and saw blood spurt out. He’d broken the man’s nose.
Mike kicked out the man’s right knee from behind, and he collapsed forward. Nicholas clamped down tight on the man’s windpipe.
“Who sent you?”
The man shoved backward with all his strength, knocking Nicholas into the air conditioner’s housing, slamming his head into the metal unit, but Nicholas hung on. Still the man came at him, trying to slam his fist into his throat, a crushing blow meant to kill him, but Nicholas got his hands up in time.
The man kicked out again with his leg, blood dripping down his chin onto his chest. Nicholas was in a berserk fury now, punching and jabbing and kicking. Mike screamed, “Don’t kill him, Nicholas, we need him!” but the only noise he heard was his blood thundering in his ears.
Nicholas shoved the man backward, and as he lost his balance Mike shot him in the leg. He howled in pain, and his leg buckled. He was too close to the edge of the roof. Nicholas saw him stumble and fall, and grabbed for his wrist, but his palms were slick with blood and he couldn’t hold on.
With a scream, the man disappeared over the edge. His body struck the dormer window frame, then toppled down to the sidewalk onto the Place Vend?me below.
82
Nicholas and Mike looked over the edge. The man had landed facedown, arms spread-eagled out on the concrete, his neck clearly broken. She didn’t want to see his face.
Nicholas slid down the wall, breathing hard. Mike eased down beside him, reached over and swiped the blood off his nose and mouth. She picked up his hand, saw the torn knuckles. “Not too bad.” There was blood all over his chest. “You’re bleeding!”
“No, no, it’s his blood. Sorry I couldn’t keep him alive, Mike.”
“I wish I’d shot him in both knees.”
Nicholas laughed, couldn’t help it. He got up and pulled her with him. “Damnation, woman, you’re the one covered in blood. Where did he hit you?”