Blaze’s eyes cut between the fighters and me. I turned aside slightly, put Blaze and the bar to my back.
The bartender took a swing at Dwight. Michael jumped up, his drunken-kid act disintegrating in a burst of clear-headed movement. He swung the whiskey bottle at the bartender’s head. It connected with a loud clunk but didn’t shatter.
The bartender fell in an unconscious heap. Michael swung on the bouncer. The bottle bashed his arm. The bouncer stumbled back, grabbing at the waistband of his pants.
T-Man tackled him, slamming him against the bar.
The bouncer screamed and fell to the ground grabbing at his back.
T-Man snatched a gun out of the bouncer’s waistband. Swung it between the bouncer and the unconscious bartender.
Michael pulled his gun out and fired a shot into the ceiling. Plaster and wood chips showered down.
The music thumped and roared, but everyone froze.
Michael hurled the whiskey bottle at the stage. The waitress ducked as it exploded against the cinder block wall behind her.
Michael twitched the gun at the men seated beside the stage. “Get out,” he shouted.
They spilled out of their seats and dashed to the door. The waitress scooped up her clothes from the stage and followed.
Beast hurried to the door after them, knocking over a chair on the way. He locked the door after the last one left. Stood looking out the spy hole into the parking lot.
Dwight fished a gun off the unconscious bartender and gave it to LaShonda. She held it gingerly, like it would go off if she squeezed too hard. She ran to the kitchen. A moment later she reappeared, shook her head to show the room was empty, and disappeared behind the beaded curtain. The music cut off with a squawk.
She came back. “Anyone back there left when the gun went off. I locked the outside door.”
She moved to the black door and tried the knob. It was locked.
Blaze stood beside me, statue still.
“Dwight.” Michael gestured at the bouncer, rolling on the floor and clutching his back.
Dwight yanked the front of the bouncer’s shirt, pulling him half up. “We need the key and the combination.”
“What?” the bouncer gasped.
Dwight backhanded him. The crack of it echoed in the silent room.
The bouncer sobbed and began fumbling at his pocket. Dwight held a finger in his face. “Ah-ah. Hold it.” Dwight dug in the pocket. Brought out a ring of keys. He handed it to the bouncer.
“Which one?”
The bouncer fumbled, held up a single key. Dwight gave it to Cyndra and turned back to the bouncer. “Now. The combination to the safe.” He looped a finger into an ear gauge and yanked down.
The bouncer shouted, putting a hand to his ear.
“It’s not like it’s your money,” Dwight said. He ripped the gauge out. The bouncer screamed and clapped his hands to his torn ear.
“Twenty, seven, three, thirty-one, nineteen, four!” he screamed the numbers.
Dwight stood up. He pulled the backpack out of LaShonda’s purse. Then he strode across to where she stood by the black door. Taking the gun back from her, he fitted the key, and disappeared inside, gun drawn like a cop storming a room.
LaShonda followed him inside.
Michael smiled at me. He kept his gun pointed at the men on the floor. “See? You haven’t even had to do anything.”
Cyndra stood and moved a little closer. “It’s working.” Her voice was disbelieving. “It’s going to be all right.”
After a moment, LaShonda came out from the office. She ran to us. “No one else is here. And I trashed it. Just like you said. Dwight’s unloading the safe.”
Michael tipped his head at me.
I ignored him. Let my eyes flick around the empty club instead.
Dwight came out carrying the now-bulky backpack. He crossed the club and gave the pack to Michael.
“Nearly done here,” Michael said.
On the floor, the bartender moaned as he regained consciousness.
“T-Man, LaShonda, go out the kitchen. Get the van started.”
They left. Michael moved closer to the stage.
Dwight walked into the alcove. Waited near the bartender and bouncer, gun drawn.
“See, Jason?” Michael asked, flicking the gun at me, or Blaze beside me. “Almost done.”
On the floor, the bouncer curled, grabbing at his ankle. He pulled up the cuff of his pants leg. A second gun was strapped there.
“Get down!” I screamed. I twisted and lifted Blaze onto the bar. Pushed her over.
Shots boomed through the room. I ducked beneath the front of the bar.
The acrid tang of gunpowder mingled with the fading scent of club fog.
A groan and the crash of something big falling near the door behind me.
“Jason!” Cyndra screamed. I edged forward, around the corner of the bar where she crouched.
Cyndra’s eyes wavered between me and the bouncer lying facedown on the floor. A dark stain spread from his torso. His gun lay on the floor beside his hand.
Dwight stared at the motionless bouncer. He didn’t blink. The gun in his hand started to shake.
The bartender rolled and grabbed the bouncer’s gun. Lifting his shoulders off the floor, he aimed at Michael.
Michael shot first, and the bartender’s shot went wide. Cyndra screamed and fell sideways.
Something clawed my throat as I lunged for her. I pulled her to me, trying to twist her away from the next shot. She hissed as my hand gripped her upper arm.
Another shot rang out. The bartender howled and dropped the gun, clutching at his thigh. Red-black blood spurted between his fingers.
Michael lowered his gun and kicked the bartender’s away. “Blaze?” he yelled. “Have you called the cops yet?”
Silence from the other side of the bar.
Cyndra’s arm was bloody, but not serious. The bullet had either grazed her, or passed right through—close enough to the surface to avoid bone and artery.
I pulled my T-shirt off and ripped it. Tied a strip around her arm and helped her up off the floor.
Michael nodded. “Put her in my car.”
“I’m all right,” Cyndra said.