Angels of Wrath by Jim DeFelice, Larry Bond Read Free Book Online

were going but also to watch Fatman in the reflection at the same time. The nearby buildings were covered with large, colorful billboards featuring popular entertainers, each proclaimed as the spirit of his or her generation.
     
    ~ * ~
     
    I
     don’t like this,” Guns told Rankin over the radio as they followed northward in the direction of Shubra, a working-class suburb. “Maybe we should call in the Egyptians.”
     
    “Ferguson knows what he’s doing.”
     
    “What do you think?” Guns asked Yeklid, who was driving the car.
     
    “I have no idea. This is your gig, man.”
     
    “How long will it take to get help out here?”
     
    The officer shrugged. “Ten minutes or never. Nothing in between.”
     
    ~ * ~
     
    H
    ow did you know to contact us?” said Fatman as they turned off the main street toward a row of closely packed buildings dressed in white tiles and yellow bricks.
     
    “It was all done for me,” said Ferguson. “I just follow directions.”
     
    The car drove up a hill, then turned abruptly down a narrow street that wound down toward an area of small factory and warehouse buildings. They took another turn and then another, finally driving up a tight alleyway.
     
    Four men were waiting near the back door of a brown brick building. The men were fairly nondescript; their AK-47s were not.
     
    “So this is where we get out?” Ferguson said.
     
    “You’re an amateur, Mr. Thatch. And a meddler. We don’t like you, and we don’t need your money,” said Fatman. He turned to the driver.
     
    Under ideal circumstances, Ferguson might have noted how ironic it was that someone who hadn’t bothered to frisk him was calling him an amateur. But these weren’t ideal circumstances, and besides, he was too busy sliding his hand down to the back of his pants to grab the small Glock 23 pistol hidden there. He put one bullet into the head of the driver, then turned to Fatman, who made the incredibly bad decision of reaching for his own weapon. Ferguson put two slugs into his head, then dove forward over the car seat as the men with the AK-47s began to fire at the bulletproofed car. Ferguson pulled the driver’s body to the side—like most Egyptians he didn’t wear a seat belt—and flung himself behind the wheel as the first bullets cracked but did not pierce the windshield. He jammed the car into reverse, turning to see where he was going. As he did, one of the guards fired point-blank at the rear window’s shatterproof glass.
     
    Which, to Ferguson’s great surprise, shattered.
     
    ~ * ~
     
    T
    he range finder on the tracking device showed they were a half block away when Rankin heard the stutter of automatic rifle fire.
     
    “Damn it,” he yelled, reaching down to the floor where he’d stashed his Uzi. “There! Stop!”
     
    Yeklid jerked the wheel of the car and hit the brakes just in time to miss the Mercedes as it shot out of the alley and rammed into a car parked across the street. Rankin threw his door open in time to empty his submachine gun at the men running from the alley with AK-47s. Guns ran up behind him with a grenade launcher and pumped a tear gas canister into the alleyway, not realizing it was too late now to do any good.
     
    The crash had deployed the Mercedes air bags. Ferguson pitched himself down as the guns erupted, reaching to his sock for his other hideaway. He rolled out of the car onto the ground, a gun in each fist.
     
    “Ferguson, get the hell out of there!” screamed Rankin.
     
    “Yo, Skippy! Don’t hit me,” yelled Ferguson.
     
    “Come on, get the hell out of there,” said Rankin.
     
    Guns pumped another tear gas grenade into the alley. The acrid smoke drifted back toward the car.
     
    “Get out of here, come on!” yelled Yeklid.
     
    Ferguson got up and trotted to the car. Two men with assault rifles came from down the block; Ferguson spun around and cut them down.
     
    “Trail car! Trail car!” he yelled, seeing their way blocked.
     
    They