Apaches by Lorenzo Carcaterra Read Free Book Online Page B

the biggest mistake an undercover could make—he had trusted a marked man. He had bet his life that the Spanish man feared him more than he did Magoo. Moving down the urine-stenched hallway of the project, Dead-Eye knew he had wagered wrong. Worse, he had told no one about his meeting, stubborn in his belief that he could bring Magoo down alone.
    Now he had less than five minutes to figure out a way to save his life.
    “You ever seen my place?” Magoo asked, the group stopped in front of the double doors of the elevator.
    “Don’t think so,” Dead-Eye said, scanning the faces of the men he was up against.
    Except for the Spanish man, they were heavily armed and, considering the odds, confident enough to take him out at close range. Dead-Eye was down to one gun, a 9-millimeter Hauser, jammed in the back of his jeans. It might be good enough to drop two, maybe three. But in a large space, like Magoo’s apartment, Dead-Eye had no chance. Too open, too vulnerable. It left him with only one choice, one place to make his move.
    The elevator doors creaked open. The group got in and turned forward, one of the leather coats pressing the button for the fourth floor. Squeezed into the four-by-five space, they watched the doors close, then trained their eyes on the numbers above. The only light was a forty-watt bulb wrapped inside an iron basket.
    Dead-Eye had inched his right arm out of his coatpocket and moved it to where his hand could feel the handle of the Hauser. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and was ready.
    “These things are so fuckin’ slow,” the Spanish man said, watching the number move from one to two. “Be faster if we walked it.”
    “Healthier too,” Dead-Eye said, a smile on his face now.
    “What’s the rush?” Magoo said, looking over at the Spanish man and giving him a wink. “We got ourselves all night.”
    The elevator eased its way slowly from two to three.
    “I can’t stay that long,” Dead-Eye said. “I made some plans.”
    “Such as?” Magoo asked, still looking up at the numbers.
    Dead-Eye came out with his Hauser, coat slipping off his shoulder, and put one into the back of Magoo’s head. He then aimed up and shot out the forty-watt bulb, plunging the elevator into pitch darkness. Within a fraction of a second, all guns were drawn and fired, sparks setting off steady flashes of light. The noise was deafening, screams and shouts as loud as the steady fusilage.
    It lasted less than thirty seconds.
    More than sixty rounds were exchanged.
    •    •    •
    T HE DOOR TO the fourth floor slowly slid open. An old woman pulling a shopping cart stood by the entrance, a look of horror across her face. The light from the hallway entered the elevator with a sudden jolt. Blood dripped down the sides of the walls. Magoo’s body slumped forward and fell onto the hallway floor. Two of the leather coats were piled on top of one another in a corner of the elevator. The other two lay wounded on the ground.
    The Spanish man had taken three in the chest, yet stood with his back against the elevator buttons, a sly smile still on his face.
    Dead-Eye was against the far wall of the elevator, facing the old woman. He was shot in the leg, chest, and botharms. His empty gun was still in his hand, blood pouring down his fingers. His face was splattered with other men’s blood, thick enough to blur his vision. The pain was so intense, he could barely speak. He knew he couldn’t move.
    “My God!” the old woman said, shaking where she stood.
    “Maybe you should wait for the next one,” Dead-Eye said to her, trying to manage a smile.
    “I’ll call the police,” she said through quivering lips.
    “Doctor be better,” Dead-Eye whispered.
    Dead-Eye fell to his knees and tossed the empty gun to the side, watching it land in a large circle of thick blood. He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes, waiting for whatever help would arrive.
    Dead-Eye wasn’t in any