Dirty Harry 09 - The Killing Connection by Dane Hartman Read Free Book Online Page A

several orifices.
    Harry wasn’t going to stand on ceremony. The driver had had his chance twice before and as far as Callahan was concerned, no more Mr. Nice Guy. He planted his feet apart and blasted away at the oncoming car.
    The first bullet was too low, breaking through the grill and damaging the engine block, The second shot smashed the windshield from the center outward, blinding the chauffeur with shattered glass. But the bullet itself had missed him. The third bullet caught him right in the middle of his head, pinning him back against the seat. But since the lead had hit him straight on and the seat was backstopping him, there was nowhere for him to go. His corpse remained upright, his mind’s last command keeping his hands frozen to the wheel.
    Both Harry and Fatso fired. There was no way of knowing which bullet had the greater effect since both hit their target at once, but it hardly made a lot of difference either way. Harry’s fourth bullet exploded the left front tire while Devlin’s round crashed through the side window and into the dead driver’s shoulder.
    The force of the .357 slug pushed the chauffeur’s corpse over, making him turn the wheel. The ruined tire gave way, making the car spin sideways. Harry had just enough time to throw himself to his left as the car went sweeping by, neatly clipping the .44 out of Callahan’s hand.
    The operation couldn’t have been more precise. Since Harry was somersaulting forward, his hands wound up behind him as he fell on his back. As the Lincoln’s bumper shot past, it just tapped the end of the Magnum’s barrel hard enough to pull it out of Harry’s grip. The car slid between where Harry lay and Fatso crouched, while the .44 flew into a crate of overripe oranges.
    The Continental smashed into another row of booths behind the two rows it had leveled initially. It kept going this time, until there was nothing between it and the edge of the marketplace. Since the place was nothing more than a collection of booths beneath a tent-like awning held in place by thin metal beams, there was no wall to stop the barreling Continental. It vaulted off an asphalt embankment and landed on its nose halfway down the incline. Upside down it lay on the edge of the railroad tracks.
    It rocked painfully back and forth, the metal groaning and the hot underside steaming and sizzling in the hard morning rain. On his knees, Callahan watched it reach its resting place then slowly rose to his feet.
    “I’ll go check it,” Devlin offered. His superior nodded, so the round cop trotted off toward the wreckage.
    Harry turned back to see Brown Bender walking toward him, his .45 shakily pointed at his waist.

C H A P T E R

F o u r
    T he hitman had taken three 9mm bullets fired at close range and was carrying at least two of them inside his body. But still, the giant was pulling himself toward Harry, the heavy weapon aimed accurately.
    Callahan didn’t take his eyes off Bender. Maybe Devlin was still close enough to do some good. Harry wasn’t about to turn or call his name. That would be Bender’s cue to start shooting. As it was, the wounded killer was only moving closer to insure his shot. He wanted the Inspector dead.
    Thinking about the hitman’s wounds, Harry figured the assassin would not only be strong enough to kill him, but perhaps even strong enough to live on afterwards. Even with slugs in his side and shoulder, and the shattered bottom of his face dripping crimson sludge, he might conceivably be brought back to a semblance of health while Harry deteriorated in the cold ground should his bullet find its mark.
    Harry carefully used his peripheral vision to see what immediate chances were left him. Slowly, carefully, he started moving to the side. Bender was beyond expressing anything on his visage, but if he still had a mouth, Callahan was fairly certain that he perceived a smile. As far as the hitman was concerned, Harry was the cornered mouse while he was the fat