Eye of the Sh*t Storm Jackson Ford (detective books to read txt) 📖

whatever type of bikes theses jackasses ride – lined up against the fence. This time, there is a biker standing guard, a youngish dude sitting on one of the bike seats. How did he not hear all the shit that went down in the depot? But he’s nodding to himself, and there are white dots in his ears. AirPods. This idiot is listening to music. He hasn’t even heard us approach.

I don’t give him a chance to cause us trouble. I grab his pistol out of his waistband, wave it in front of his face. He’s so startled he actually falls off the bike, landing ass-first on the concrete. I root around in his pockets with my PK, which makes him squirm even more – trust me, having someone use their mind to investigate the area close to your genitals can be quite startling. His cellphone pops out, along with a metal money clip, and a set of bike keys. Those could be handy. Seeing the cellphone makes me realise that I still have Minnie’s, jammed into my pocket. I debate throwing it out, but fuck it: it could be useful.

“Run,” I snarl at the biker.

He doesn’t argue, scrambling to his feet and taking off towards the boom gate separating the lot from the street. Halfway there, he trips, the wet surface sending him flying, and does an almost acrobatic recovery, leaping to his feet and running even faster.

I let the gun drop. Just in time. I am very close to running out of juice completely, fatigue and hunger and sleep deprivation burning holes in my ability. I put my hands on my knees, making myself take deep breaths. Ah, shit – we should have looked for food in there. Why the hell didn’t we?

“Where are we gonna go?” Leo says, sullen.

Annie cranes her chin, looking south. “We’re not far from the river. We can take the bikes. It’s all concrete storm drains from Dodger onwards, so it should be a straight shot down.”

She’s speaking too carefully, as if she doesn’t trust herself.

“We only got one set of keys,” I say, jingling them. “We’re gonna need two bikes, surely?”

“Stop right there!”

It comes from the entrance to the parking lot. There’s a group of people there, led by a man with wraparound sunglasses and a very big gun.

The National Guard have found us.

THIRTY-FOURTeagan

They must have been tracking us since Dodger Stadium. Maybe they saw Pop’s guys take us, followed us all the way here. They were probably figuring out how to get inside when we strolled out the front door.

Perfect.

And once the soldier with the wraparound shades starts yelling, they all do.

There are about ten of them, spread out, moving in the rifles-up-knees-bent way that soldiers do when they’re looking for someone to shoot. This time, it’s not just a group of scared kids. Shades has got himself a new posse. The National Guard might not be our finest fighting force, but these particular soldiers look like they didn’t get the memo.

I try to lock down their guns now, the same way as before. But as soon as I do, I lose my grip. My PK just slips right off. I grit my teeth, trying to force it… and a whammer of a headache blooms at the base of my skull.

“We got a problem,” I hiss at Nic.

“Yeah, I can see.”

“No, their guns, I can’t—”

“Who the fuck are you people?”

Pop.

She’s pushing through the door we came out of, with about ten very angry bikers flanking her. They are bloody, bruised and very, very angry. The look on her face could give God a heart attack.

Actually, her face itself could give God a heart attack. Man, I beat the shit out of her.

There’s a second where I think we’re going to have an actual Mexican standoff. Everybody wanting to kill everybody else, but nobody wanting to actually start shooting.

That doesn’t happen, because without warning, the bikers open fire on the National Guard.

Yeah. Come to think of it, they probably weren’t going to talk this out like grown-ups.

The world erupts with gunfire. We hit the deck, Nic rolling to protect Leo. I clap my hands over my ears as someone scrabbles at my shoulder – Annie. She rolls me towards her, pulling me onto all fours, hustling me behind the line of bikes. I get a split-second glimpse of Pop, down on one knee, no cover at all, pulling the trigger of a huge pistol again and again, the kickback so intense that it’s miracle she can even stay upright.

Annie yells right in my ear, her words inaudible over the gunfire. I gape at her, thinking, This is a dream. I didn’t wake up this morning. This entire insane day is happening in my mind.

The bikes. If we can get them going… and I have a key! One I took from the dude on guard duty! If we could—

Oh, yeah, I have a key all right. A key. Singular. Four of us are not going to fit on one bike – and on that note, how the hell am I going to find out which keys fit which bikes? It’s not like I can call a timeout here.

I’ll have to start them manually, using my PK. It can’t be that difficult – after all, a key just pushes tumblers into line. And as long as these bikes don’t use complicated electronics, I can get it done. Assuming my PK actually plays ball.

I grab hold of Annie. “I’m going to start that bike!” I shout, waving my hand at the closest one.

“What?”

Ah, fuck. We could spend the rest of the night trying to hear each other, and it’s not going to be long before either Pop’s people or the National Guard remember who they really want to kill.

I am going to have to dig deep. Comedown be damned, there’s got to be some PK left in there, and I am damn well going to find it.

I close my eyes. Clench