Silent Assassin(80)
“Robson?” he called out, pronouncing it Hobson.
The door opened, and there on the threshold stood a thin man, about thirty, in a threadbare T-shirt that looked like it had some campaign slogan on it. His eyes were red and puffy.
He spoke in a way that told Morgan that they were not exactly welcome there.
“He says he doesn’t sell here,” Conley told Morgan. “That we shouldn’t have looked for him here. And for us to get the hell out.”
They exchanged more words. The dealer seemed worried all of a sudden, and beckoned them in. “I told him they had been poisoned,” said Conley. “And that I’d tell his boss he pilfered the drugs if he didn’t play ball.”
Morgan nodded, and the man continued.
“Well, this is something,” Conley said. “He says his boss doesn’t know he sold that cocaine. Says he stole it off a new shipment.” The man continued talking. “He swears he only sold it to the people who held the party last night. Said they wanted to buy a lot. He only . . .” Conley frowned. “Uh-oh.”
“What?” said Morgan. “Uh-oh what?”
“He says they just finished snorting the last of it.”
They drew their guns almost simultaneously and aimed them at Robson.
“Stand back!” Morgan yelled. Robson just looked at them, scared and wide-eyed, like he didn’t know whether to run, stay put, or attack. Conley shouted something in Portuguese. They exchanged words, and then Robson slowly kneeled with his hands behind his head.
“I told him we don’t want to hurt him,” said Conley. “And that he might be sick.”
“Uh-huh,” said Morgan. “Hey, Conley, did I hear you correctly when you said that they just finished snorting all the cocaine?”
Right on cue, an animal scream came from the other room, and in ran a woman. She was squat, long-haired, and would have been pleasant looking, except for the look on her face. It was a look of wild rage, with flared nostrils and a mouth twisted into an inhuman grimace. She stared at them for a moment, panting like a rabid hyena, then lunged. Morgan and Conley both gunned her down with three bullets each.
Their attention next turned to Robson. He had stood up, and his face was now distorted, similar to hers.
Conley spoke as if he were talking him down. The man seemed fearful of the guns, and looked down in pain at the slain woman. This just seemed to enrage him further. Morgan saw him tense up, ready to leap at him, and loosed two more bullets from his gun, hitting the man twice in the chest. He collapsed, still alive, contorted on the ground. His chest heaved as he wheezed, and he stared at them with eyes full of hatred. Morgan shot him once more in the head to put him out of his misery.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” said Conley. “The whole neighborhood must have heard the shots.”
“Police?” asked Morgan.
“No,” said Conley. “The police don’t come up here. The drug lord is the law here. His soldiers are going to come, and if they find us here, we’re as good as dead.”
They ran out of the house and into the alleyway. Morgan dashed after Conley, trying to keep up as his partner wound through the narrow passageways. Conley emerged into the street ahead of Morgan and stopped dead in his tracks. Morgan soon came out into the street as well and saw why.
As they stood there, all around them were skinny young men in T-shirts and tank tops. They were all holding mismatched weapons, everything from handguns to assault rifles, all with tough-looking faces, chins up and eyes narrowed. The only thing the guns had in common was that they were all pointed at Morgan and Conley.
“Drop your gun!” Conley shouted to Morgan, letting his drop to his feet and raising his arms above his head. Morgan tossed his aside as well, and followed Conley’s lead by putting his hands up. Conley spoke a few words in Portuguese to them. One of the armed young men said something to the others, and others seemed to relax slightly. At least Morgan and Conley weren’t getting shot immediately.
Conley exchanged some words with the men in Portuguese, then spoke to Morgan.
“They’re soldados. Soldiers. Enforcers for the drug lord. Paulinho AK. He’s the boss around here.”
“Wonderful,” said Morgan. “What now?”
“The options were that they could kill us here and now, or we could go with them and have Paulinho deal with us.”
“Tell me they’re going with the second option,” said Morgan.
“That’s what it looks like.”
“So tell me. This Paulinho wouldn’t by any chance be the friendly, merciful type of drug lord, would he?”
CHAPTER 44