Svetli pulled a pistol from his waistband and barked something to his comrade in Bulgarian. Immediately following, they both disappeared around the side of the van.
“I’ve got a sniper with eyes on them,” I shouted. “Let me handle this.”
Lucky was armed with a sniper rifle, and was capable of providing us with protection from his remote location in the adjoining parking lot. I was well aware that we weren’t filming an action movie, and I wasn’t at war. Regardless of my chosen profession, I fully realized living in the civilian world limited my ability to react with deadly force.
If the level of threat was deadly, I would have Lucky react appropriately. If it wasn’t, I would respond with a lesser force—more than likely my fists and feet.
The black SUV came into the lot at a high rate of speed, screeched to a stop at the front of the van, and three men jumped out.
Fucking amateurs.
“You got a clear shot?” I asked.
“Roger that.”
Svetli and his partner stood on the right-hand side of the van, both armed with pistols. Their driver, who was still seated in the Mercedes, glared at the new arrivals through the windshield. I was standing at the right rear corner of the van, intending to use the vehicle as a shield if necessary.
“Get out of the fuckin’ truck!” a voice called out. The mixture of Philadelphia and Italian accents made hiding Agrioli’s involvement in the little fiasco nothing short of impossible.
While Svetli and his Bulgarian partner whispered, I stepped to the side of the van with my pistol pointed at the man on my left. “I’ve got bad news, fellas,” I said flatly, studying each of them. “This cargo isn’t going anywhere.”
One of the three men was armed with a shotgun and the other two with pistols. All three were dressed in tracksuits similar to the silent thug who made an appearance at my office.
“We’re taking the fuckin’ truck,” the one with the shotgun announced.
“Clear shot on the mouthy fucker with the shotgun?” I whispered.
“Affirmative on shotgun,” Lucky responded.
“His right thigh on my five count,” I whispered.
“Roger, on your five.”
I alternated glances between the three men. “I’m going to give you one chance to leave, and that chance is now. You, with the shotgun. A sniper has you in his sights right now. Toss the shotgun on the ground in front of you by my count of five, or you will be shot. That is not a threat, it is a promise.”
He shook his head and raised the shotgun slightly. “Fuck you. Have your driver get out of the fuckin’ truck.”
I shook my head. “One. Two. Three.”
He waved the shotgun toward Cap. “Get out of the fuckin’ truck.”
He didn’t deserve a four. “Five.”
From where we stood, there was no indication of the silenced rifle being fired. The distinct sound of the bullet whistling—at least to my trained ears—was the only warning of what had happened. At the same instant the word five was spoken, the bullet tore through the man’s leg. He howled out a high-pitched scream and fell to the parking lot.
The shotgun clanked to the pavement a few feet beside him.
Immune to the screams of wounded, I turned toward the two remaining would-be villains and gave my command. The man who had been shot wailed in pain and reached for his leg.
The other two men stood with their pistols held at their sides, nervously scouring the lot for a glimpse of who may have shot their partner. Having been in a similar situation on many occasions while at war, I realized it was quite possible the other two men had no idea of the complexity of their companion’s wound. Not hearing the gunshot seemed to take away some of the severity of what the human mind registered.
“Drop your weapons in front of you, get on your knees, and place your hands behind your heads.”
“Fuck you,” the one in the center barked.
“Clear shot on center target?” I asked.
“Roger the center,” Lucky responded.
“Shoot the thigh.”
Instantly, the same whistling sound ripped through the air, and the man in the center dropped to the ground. Still holding his pistol, he bellowed out what I expected were Italian expletives.
“Toss the gun,” I demanded. “Or I’ll have him shoot you in the chest.”
He threw the gun to the side.
“Now,” I said, pointing my pistol at the last man standing. “Toss your weapon, get on your knees, and place your hands behind your head. This is your only warning.”
He tossed his weapon on the ground.
“Cap,” I shouted. “Search him and secure him.”
“Roger that.”
Cap exited the van with his pistol held at the ready. After kicking the three weapons to his rear, he searched the last man, secured his hands with zip ties, and then searched the two wounded men.