on Brad. He had two more guns holstered to his chest along with a full complement of ammunition.
Smith. Jeffrey remembered he had given his name as Smith. He remembered it all now: Sara screaming his name, Mart's head exploding against the front door, the ensuing gun battle, the deaths. Sam. The new patrolman's first name was Sam.
The killer gave Jeffrey a cold look of appraisal. 'Sit up.'
Sara said, 'He needs to go to the hospital.' She did not wait for a response. 'The children are in shock. They all need to go to the hospital.'
Smith cocked his head like he had heard something. He turned toward the lobby, where another man rested an assault rifle on the front counter, pointing it toward the front entrance. He was similarly dressed with a dark coat and Kevlar vest. A black ball cap was pulled low on his head, casting his face in shadow. The man did not look Smith's way, but he gave a curt nod.
Sara took advantage of the brief exchange, whispering something to Jeffrey that sounded like 'Stall it.'
Smith turned back to Jeffrey. 'Sit up.' He kicked Jeffrey's feet, and the movement jarred his shoulder enough to make him yell from the pain.
'He needs to go to the hospital,' Sara repeated.
'Hey,' Brad said, like a child trying to get between his arguing parents. 'I need a hand over here with this one.'
Smith pointed the shotgun in Sara's face. 'Help him.'
Sara stayed where she was. 'Matt needs medical attention,' she said, keeping her hand on Jeffrey's good shoulder. Her words came out in a rushed panic. 'The pulse in his arm is thready. The bullet probably nicked the artery. He lost consciousness for God knows how long. His head wound needs to be assessed.'
'You don't seem too worried about me,' Smith said, indicating a piece of white cloth tied tightly around his left arm. A circle of dark blood spotted the center.
'You both seem capable of taking care of yourselves,' she told him, then looked past his shoulder to his partner in the front lobby.
'Damn right,' Smith said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Jeffrey tried to get a good look at the second man's face, but the overhead light was so bright that he could not keep his eyes open.
Brad stumbled and dropped a filing cabinet. With lightning speed, Smith and the second gunman turned around, both ready to shoot.
Brad held up his hands. 'Sorry,' he said. 'I just –'
The second shooter turned back to the front door as Smith walked over to Brad. Sara kept her eyes on the second man as she slipped her hand under Jeffrey's back. Wallet. She had said 'Wallet.'
He raised himself up to help her, biting through the pain in his shoulder, and she took out his wallet just as Smith swung around on them. He stared, his eyes darting to each person in the group, some sort of sixth sense igniting his suspicion. The children were so frightened that they were hardly moving, and Maria seemed to be in her own world as she stared blindly at the floor.
Brad said, 'Maybe you can –'
Smith held out his hand, cutting him off. The room was silent, but the gunman could obviously hear something they could not. Or maybe, Jeffrey reasoned, he was just a paranoid fuck hopped up on cocaine or meth. Why the hell would someone do something like this? What could they possibly gain?
Smith walked backward, both guns trained on Brad. He stopped in front of the bathroom door, looking at his partner and getting a quick nod in return. The two men worked together like a precision instrument. Even without the military gear, it was obvious that they had either trained or been in combat together.
The bathroom door opened soundlessly as Smith went in, gun raised. Jeffrey counted off the seconds, staring at the door as it slowly closed. Suddenly, they heard a woman's scream and a single gunshot. Less than minute later, Smith came out of the bathroom holding up a police-issue gun belt like it was a trophy.
Smith told his partner. 'She was hiding under the sink.'
The second man shrugged, like it was
Learning to Kill: Stories