Free The Outsider (James Bishop 4) by Jason Dean

over six feet long. Easily room for two people in there, but this one was empty. Except further in, Bishop spotted a faded red plastic carrying case lying on a dirty rag. How about that?
    He reached in and pulled the case out. It was heavy. Metallic items rattled around inside. ‘Your toolkit,’ he said, handing it to the driver.
    Back at the front Bishop said, ‘Let me try the engine one more time. You got the keys?’
    ‘Hey, I don’t know …’
    ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get them back.’ The driver chewed his lip and handed them over grudgingly. ‘Tell me what you hear,’ Bishop said.
    Bishop got in the driver’s seat. He put the key in the ignition and turned it clockwise. The starter motor tried its best to cough into life again. With the driver’s concentration elsewhere, Bishop kept his grip on the key and ducked down to look to the rear of the bus, checking under the rest of the seats. But there was nobody hiding back there either. The breakdown seemed legitimate enough, but Bishop knew there were endless ways to sabotage an engine without leaving a trace.
    Because something was off here. He was sure of it.
    He removed the key and stood up, still looking towards the rear. He could see a floor panel about three-quarters of the way down the centre aisle. Maybe that was worth a check.
    Bishop heard movement behind him as the driver came on board. ‘Hey, what’s up?’ he asked Bishop. ‘You lose something?’
    ‘No, I just—’ Bishop began, and halted in his tracks. Through the rear windshield, he saw the figure of a mailman moving in their direction, pushing a standard USPS handcart. Bishop looked at his watch and saw it was only 07.16. The guy was a whole hour too early. And Delaney had said he didn’t deviate.
    Bishop was getting that cold feeling at the core of his gut. He put his hand in his pocket and clasped the .38. He heard the driver coming down the aisle behind him. When he figured the guy was less than a foot away, Bishop turned, pulled the gun out and stuck the two-inch barrel in the man’s gut. He grabbed the guy’s lapel and pulled him round so he could still track the mailman’s progress.
    ‘How many?’ Bishop whispered into his face.
    ‘What?’ the driver said, his eyes wild. He glanced down at the gun, then back up. ‘What are you—’
    ‘I already made the fake mailman back there. Where are the rest? You got more hiding under the bus, or what? Talk.’
    ‘Hey, man, I don’t know who you think I—’
    Bishop pulled back the hammer and the guy stopped. ‘Gut shots are the worst, believe me. Keep it up and you’ll find out why. Now answer me. Where are the rest?’
    Instead of answering, the driver darted a look past Bishop’s shoulder, then suddenly dropped to the floor with both hands over his head. Out the front windshield Bishop saw a white panel van at the intersection fifty yards away. It had an ADN COURIERS logo on the side and was turning into this street.
    A courier delivery at a quarter past seven in the morning? That’d be a first. He heard the van’s engine rise in pitch as the driver stepped hard on the gas.
    No time to check the floor panel now. He needed to get back to the house, right this second.
    As he turned, the guy on the floor suddenly grabbed at his right ankle and tried to pull him off-balance. Bishop pulled his free leg back and kicked him in the temple. Hard. The man’s body immediately went limp. Bishop ran to the front of the bus and leaped out onto the sidewalk.
    ‘ It’s a hit! ’ he shouted, and began sprinting towards the house.
    Out the corner of his eye, he saw the mailman to his right pull a large automatic assault rifle from one of his satchels. Bishop aimed the .38 in his general direction and fired off two shots as he ran, knowing both had gone well wide.
    Behind him, he also heard a sharp slamming noise coming from inside the bus, quickly followed by windows being smashed. That goddamn floor panel. He’d been right. How many