Free Kim Oh 3: Real Dangerous People (The Kim Oh Thrillers) by K. W. Jeter

backpack, dug out the .357, and showed it to him.
     
    “Nice piece.” He nodded appreciatively. “Cole?”
     
    I nodded. I could remember when Cole had first given it to me. It’d seemed to weigh a ton then – I’d barely been able to lift it in both hands.
     
    Now I’ve gotten used to it.
     
    “You had that with you up in Albany?”
     
    “Yep. It’s my main piece.”
     
    “Any problem with it?”
     
    “None whatsoever.” I gave him a thin smile. “Didn’t Moretti tell you I could handle it all right?”
     
    “Moretti doesn’t have the same standards that I do.”
     
    “Yeah, well – it gets the job done.”
     
    “In Albany it didn’t.”
     
    I didn’t like the way this conversation was going.
     
    “If you’re just going to get on my case about what happened to Andriessen . . .”
     
    Curt didn’t say anything. He went over to the flickering oil lamp and turned the little brass knob at its side, shutting off the flame.
     
    I couldn’t see; it would take a few seconds for my night vision to start kicking in.
     
    “You know the drill.”
     
    His voice came from some other spot, different from where I had last seen him.
     
    “Aw, come on,” I said. “Not this crap again –”
     
    I’d been through this particular game before. Cole had run me through it, back when he had been getting me ready to take care of our old boss McIntyre. Then, it’d been in that funky warehouse where Cole had operated from. Before we’d finished, and Cole had switched the lights back on, I’d managed to blow away the saucepan on the little one-ring hot plate and wing a corner of the fridge.
     
    I was better at it now. For one thing, I knew what to expect.
     
    The red dot of a laser pointer hit one of the sagging wooden beams above my head. There it was –
     
    One-handed, I swung the .357 up and squeezed the trigger. The little red dot showed the inside of the bullet hole I’d just drilled, then switched off.
     
    From the corner of my eye, I saw the red dot blink on the wall behind me. I swung around and nailed that one as well.
     
    “This was easy before .” I still couldn’t see where Curt was hiding. “And I’ve had a lot of practice since then.”
     
    The red dot picked out a rat, eyes glittering, crouching on top of one of the rotting hay bales. I blew it away just as quickly.
     
    “Is this really necessary?” I turned slowly, scanning for Curt. “Why don’t we just stop screwing around –”
     
    Another shot sounded, but not from my gun this time. The bullet pinged off a piece of rusted metal next to my shoulder.
     
    “Damn –” I dropped to my stomach. The red dot appeared again, over on the opposite barn wall. I rolled onto one side and fired. It pissed me off when the dot moved over a couple inches to show the bullet hole, then snapped off again.
     
    This was something new. Even when Cole had run me through the drill, I hadn’t had to dodge shots from his gun.
     
    “That’s real cute.” I raised my head and shouted into the dark. “You want to play games? All right – go ahead –”
     
     I heard the next shot go right over my head. I grabbed the strap of my backpack and ran, hunched over, farther into the barn . . .
     
    * * *
     
    Back in town, Elton was still drinking at the White Hawk.
     
    After his little business meeting with the guys who owed him money, nobody felt like coming over and talking to him. When guys do stuff like that, as a general rule it’s a good idea to leave a few bar stools between you and them.
     
    The two-piece band was slaughtering one of their numbers on the little stage. They had both come back so red-eyed and stumbling from their between-sets break, out in the alley behind, that they didn’t care if anybody was dancing or not. The empty beer pitcher they were using for a tip jar had two folded dollar bills in it – from Elton, actually. Maybe he’d just wanted to signal to everybody that he wasn’t in a bad