Free Rider by Peter J Merrigan Page A

jerked the rifle. ‘I’m not afraid to use this.’
    ‘I’m sure you’re not,’ Dawson said.
    ‘Let’s kill them both,’ O’Reef said. Dawson told him to shut up and O’Reef lowered his gun just a little.
    ‘Kane, get up,’ Margaret said.
    ‘That’s not advisable,’ Dawson retorted.
    Kane didn’t move.
    The small, black gun in Dawson ’s hand lolled as though he had forgotten it. ‘If you’ll kindly let us get on with our work,’ he told Margaret, ‘the sooner we’ll—’
    ‘My husband is—’
    Dawson cut her off with a chortle. ‘Your husband is in England . You should have been with him.’
    ‘That shows how much you know,’ Margaret said, her voice as steady as her hands. ‘He’s downstairs calling the police.’
    ‘We both know that’s not true,’ Dawson said. ‘Why aren’t you with him?’
    ‘I’m a woman,’ Margaret said. ‘I’m allowed to change my mind.’
    Dawson grinned. ‘How is David these days?’ he asked. ‘Still taking time out to play squash?’
    Margaret looked confused, her head twitching slightly.
    ‘Oh, yes,’ Dawson scoffed. ‘He and I go way back. Years, in fact.’
    Kane was just as confused as Margaret was, but Margaret had quickly composed herself.
    ‘I don’t believe you.’
    ‘He was never any good on the golf course,’ Dawson said. ‘But on the squash court, you’d never tell he was a man in his fifties.’
    Margaret shook her head. ‘Get up, Kane.’
    ‘Silence!’ Dawson shouted.
    A shot went off and everyone ducked, followed immediately by another shot. Kane rolled forward, head dipped, shoulder taking the brunt of the fall on the carpeted floor, and knocked against the side of the desk.
    He saw Margaret and Dawson both fall away from each other, Margaret’s body slamming against the doorframe, Dawson hitting the back wall.
    Kane reached into the drawer and pulled out the Swiss army knife, extended the blade, and lurched over Dawson as O’Reef raised his gun. He jabbed the knife forward, into O’Reef’s chest, knocking his firing arm off aim as he spat off a round. The bullet glanced off Kane’s shoulder, tearing skin and spewing blood. Simultaneously, Kane pushed upwards with his other hand against O’Reef’s chin. His head bounced off the wall behind him and he fell, the knife still in his chest.
    Margaret, bleeding from the stomach, weak, her face distant, fired point blank at Darren before he had time to react. His face exploded as he went down.
    Kane turned, a cold sweat on his face, and saw Dawson slumped against the wall in an oddly wretched sitting position, his legs outstretched, spread-eagled. A lopsided grin played on the left half on his mouth. The first shot he had heard must have been from Margaret.
    Breathing hard, he watched as Dawson gurgled, something between a laugh and a cough. ‘Margaret,’ he said, his voice thick, clogged.
    Remembering Margaret, Kane dropped to the floor beside her. ‘Margaret? Are you all right?’ he asked.
    Dawson gurgled again.
    ‘Margaret, listen to me,’ he said.
    Margaret’s head turned, her eyelids closing and opening in a painfully slow blink. She looked at Kane. ‘You’re bleeding,’ she whispered.
    He touched his shoulder, pulled his hand back. He hadn’t felt the pain until she brought it to his attention.
    ‘Mah-gret,’ Dawson choked. His arms flopped to the floor at his sides, his fingers loosening around his gun. He wheezed as he breathed. ‘You think…it’s over,’ he said. His half smile returned. ‘It isn’t.’
    And then he was silent. Kane thought maybe he was dead. But his eyes flickered and his bloodied tongue protruded to moisten his lips.
    Margaret pushed her shoulders back and winced. ‘Why,’ she tried, stopped, started again. ‘Why do this?’
    Kane took her hand.
    Dawson breathed. ‘If David could see us now, eh?’ His words were interrupted by a fit of coughing, blood running down his chin to his suit jacket.
    Kane watched Margaret blink, the