Free Denver Strike by Randy Wayne White

like the shriek of an hysterical woman.
    There was the orange sputter of automatic weapons fire, and Hawker threw his body into a dark figure that stood before him. The impact snapped the bodyguard’s head back to his spine, and he collapsed, unconscious.
    Nek was screaming, “Stop firing, stop firing, you stupid shits! You’ll hit me!”
    The charcoal shapes of the bodyguards turned the barrels of their weapons toward the ceiling, frozen by Nek’s orders and also by the knowledge that either Hawker or Dulles was probably armed by now.
    â€œTom? You okay?” Hawker shouted.
    â€œFine. I’ve got this revolver trained on Nek’s head. I may just blow this crazy bugfucker all over the wall.”
    â€œDon’t do it! Just keep him covered and move back toward me. Okay?”
    The lanky form of Tom Dulles backpedaled into Hawker as the vigilante found the door handle, threw it open, then slammed it closed behind them as he pulled the Denver cop out into the hall.
    Hawker flicked the safety tang of the Uzi onto full automatic and shot a quick burst through the door.
    â€œThat’ll hold them a minute or two. Let’s get the hell out of here,” he shouted.
    They were in the great hall of the house. There was the noise of heavy feet running in all directions, it seemed. Hawker crashed through a side entrance with Dulles right after him.
    â€œWhat in the hell are we running for? We didn’t do anything!”
    â€œI don’t want those Germans to get their hands on us,” Hawker yelled back. “Have you ever been worked over by a professional? I don’t recommend it. You piss blood for about a week.”
    Behind them, one of the doors swung open, and slugs cut through the tree limbs over their heads. Hawker turned and returned fire. “Shit,” Dulles yelled, “if you kill one of those bastards, I’m going to be filling out forms for the next year!”
    â€œI’m just keeping them honest,” said Hawker. “They could have wasted us easily enough back in Nek’s library. Nek is nuts. He really wanted to put a round through my brain. But those krauts are too smart. They know you’re a cop. They don’t want to get into anything too stinky.”
    Once again, slugs brought autumn leaves splattering to the ground like confetti. “For not trying to hit us, they’re coming damn close!”
    â€œThey want to show us they can play rough.” The vigilante turned and emptied the rest of the Uzi into the outside wall of the fortress. “But now they know we can play rough, too.”
    They were running through a park of trees and close-cropped grass. Ahead was the black wrought-iron gate. Dulles turned toward it, but Hawker shouted, “Hey, that thing’s hot. If you get fried on their fence, they can just say you were trying to do a B & E. We’ve got to go back out the way we came.”
    â€œThat guard was armed!”
    â€œYeah, but he cares about living and dying. People like that, you don’t have much to fear from. He’ll move. Skip a couple of rounds off the asphalt into the wall of the guardhouse. He’ll get the idea. I’d use the Uzi, but it’s empty.”
    They were sprinting now along a high copse. The stone guardhouse was less than fifty yards away. More men were behind them, running hard as Dulles snapped off two shots that pinged off the rock wall.
    Hawker got a glimpse of the guard’s shoes protruding from beneath the desk as he and Dulles flew by. The guard was hiding. And he didn’t look up as the vigilante slammed the iron gate behind them.
    â€œI’ll drive,” Hawker yelled, skidding to a halt beside Dulles’s car. “Keep the revolver handy.”
    Hawker twisted the key, mashed the accelerator to the floor, and fought to control the car as they fishtailed onto the road and away from Bill Nek’s secluded estate.
    Ahead were the bright,