Free Gone Cold by Douglas Corleone

could possibly be calling him out in a public house in his hometown. Clearly he wasn’t used to mouthing off to strangers. Springburn probably didn’t see many to begin with, especially not in dives like this.
    “Raymond,” the Gilchrist kid finally said to the much larger guy standing behind him, “I don’t have time for this shite. Glass this cunt, will you?”
    Kinny Gilchrist stepped aside as Raymond made a show of pouring the remainder of his pint on the floor. Several more patrons fell quiet and formed a loose circle to observe.
    Once the pint was empty, Raymond stepped forward. Then, with the glass gripped tightly in his hand like a weapon, he threw a powerful right hook aimed at my jaw.
    It came fast, but he’d telegraphed it in such a way that he might as well have gift-wrapped it too.
    With a sharp smack, I caught Raymond’s wrist in my left palm. Then I leaned back, clenched my teeth, stiffened my neck muscles, took aim, and lunged forward, delivering a Glasgow Kiss, quick and dirty.
    Raymond’s head snapped back like he’d been shot, his nose shattered, his nostrils spewing blood down the front of his shirt like faucets.
    I turned to Gilchrist, but he’d spun on his heels and darted for the exit before his buddy even hit the floor. The kid from the booth, the one who’d been so protective of my sister’s cigarettes, was right behind him.
    Shaking off the head butt, I grabbed hold of Zoey’s hand and we scrambled toward the front of the pub.
    In a show of appreciation, the crowd parted as quickly for us as they had for Gilchrist earlier.
    Just before we hit the door, I told Zoey, “Make straight for Ashdown’s crossover. Get in and lock the doors. Tell him there’s no need to shadow me; I’ll be fine.”
    As soon as we pushed through the door, we were hit head-on by a hard, cutting wind. Gales so mighty they were like living things. Living things that had just been playing dead before.
    “Told ya,” Zoey shouted as I let go of her hand.
    I turned left, ran straight into the gust. Thanks to the reflective stripes running up the arms and legs of his tracksuit, Kinny Gilchrist was visible from a block and a half away. Even with my eyes reduced to slits from the wind.
    Which remained every bit as brutal as the moment I’d first stepped into it.
    On the bright side, the frigid air sobered me up right off. And after the first few strides, my legs seemed to be carrying me just as fast as they had a year ago in the jungles of Central and South America.
    Running hard, I found myself consistently gaining on them. Trying to predict their movements along the way.
    If they’d had a car, I thought, surely they wouldn’t have parked this far from the pub. Which meant they were probably making for one of their homes.
    Far behind me I heard an engine roar to life and imagined Ashdown ignoring the message I’d passed to Zoey.
    Just as well, I thought. If the Gilchrist kid had reinforcements somewhere nearby, I might well be needing backup after all.
    The Gilchrist kid and his remaining buddy skirted a fallen trash bin and turned left down a side road named Mollinsburn.
    I leapt over the bin and maintained pursuit, the headlights from Ashdown’s crossover crawling up my back as I took the corner.
    Behind me the vehicle’s tires screeched.
    As it tore a left after us, I chanced a look over my shoulder.
    And realized it wasn’t Ashdown’s crossover, but a dark green SUV with windows tinted blacker than the street.
    The SUV gained speed as it blew past me.
    Shit, I thought. They’ll snatch up Gilchrist and his pal and I’ll be right back at square one. I pushed myself harder.
    But a few seconds later, when the Gilchrist kid stole a glance back at the SUV, I caught a look of fresh terror in his eyes. He lowered his head like a sprinter and went for the burn.
    That’s when I noticed the SUV’s rear driver’s side window gliding down.
    A thick arm reaching out.
    At the end of the arm was a gun.
    And on the