Acts of Nature

officer friend, if she is indeed an officer?” he said.
    “She needs help,” I said.
    “Then it’s a good thing we made a deal.”
    “Did we?”
    He refocused on my eyes. It is an old cop trick that was probably taken from the art of magicians. Most people, even shy people and especially criminal people, will try to be brave and look you in the eye when you first start talking to them. And if you are engaging, with a smile and a purpose, you can hold their attention for the second it takes to do the sleight of hand you need to do.
    “Actually, I’m going to have to take a little time here to do some documenting. Simple tasks like pulling some computer memories and such,” he said, turning just slightly to his right, but with his feet still planted, a solid foundation. His move might have even worked if his jacket had not been so wet, the heft of the soaked fabric pulled just hard enough to expose a hard edge in his right pocket, and when I saw his shoulder raise to slip his hand inside I shot him.
    The round hit him in the hip and must have made solid contact with bone because he spun, just a quarter turn, but when he stepped back to gain his balance, he put his foot directly into the hole of the open space of the escape hatch and went down. Trying quickly to straddle the void, he landed with one leg hanging and the other spread out at floor level. His rib cage and right underarm scraped hard against the inside edge of the hatch and then came to a hard halt. He was wedged in the hole, looking suddenly like a human pair of scissors, doing a painful split. He was awkwardly stuck; his right arm pinned and left one flailing. I changed position and circled. I had to give the guy credit. He hadn’t cried out, though I knew it had to hurt, both the bullet into bone and the fall. I looked down at him and his lips were pressed tight into a hard line. Might have been pissed, might have been pain. The look said either. Through the space between his back and one edge, I could look down and see the lump in his pocket was still there, hanging heavily in his pocket and impossible for him to reach.
    “Is that a pistol in your pocket or did I just shoot you for trying to get a two-pound pack of cigarettes out of your jacket?” I said.
    “Fuck you, Freeman.”
    The strain in his face increased. His breathing started to go ragged. He might have broken some ribs going down, possibly punctured a lung. But still his eyes were flashing left and right, trying to figure a move. Guy like him had probably saved his own ass a dozen times and was still confident he could do it again.
    I heard Sherry moan behind me, the first sound she’d made since Harmon started banging on the door, and we were wasting time.
    “OK, Harmon. Now you’ve got a reason to work with me here. You gotta get to the hospital, my partner has to get to the hospital,” I said. “You tell me how to call back your helicopter pilot and all three of us fly out together.”
    He looked up and saw me pointing the gun in his face and thought about the alternatives for less than ten seconds.
    “Out in my bag on the deck there’s a satellite phone. Pilot’s on the same frequency. Get me up out of here and get the phone. I’ll make the call.”
    I had to give him credit; he was still working the advantages for himself, slim as they were.
    “No, I’ll get the gun out of your pocket. Then we’ll get you up,” I said.
    With the doorway jammed, I knew the only way to get outside now was through the hatch. I figured I’d have to get him up and tied securely to a stanchion before I could climb down and get to the phone. Then I’d be calling Billy. His pilot’s job was over. I circled him again, kept the MK in my hand, and then knelt down.
    “I’m going to reach down into your pocket, Harmon. You move, I’ll put a round through the back of your head. It won’t make a difference to me. You’re out of my way regardless.”
    I went down on the floor behind him, my face next to his back, and I could see the stain of blood spreading down the side of his pants where I’d shot him. I was hoping that I hadn’t hit the femoral artery, but the bleeding was already extensive enough that droplets were falling into the water below.
    I extended my arm down and with a little trouble found the pocket opening and reached inside to touch the hard metal of a short-barreled pistol. I came up with a new-looking Colt revolver and slid it across the floor toward Sherry’s