Cut and Run 7 - Touch and Geaux

as he could down the middle of the street, heading for Bourbon or Royal and what he prayed would be the parade crowd. He knew he had fifteen seconds, maybe thirty, before anyone pursued. They’d be too worried about him taking up a position somewhere and gunning them down. But that was all the leeway he’d have before he was caught, and he had to make it count.
    He’d only managed one city block before someone shouted behind him. But they couldn’t fire at him, not with the pedestrian traffic so close.
    A bullet pinged off the road next to his feet.
    Fuck! Ty covered his head and hunched his shoulders, but he kept running.
    They were firing directly into the pedestrian areas of the French Quarter, directly into that parade crowd. The streets were lined with homes and businesses. People who’d been innocently strolling along were now screaming and taking cover wherever they could find it. These weren’t local cops chasing him down. There would be no talking his way around an interrogation until the cavalry arrived. He was running for his life, not a few extra minutes.
    He had to reach Canal Street, toward the business district and, if his luck held, Harrah’s Casino.
    The casino would have facial recognition software covering the floors, everyone knew that, and the cartel thugs wouldn’t risk being identified by it. It was a solid mile away, though.
    A chain-link fence appeared on his left, surrounding a rare outlying vacant lot, and he sprinted for it. More shots chased him, busting the rear window of a car parked along the road and pinging off a lamppost just inches from Ty’s head.
    “Son of a bitch!”
    Ty vaulted the flimsy fence, catching the top of it and taking it down with him as he went over. He hit grass and gravel and rolled, regaining his feet but losing precious seconds. He dug for the other side of the lot where a higher, sturdier fence had been erected. He leapt at the brick wall and kicked off it to clear the fence like a high jumper, then hit the ground running. A bullet sprayed brick dust where his foot had been and men shouted in Spanish from the far corner of the building.
    Ty found himself in the interior of a city block, weaving between trash bins, parked cars, bicycles, and buildings. He slowed at a small courtyard, his heart hammering as he realized he may have hemmed himself in. He could hear his pursuers clambering over the fence.
    He looked up. He could use the iron stairs of the apartment building and maybe reach the roof with a short climb, but he’d be an easy target for far too long. And if he by some miracle made it up there without getting shot, he’d still have the dilemma of being stuck on a fucking roof.
    There was nowhere to hide that he wouldn’t be found eventually. He could kick down someone’s door, hope they had windows or a door that faced the street, and risk whatever homeowner he barged in on being shot behind him. Or beating him with a curling iron.
    He grabbed the gun at the small of his back. He had twelve shots left in the magazine, and a spare with fifteen more strapped to his ankle. If he had to make a last stand in this dead-end courtyard, he would make it a bloody one.
    He ran for a large green dumpster in the far corner of the courtyard, intending to use it and the trash inside as cover. But as he rounded the dumpster, he found a gap between the buildings. It was narrow, hidden by the layout of the old structures, and it appeared to lead to a dead end. Ty headed down it anyway, praying the darkness was really another gap between buildings rather than mere shadow.
    He heard angry voices behind him.
    “¿ Ha donde se fue este cabron ?”
    “ No esta aqui .”
    “ No le crecio alas. Buscale !”
    Ty knew enough to understand the last word: Find him.
    He moved faster, trying to stay silent as he reached the end of the alley. His gamble paid off, and he took a hard right down another tight alleyway that led to another seam between buildings. It went off to the left, even narrower than the first two. Ty had to turn sideways to get through it. It ended with a wooden fence, and after a few hard kicks, Ty broke through into a small, private courtyard filled with plants and garden decorations, colorful tile and antique string lights overhead. And on the far side was an alleyway to the street. Ty could see people walking past.
    The alley was blocked at the street end by a tall iron gate topped with broken pieces of colored glass, glinting in the sunlight.