Requiem for an Assassin

toward me, and I leaped forward and grabbed his arm before he could fall. I placed the gun in his manacled hands and walked him over to the bald guy. The bald guy watched us coming. His arms shook, and he lost his hold on the cot. He sank to his knees, then slumped to his side, panting and trembling.
    Dox stood directly over him. He aimed the gun.
    “Just so you know,” he said, “even if I had time, I wouldn’t do to you what you were going to do to me.”
    The bald guy started to say something. Dox didn’t wait to hear what. Without another word, he emptied the full magazine into the bald guy’s face. Twelve muffled shots, each fading into the next. Bone and brain matter flew.
    He stood for a second, swaying slightly, looking down at what he had done. Then he handed me the smoking pistol. He buckled, and I grabbed his arm to support him.
    “Good,” he said. “That was worth ten thousand dollars in therapy right there.”
    “Don’t worry, I’ve got a spare mag.”
    He nodded. “I figured you did.”
    I swapped in a fresh magazine, then pulled out an extra baseball hat and jammed it on his head. I eased a pair of shades over his eyes. “You look good,” I said.
    “Just get me out of here, man.”
    I squeezed his shoulder. “That’s what I’m here for.”
    I put on my own shades, took his arm, and helped him down the corridor. “We’re on our way,” I said, into the earpiece. “Just the two of us. Get out the bolt cutters, be ready.”
    “Hurry,” Boaz said. “We have a lot of attention.”
    I holstered the HK and kept us going. I didn’t know the nature of Dox’s injuries, but he was having a hard time moving, even beyond the limits of the shackles. It took a full minute to get him up the stairs.
    Crossing the deck, I saw Boaz was right. There were people staring at us from half a dozen boats. Several groups on foot had stopped and were watching to see what the commotion was. Come on, I thought. Come on, come on….
    Boaz reached out and helped Dox hop onto the pier. The chains were heavy, but there’s not much that will stand up to four feet of bolt cutters. Boaz moved in and, three well-placed snaps later, Dox had the use of his hands and feet again. The manacles themselves we could worry about later.
    Boaz had already packed up the heater. He shouldered the gear while I scanned the crowd for danger, so far seeing nothing worse than gawkers. Then we set off toward the main pier, hurrying now, Dox’s giant arms around our shoulders, his chains clanking as we moved.
    “This man’s hurt!” I called out to the people who were staring at us. “Somebody call a doctor!” There, that ought to make us look more like the good guys and lower the chances of someone disputing our passage. Theoretically.
    We made a left onto the main pier and kept moving. I saw that Kanezaki had backed all the way to the edge of the pier. Boaz must have called him. But Christ, it was taking us forever. Why the fuck did the boat have to be on the farthest perpendicular? I thought. Murphy’s Law. Unbelievable.
    People stared at us as we walked by. No one said anything, or tried to interfere.
    Fifty feet out from the access road, I started to think we were going to make it. I could see the exhaust drifting from Kanezaki’s idling engine.
    Two uniformed security guys burst through the main clubhouse doors and onto the pier. They sprinted straight at us. Each was wearing a sidearm, still holstered.
    “They’re shooting back there!” I cried out in a high voice. “Hurry!”
    For one second, I thought they were going to buy it. They looked down the pier and I could feel their attention shifting. Then their eyes came back to us, their expressions hardening.
    For all his concern about rules of engagement, Boaz had his pistol out as fast as I did. “Do not reach for your weapons,” I said, loudly and evenly, pointing the HK at the guy in front of me, while Boaz covered the other man.
    Neither said a word. Their mouths dropped open and their hands crept north. Whatever they were paid to provide “security” at the yacht club, this wasn’t part of the job description.
    “Over the side,” I said. “Into the water.” Neither moved. I pointed the gigantic suppressed muzzle of the HK directly at the guy’s face, suddenly pleased at the intimidating size of the thing, and shouted, “Now!”
    He jumped in without another word. The other guy followed him an instant later.
    “Very humane of you,” Boaz said, and