Fearless

Twenty-Five

Hunched low, gun-barrel sweeping left and right, Higgs crossed the atrium floor at a steady run, before pausing behind a marble statue—some buff guy with his junk out. He shook his head. Salazar was supposed to be a ladies' man, but if this was the kind of shit he wasted his money on, you had to wonder.

With the shot-out window now just yards away and still no sign of Diaz or the girl, he had to consider the possibility they'd beaten him to it. It just didn't figure, given the way he'd hustled his ass. With a quick scan of the immediate surrounds, he broke from cover, dashed over to the gaping hole and risked a cautious glance over the edge. Nothing.

"Well, shit." Sighing, he holstered the Uzi. Time for more dumpster-diving.

"Hey there, Higgs."

He whirled, reaching for the gun—and froze at the sight of Diaz. Or, to be more precise, at the sight of the Uzi pointing at his face. The little prick holding it stood beside another sculpture; some new-age, abstract, hippy bullshit Higgs had dismissed as being too small to conceal anybody.

"Diaz. Trust you to make being a fucking midget work in your favour. Put the gun away before you hurt somebody, dipshit."

"You know"—the smaller man grinned—"you might wanna think about a more respectful tone there, big guy. Speaking of tiny things, you need to wrap your brain around the fact I got the drop on you."

"Yeah, yeah, you got me good. Congratu-fucking-lations. So, where's the girl?"

"She's gone, Higgs. She's history. Just like I'm gonna be, after you slide your piece over to me and then fuck off, as fast as those long legs of yours can carry you."

Higgs' expression showed genuine puzzlement. "Wait—you expect me to believe you stayed behind to help her get away? You?"

"Yes, me. Little chicken-shit Diaz actually took a stand for once in his life. And do you wanna know why, asshole? I did it because it's the last thing anyone would expect. Because I was never more than a fucking joke to any of you clowns. Well, who's laughing now, Higgs? Huh?" Scowling, his voice rising in pitch, Diaz took a step forward. "Who's laughing now?"

Instinctively, Higgs made to retreat but found himself teetering on the brink of the broken window. "Hey, now—we can talk about this, amigo. It was never anything personal. All those things we called you, they were just—you know—guy talk. We're all buddies here. How about—?"

"Shut the fuck up. I may be short, but I ain't stupid. You guys don't show me no respect, Zima's got it in for me, and I'm pretty sure the bitch killed Hugo. So, I'm out of here. Now, slide that piece over."

"Hold on a second." Higgs held up his hands in placation. "You got it all wrong, bud. We all like you, honest. Zima? She fucking loves you. Just the other day she was telling me what a great job you're doing. She's just a hard read, is all. You know those Russians and their poker faces. This is all a big misunderstanding. How about I give her a call and we get things straightened out?"

"Like hell. Nobody's calling no-one."

"Relax, Diaz. One call and you're golden. Trust me."

The smaller man shook his head. "You don't wanna make me impatient, Higgs. I get twitchy when I'm impatient."

"Look, Diaz, you dumbass. Wake up and smell the fucking flowers at your funeral. This is the Syndicate your screwing with. How long do you think you're going to last out there, with your name on Jaime Salazar's shit-list?"

"Longer than you, if you don't hand over that Uzi."

Higgs edged away from the window. "Just listen to me. It's not too late to save your skinny ass. I was right on your tail, so the girl can't have got far. Help me get her back and Zima and Salazar might just forget about tonight's little fuck-up. You can go from zero to hero."