Chapter 178: CLEARED
De George reached the end of the third-floor corridor first, his boots skidding across the dusty floorboards as he grabbed the iron handle of the fire exit door. He yanked it violently with both hands, but the latch wouldn’t budge.
"It’s jammed!" De George panicked, rattling the heavy metal handle. "The damn thing’s locked from the outside!"
John Caldwell stepped up, shoving the politician lightly aside with his forearm. "Let me."
Behind them, Davis Brians stood five yards back at the hallway corner, his shoulder pressed against the plaster wall. His Colt M1911 was held low in a tight weapon-retention grip as his eyes scanned the stairwell entrance.
Before John could raise his boot to force the heavy door, cautious footsteps creaked over the floorboards around the blind corner just ahead.
"Quiet... come on," a raspy voice whispered beyond the wall. "They’re in the back hall."
Davis snapped his head toward the sound, tapping his fingers twice against his thigh to signal John.
John instantly placed a firm hand on De George’s shoulder, forcing him flat against the side wall. "Stick close to me," John breathed, his voice barely a whisper. "Keep your head down."
John reached into his inner coat pocket with his left hand, drawing a slim, six-inch Italian stiletto knife, flipping the blade open in a silent movement. He held the knife in a forward reverse-grip alongside his right hand gripping his Colt pistol—a compact Kali close-quarters frame designed for tight spaces.
Creeping silently to the edge of the plaster wall, John waited.
Two Tammany enforcers stepped around the corner together, heavy snub-nosed revolvers raised.
The moment their shoulders crossed the doorway, John struck. Instinct and muscle memory took over in a single fluid motion.
John stepped directly inside the lead thug’s guard. His left hand whipped out, driving the narrow stiletto blade in a swift, horizontal slash straight across the man’s exposed throat. Blood sprayed against the faded wallpaper as the enforcer choked, his revolver dropping to the floorboards as his hands flew to his neck.
The second thug panicked, his eyes going wide as he frantically tried to bring his heavy .44 revolver to bear on John’s chest.
Before the hammer could fall, John planted the heavy heel of his leather boot square into the man’s sternum. The crushing kick blasted the air straight from the thug’s lungs, sending him stumbling backward to crash hard onto his spine.
The first thug hit his knees, still gasping wetly as he reached his bloodied hand toward his dropped gun on the floor. John stepped over his legs, grabbed a handful of the man’s hair, and drove the stiletto blade down into the side of his neck, ending his movements instantly.
The second man rolled onto his elbow, frantically trying to recover his revolver from the floorboards. John glided forward, bringing his boot down directly onto the thug’s wrist with a sickening CRACK.
The gun skidded away down the hall. John dropped his right knee onto the man’s ribs, pinning him flat to the boards. The thug thrashed wildly, trying to gouge at John’s face, but John’s left hand brought the stiletto under the man’s jaw, holding him down until the struggling stopped and the corridor fell quiet.
"JOHN! THEY’RE HERE!" Davis shouted from the far corner.
Three more Tammany enforcers rushed around the main stairwell arch, opening fire instantly.
Davis leaned his upper body out from the wall, his Colt held firmly near his chest as he lined up the sights.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Davis squeezed off five rapid shots down the long hallway. The heavy .45 rounds caught two of the approaching men, punching through one man’s shoulder and another’s collarbone, driving them back behind the plaster archway in a shower of splintered wood.
Return revolver fire chewed up the doorframe near Davis’s head. He pulled back into full cover, pressed the magazine release, caught the partially spent magazine in his left palm, and slapped a fresh, full magazine into the grip with a sharp CLACK.
Meanwhile, John sprinted back to the jammed fire exit door. He took a short step back and drove a heavy kick directly beside the iron lock mechanism.
THUD!
𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢
The heavy timber frame groaned, but the latch held tight.
"Come on, damn it!" De George whimpered, ducking low against the baseboards.
John set his jaw, stepped back again, and delivered a second full-body kick straight into the deadbolt plate.
CRACK-BOOM!
The wooden jamb shattered, and the heavy door swung wide open into the cold morning air, revealing the rusted iron fire escape grating outside.
"GO! GET DOWN THOSE STAIRS!" John roars, shoving De George through the open threshold.
Davis leaned out from his corner one last time, firing three quick suppressive shots down the hall to keep the remaining Tammany men pinned behind the far wall.
"DAVIS! FALL BACK!" John called out.
Davis dropped back from the corner, unbuttoning his heavy wool overcoat. He reached into his inner lining and pulled out a iron pipe grenade packed with black powder and iron nails. With a flick of his wrist, he struck the friction igniter sharply against his belt buckle.
A bright spark flared, and thick grey smoke sputtered from the fuse. Davis threw the pipe grenade down the hallway in a low, skimming toss.
"GET DOWN!" a voice shrieked from the far end of the hall.
THUD-BOOM!
A thunderous explosion shook the entire third floor. Plaster dust, splintered floorboards, and a cloud of flying iron nails shredded the narrow hallway, sending loud screams echoing through the smoke as all five pursuers were sprayed with shrapnel.
Davis turned and vaulted through the shattered doorway onto the metal fire escape landing.
John slammed the heavy door shut behind him. Grabbing a thick section of discarded iron water pipe resting against the landing wall, he jammed it tightly through the heavy steel handles and iron frame, deadlocking the door from the outside.
John, Davis, and De George hurried down the iron fire escape, their boots clattering on the metal steps until they hit the pavement of the alleyway behind the apartment building.
De George gasped for air, clutching his satchel of stolen ledgers to his ribs like a lifeline. "What do we do now?! Where are we going?!"
"Stick close," John growled, keeping his M1911 lowered toward the alley mouth. "We walk slow to the corner. The motorcar is parked right out front."
Above them on the third floor, heavy thuds rattled the jammed fire exit door. Muffled voices shouted through the metal frame:
"IT’S LOCKED FROM THE OUTSIDE! HEAD DOWN TO THE FRONT STREET! HURRY, THEY’RE GETTING AWAY!"
John looked up at the building, then back at Davis. "Come on, hurry. I locked that door, but they’re heading down the front stairs. It’s our chance."
John broke into a low sprint toward the brick corner of the building, with De George and Davis right on his heels.
As they reached the edge of the front sidewalk, a Tammany enforcer rounded the corner of the structure from the front entrance, raising a heavy nickel-plated revolver to aim directly at De George.
"THERE THEY—"
John dropped to one knee instantly, bringing the front sight of his Colt onto the man’s temple in less than half a second.
CRACK!
A single .45 slug punched clean through the thug’s forehead. The man collapsed onto the gravel lane.
John rose quickly, scanning the empty street. "CLEAR! GET IN!"
They sprinted across the lane to their parked black touring car. John yanked the driver’s door open and vaulted into the front seat. Davis shoved De George into the back, climbing in right beside him and slamming the door shut.
John turned the ignition key and pumped the foot throttle. The heavy engine roars to life with a vibrating chug. He slammed the gear lever forward, dumped the clutch, and stomped on the accelerator pedal.
The rear tires spun across the gravel, kicking up dust and stone as the motorcar surged forward, speeding down Main Street just as three more Tammany thugs burst out the front doors of the building, firing wild, inaccurate revolver shots that vanished harmlessly into the morning breeze behind them.