Read Dirty Harry 09 - The Killing Connection for Free Online Page A

red leather attaché case.
    As he neared his two bodyguards, another figure detached itself from inside one of the center booths. Coming out from behind two standing crates of nuts was a neatly dressed black man, who stood taller than any of the Caucasians present. He cut a more sophisticated figure as well, wearing dark slacks, a turtleneck and a leather coat. He slipped out between two hanging canvas flaps which made up the side wall and approached the trio.
    “Let’s have it,” he demanded, pointing to the briefcase.
    “Whatever you say,” Callahan said under his breath. He pulled out his six and a half inch Smith and Wesson Model 29 .44 Magnum and held it up near his head. Its blue steel gleamed in the hazy morning light.
    “Hey, Harry,” Devlin warned, seeing the gun. “You don’t want to spook them.”
    “Bender’s been linked to at least a dozen killings,” Callahan whispered back. “If he decides he wants to shoot his way out of here, would you rather your gun be inside your coat or inside your hand?”
    To respond, Devlin pulled his own .357 snubnose out of its waist holster.
    “Let’s see if we can soothe them with a diplomatic approach,” the Inspector suggested.
    He moved out from his hiding place just as both Tuccio’s and Bender’s fingers were wrapped around the case’s handle.
    “Excuse me,” Harry said pleasantly. “Does anyone here know the time?”
    “Fuck!” Bender bellowed. “This is a set-up!”
    As soon as the big black man barked, Tuccio jumped back, the briefcase being pulled out of the hitman’s grip. The smaller conman almost fell into Fatso, causing him to drop the leather bag. The briefcase skittered to the floor and spun in place. Its fall was a signal for the others to start going for their guns. Callahan stopped them cold.
    “And this,” said Harry, raising his weapon, “is a .44 Magnum. At this range, it could blow your head clean off. So, unless you’re feeling real lucky, let’s just stay real calm.”
    He looked from one man to the next, the long open barrel of the .44 looking like a tunnel leading straight to hell. Each white man dropped his hand from the strike zones of their coats.
    Bender wasn’t so easily cowed. His hand stayed inside his leather jacket, where Harry imagined his big fingers were already wrapped around the grip of a heavy automatic. Judging from the size of his well-cut coat, Bender could be carrying anything from a target .22 to a sawed-off shotgun.
    “So what do you say, punk?” Harry asked pointedly, the Magnum aimed directly between the black man’s angry eyes. “Do you feel lucky?”
    The hitman was angry, but he wasn’t stupid. Certainly not stupid enough to think he could outdraw a .44 which was already pointed at the bridge of his nose. If he thought there might be a chance that Harry’s bluff was worse than his bite, he still might, have tried something, but there was no mistaking Callahan’s expression. Here was a cop who wasn’t reluctant to use ammunition. Harry would shoot first and fill out the report in triplicate later.
    Slowly, so very slowly, Bender’s fingers released the edge of his shoulder-holstered weapon and let his hand drift down to his side.
    Harry heard Devlin audibly relax by his side. He too had to admit a certain relief inside himself. After all the firefights he had found himself in and all the blood he had been forced to spill, it was nice to think that just once he might be able to bring in all four killers without a shot being fired.
    But as soon as that concept was conceived, the possibility was eliminated. Harry was just about to wade into the quartet, when the Produce Market was shattered from behind. The two cops felt the disruption behind them at the same time they heard the whomping crash.
    Callahan looked over his shoulder to see a big Lincoln Continental plowing into the first two booths at the edge of the marketplace.
    The Ford’s wide shiny grill looked like gritted teeth and its