Read Repairman Jack [05]-Hosts for Free Online Page A

chance you will—you're a goner because this Colin Ferguson wannabe's got a pair of nines and he's going to blow you away. So if you're smart you do what our guy does: you go for an arm and—"
    "Seems low percentage to me. I'd go for center of mass."
    "Fine—unless he's wearing a vest. And witnesses say the crazy was turned sideways when he took the first hit. An arm's bigger than a head, and even a miss has got a good chance at the torso, vested or not. So our guy goes for an arm and makes the shot. Now there's one less gun to deal with, and he's also a few steps closer. So now it's easier to take out the other arm."
    "Sounds like he's been trained."
    "Damn straight. Taking his brass with him says he's a pro. But trained by who? With both arms messed up, the crazy wasn't going to do any more shooting. Could've left him like that. But he finished him off."
    "But good."
    "Probably didn't want to hear about 'yellow rage' for the next two years."
    "Like I said—a fucking execution."
    "You got complaints about that, McCann?"
    "Maybe. Maybe I don't like executioners running around loose."
    "Which is probably just why he took off. He—"
    The black plainclothesman speaking caught sight of Sandy over the big guy's shoulder and pointed at him. " You are in a restricted area."
    "Press," Sandy forced himself to exclaim, holding up his card.
    Suddenly he found himself the object of an array of outraged expressions.
    "How the hell—?"
    "And an eyewitness," he quickly added.
    That mollified them somewhat, until the big detective, the one they'd called McCann, florid faced with thinning gray brush-cut hair, looking a little like Brian Dennehy, stepped in for a closer look at his press card. His breath reeked of a recent cigar.
    " The Light ? Christ, he's from the fucking Light! Aliens and pierced eyeballs! Oh, shit, are you guys gonna have a ball with this!"
    "That was the old days. We're different now."
    It was true. The new owner had moved The Light away from the shock-schlock format that had made it notorious decades ago—every issue with an eye injury on page three, with photo if possible, and an alien story on page five—into a kinder, gentler scandal sheet, concentrating on celebrity foibles.
    "Yeah? I wouldn't know."
    "Of course not," Sandy said, feeling braver now. "Nobody but nobody reads The Light . Yet somehow the issues keep disappearing from the newsstands."
    "Probably those aliens," McCann said. "Tell me, did your journalist's powers of observation happen to register a description of the second shooter's face?"
    Sandy had already settled on how to play this. He shook his head. "No. But I know someone who did."
    He was suddenly the center of attention, all four of the cops who- ing like a chorus of owls.
    Sandy pointed to the killer. "Him."
    "A wise-ass," McCann said. "Just what we need." He gave Sandy a dismissive wave. "Get back on the other side of the tape with the other useless witnesses."
    Sandy managed not to move. He couldn't let this happen. What could he say? One of his therapist's remarks about every relationship being a negotiation of sorts filtered back to him. Negotiate… what did he have to offer?
    The gun. They'd been talking about the gun, wondering what kind, and Sandy'd had the best look at it.
    "Okay," Sandy said, turning and staring to move away. "I came over here because I got a good look at his gun. But if you're not interested—"
    "Hold it," said McCann. "You better not be playing any games here, newsboy, or you're gonna find your ass in a sling."
    Again he had their attention. Now he had to play this just right. Negotiate. Give them something they needed, something real, and in return get to hang here where the action was. But he sensed that a direct quid-pro-quo offer would only land him in hot water. Damn, he wished he had more experience at this.
    Okay, just wing it and hope they're grateful.
    "He pulled it out of an ankle holster."
    The detectives glanced at each other. The black one