There were no sirens. Smecker latched onto that fact as soon as he regained consciousness. If there were no sirens, he wasn't totally fucked yet. He wasn't going to be found dead in drag in a house full of wise guys, and he might not be found alive that way, either.
He started to get up off the floor, but a stab of dizziness stopped him. Take it slowly. First, take off the high heels. If he was going to get out of here without being seen, he wasn't going to do it trying to run in heels with his head spinning. And if he was seen, it wasn't going to be falling down in them. For a woman, that would be embarrassing. For a man, it would require killing witnesses.
His gun was still where he had dropped it. There must not have been anybody left to use it- or at least, one guy still standing and nobody left to use it on. Gun in one hand, shoes in the other, he forced himself to his feet.
None of the dead men were done right.
He had taken out two of them. But the corpse in front of him didn't have coins on his eyes. He was betting that specialist had done that one, and knocked him out- the brothers had used a stun gun on a woman at one scene; if he had fooled them he would probably have gotten that, not a whack on the head.
And that meant he had no reason to think they had gotten away.
Was there any chance they were still there and still alive? How much longer would it be until he heard sirens? If he made it out of here before the uniforms arrived, it wouldn't be much longer until he got a phone call. And not too long after that, he was going to be expected to explain what had happened here, without it involving himself….