PART ONE: The Shadow Before
Chapter Eight: The Show Must Go On
By the time I managed to react the three thugs had kicked open the door and were piling into the lobby, automatics held high. The adrenaline was kicking in fast. Fight or fly. Fight or fly.
"Mona, run!" I cried out, spinning around.
As the hail of bullets tore into the old ornate wood and brass work surrounding the entrance to the nearest auditorium, something told me I'd made the right decision. I ducked through the heavy doors, just catching Mona as she ran up the aisle.
"No!" I snapped, clutching her wrist. "This way!"
She swayed slightly on her feet, but nodded. Her wrist seemed too skinny… and too cold. Far too cold. Damn it, I thought, stay with me, Mona. Just get us through this, and stay with me.
I dragged her to a staircase against the far wall. The auditorium seemed vast – a dark cave, topped by high awnings that appeared to stretch up forever into the cobweb-blanketed shadows. The seats, sorry excuses of torn fabric and fluff, were innumerable, and in the darkness it wasn't too hard to imagine the ghosts of those who had sat here seventy years ago – the distant laughter of those trying to shake the blues of the Depression. I shuddered and ran for the staircase.
As we began to scale the rickety wooden staircase, I prayed that it would hold us. The last thing we needed now was a broken leg. Halfway up, we heard them, and I stopped dead, squeezing Mona so hard that she nearly cried out. She rested against the wall and, one hand clutching her head, listened.
"We've got 'em pinned down," a familiar voice said, into what appeared to be a mobile phone. "In the old theatre. Near Memorial Park. Could do with some backup. In…" He paused, and we heard soft footsteps as he backtracked. "Theatre Three. The big one. Yeah, send as many as you can. They're slippery bastards."
The leader slammed his phone shut and pocketed it. In the shadows I could make out the shape of the blonde goon, swiftly inspecting every row and cranny in the darkness. The leader stepped out and watched the exit. I wondered, with growing dread, as to what had become of the third thug.
"Come on," I whispered. "Let's move."
Mona nodded, stepped forward, and fell into my arms. She was ice cold.
"Max," she croaked. "I don't think I can do this."
"Just up this staircase, Mona," I said, helping her up. "If we can just get up here, maybe we can hold them off and I can call for help."
She nodded. I helped her up.
As we clambered up on to the balcony, a run-down alcove populated by a few threadbare seats, the dim ceiling lights began to flicker into life. It happened slowly, the lights warming themselves up after years of abandonment. But to my pounding, terrified heart, it seemed to happen in a flash, and suddenly we were exposed. The shadows retreated. And everything was visible – the auditorium, in all its run-down glory, suddenly shrunk in size. Cleaner's lights, I thought grimly. Been a while since they had to clean this place.
Me and Mona crept between the seats and pressed up against a flat chair. I could feel Mona's heart throbbing in my hands. Her eyes darted in all directions. I could feel myself reaching for my gun. Her life is in your hands, Max, don't screw it up.
Down below I could hear footsteps. "Got 'em working again, boss," a voice called from the entranceway. "Surprised they left all the fuses in, but there they were, big as damn it."
The leader grunted. "I'll let the boss know. They won't be able to hide now. Stay on the door." He took a few steps forward and raised his voice a little. "Any luck, Joey?"
"Looks empty," the blonde goon called back. "Gonna sweep the rows again, though, now that I got this light. Does one of you want to check out that staircase over there?"
A jagged bolt of fear shot straight into my heart, like an adrenaline pump.
"I got it," the leader replied. I could hear his footsteps now, getting closer, passing just beneath the balcony… and then climbing up the first steps. That tell-tale creak, getting louder. Mona began to shake.
"Stay down, Mona," I whispered. "Stay down. Keep covered."
I moved to a crouched standing position, creeping to the edge of the row. Waiting with growing horror for that blonde crew cut to pop into view. Or something else. The muzzle of a semi-automatic, perhaps.
There was a loud crash. I leapt and fell back against the chairs, the gun almost clattering out of my hand, sucking in a huge breath in fear of it being my last. The creeping stopped. Reversed. Grew quieter. Other faces, unfamiliar.
"Someone called for reinforcements?" a man growled below.
"Not if it's going to be you, Porky," the leader retorted, chuckling lightly to himself. There was light, frightened laughter. Far too many voices. Far too many men. All probably armed. Outgunned. Surrounded. I fumbled for the painkillers and began to wish I had a shot of whisky close to hand.
"How's the situation?" the man addressed as Porky asked, sounding gruff once more.
"Johnnie Chappell's been on the door for the past few minutes, I was keeping an eye on it before then. No-one's been out through any of the exits. They're somewhere in this room. We need to spread and find them." Footsteps. Moving. The leader's voice, slightly louder. "Make sure soon as you see them, you pump them full of bullets. They're slippery bastards, and they won't think nothing of popping a few in your face."
"Just cause they let you slip, hey, O'Neil?" Porky sniggered.
The creak on the stairs again. I slunk backwards, fighting for shade. I slipped the safety off the gun.
"I'm checking out the balcony," the leader called, his voice sounding horribly close. At the foot of the stairs, and drawing closer. He muttered, "Cocky bastard," under his breath. Then he climbed, a little faster this time, the gaps between the creaks shorter, swifter. Louder.
"You know the boss is coming down, don't you, O'Neil?" Porky continued.
O'Neil stopped with a sigh halfway up the steps, making the mistake that would end his life. I placed his position, roughly a few steps from sliding into my vision – into the range of my gun. The question, however, was whether or not I was willing to make that decision, now that god alone knew how many were down there. All fully armed. One gun shot and they'd all be on me. All I had on my side was the narrow staircase, and the clip.
"Alright," O'Neil cried out, his voice echoing lightly on the small stairs. "We'll bring them their heads as a welcoming gift."
Porky found this very amusing. His hoarse laughter, harsh wheezing expletives that echoed around the decaying auditorium, rang out briefly and then O'Neil was scaling the stairs again.
One step.
Two step.
The familiar blonde haircut flashed into view. His eyes caught mine. He opened his mouth to cry out, one hand rushing to his gun. Fast reflexes. Not fast enough. I pulled the trigger.
The top quarter of his head exploded in a cloud of red mist and he fell backwards, rolling down the wooden staircase and doubtless coming to rest on the dusty wooden floor below. Around me the shot rang out, bouncing and echoing back and forth off the walls like a horrible never-ending symphony of damnation.
"O'Neil," I heard Porky gasp, and then blind panic and realisation grappled wildly in his voice. "THERE! UP THERE! THE BALCONY! GO! GO!"
Footsteps, thudding on the dusty wood. Floorboards creaking angrily in resistance to this sudden onslaught after years of shady retirement. A whole host of creaks. I steadied the gun in my hand, waiting for the inevitable heads to appear.
Instead, the creaks ended, there were a few hushed mumblings, and then I heard Porky say, "This'll flush them out."
There was a soft, inconsequential jingle, like a milk bottle falling off a front step. I watched with dawning horror as the grenade rolled gently along the balcony towards me. No pin. It sat there, not in any way threatening, but suddenly I realised I was trapped, and it was all over. Footsteps fleeing back down the stairs.
I backed off, trying to call out to Mona. My mouth felt like someone had jammed cotton into it.
Then there was a flash of heat, a brief rain of debris, and the floor was falling away beneath me in a brief blaze.
To be continued…