Part II
A housekeeper showed them all to their rooms. Joss had generously offered to buy them all lunch, so they dressed—casually, Joss insisted—and met back downstairs. They all piled into two large, black sedans, Frick and Frack ahead in one, and the rest of them riding with Jake. Carson grudgingly allowed Joss and Charlie to sit together in the back, likely because of his size rather than any desire to let the two lovebirds be together.
Charlie sat back and enjoyed the smooth ride until Jake started taking a number of abrupt left turns, eventually coming full circle. Charlie's eyes met Jake's in the rear view mirror in recognition. They were being followed.
Carson spoke up from the passenger seat. "What's going on? We just passed this a few minutes ago."
"We're being followed, sir. Blue sedan, three cars back, inside lane."
"Shit," said Carson. "Can you lose him?"
"I can try."
He whipped the car into a hard right turn and sped up, taking a series of quick turns, often doubling back and changing direction. Frick and Frack were long gone, but Jake still couldn't shake the tail. A near collision and a blocked intersection left them with only one available route. Jake swore as he almost ran into Frick and Frack's car, which had been neatly boxed into a wide courtyard filled with large packing crates from the local businesses that backed onto it. They had been effectively herded.
Suddenly, the leading car exploded in a hail of fire and debris. Bullets rained down on the vehicle from all sides. Luckily not from above, thought Charlie. They weren't professionals.
"Get out of the car!" shouted Jake, but he fell a moment later as soon as he opened the door, a bullet lodging in his chest and his head slamming against the car door with a sickening thunk. Charlie lunged over the seat and grabbed the now unconscious man's collar, hauling him back into the car with his good arm. He ripped off Jake's shirt and assessed the damage to the chest while he tore the shirt into strips. He shoved them at Carson and said, "Here, apply steady pressure. Don't stop. And for God's sake, stay down."
"We have to get out of the car," said Carson. "We're sitting ducks."
Charlie quickly took in their situation and had to re-evaluate. Jake was right in his initial assessment to get the hell out, but now that their protection was down, the options had changed. "Right now it's the only protection we've got," he said. "If they wanted to blow us up, we'd be dead already. They lured the other car hear to get rid of the bodyguards."
"Holy shit," said Joss.
Charlie seized Joss' chin between his thumb and forefinger and made her look at him. "They don't want to kill you, they want to kidnap you. Probably hold you for ransom. I'm not going to let that happen, okay?" he said gently but firmly.
"Okay."
"Carson, I need you to spread yourself across the seat like you've been shot. Look harmless. Keep holding pressure." He opened the rear door, shucked his sling and stepped out. A gunman appeared from the other side of the car, his weapon raised as he rapidly approached. Charlie raised his hands in the classic surrender pose, shielding Joss's body with his own while speaking rapid-fire Spanish, pleading for their lives, promising money and power, anything to get the man just a little bit closer…
With a sudden burst of speed, Charlie rammed the gunman's hand to the left while bracing his forearm. The wrist snapped, and the gunman dropped the weapon. Before he could let out a scream, Charlie delivered a crushing blow to the solar plexus before reaching around the man's neck and squeezing, holding the pose for a good thirteen seconds until he felt the body go slack, unconscious. The man would be out for about ten minutes, plus or minus. It would have to be enough time. He just hoped it wasn't minus.
Charlie retrieved the gun and quickly ascertained how many rounds were left before slamming the clip back into place and chambering a round. He made sure the safety was engaged before telling Joss to take over for Carson. Trembling only slightly, she obeyed without a word. Charlie passed the gun to Carson butt first. "You remember how to use one of these?" he asked, expecting an indignant reply.
He smiled grimly when Carson replied that he'd shoot Charlie and they'd find out. That was good. Carson was still his ornery self. He might have been scared and vulnerable, but he kept his cool, he managed to function.
Charlie nodded briskly. "Use it only as a last resort. No other choice, got it?"
"I'll do what I have to, damn it. It'll be a cold day in hell when I take orders from some hotshot mechanic. I was a soldier."
"Good," said Charlie. "Then you know that you only take a life when there is no other option. You also know we only have a limited amount of bullets. I'm not telling what to do because it amuses me, or because I get off on telling you what to do, I'm just telling you what needs to be done."
"You're no goddamn plane mechanic," grumbled Carson.
"Charlie, what the hell is going on?" said Joss. "Just where did you learn to fight like that?"
"A bully taught me," he said with a fierce grin, thinking of the bastards he'd trained with, beating the shit out of him because it was the only way he'd learn, then picking him up and putting him through the whole damn thing again. As much as he'd hated those guys back then, the lessons they'd taught him had saved his life more than once.
"Bullshit."
"Explanations later," he said, before they were peppered with another hail of bullets originating from their left.
Carson raised his gun to return fire, but Charlie grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip. "Save the bullets," he said. "And try not to shoot anyone. I really don't want to explain to the local cops why I shouldn't rot in some goddamn Columbian prison for the next thirty years, if it's all the same to you."
He unholstered Jake's weapon and shoved it in the waistband of his pants. He hopped out of the car, staying low and moving fast, keeping cover behind the crates wherever possible. When he reached the location from which the last shots were fired, he quickly neutralized the threat with a headlock.
Charlie knew there was one more hostile playing possum. He'd distinctly heard two separate reports, one ahead and slightly to the right. He assessed the likely hiding spots and started to narrow the list by process of elimination. He made his way back toward the car, a flash of movement having caught his attention. He saw a scared-looking man with a handgun, too low and out of position to get a clear shot at the car. He was obviously contemplating making a break for it when Charlie attacked. He knocked the gun out of the man's hand, but the man fought back with strength born of desperation. He dove out into the open to retrieve his weapon, but Charlie couldn't let that happen, couldn't take the chance that the guy would get off a lucky shot and hit Joss. He took the man down with several well-placed punches and kicks.
He cursed his luck when he saw the blood seeping into his shirt. Damn. Stitches popped. But then, the hostile was up, holding the gun that had been knocked away. Charlie reached for the weapon in his waistband, knowing he was a second to slow and preparing himself to get shot yet again, his sole consolation that the guy was shaking too bad to hit him anywhere vital. Deliberately, at least.