Chapter 4
"Bam!"
I cringe as the noise shoots through the apartment and for a moment I can't distinguish a single sound from the ringing in my ears.
The bullet dashes through the wall just grazing Phillips curls. This guy either has perfect aim-or none at all. The vibrations send an old picture frame crashing to the ground by my feet. I back further under the table and my sweaty hands attempt to get a grip around my gun.
"Get your hands where I can see them. Now!" Wyle yells.
Phillip lifts his arms in defeat and Wyle walks toward him. Wyle reaches for Phillip and begins to search for a weapon Phillip should have in his hand by now. Wyle smirks as he pulls out Phillip's gun.
"That's what I thought." Wyle says.
Wyle clicks the two weapons and shoves one in each of Phillip's ears.
"Who sent you here?" he says so quietly it's almost a whisper.
Phillip keeps his head up and the doctor pushes the guns further into him. I can barely hear above the sound of my pounding heart. I cover my mouth, a weak attempt at hiding the noise of my constant panting.
"Who sent you here!?" he repeats.
Wyle steps closer to Phillip, their heads just centimeters apart.
"Who sent you here to kill me!?"
Phillip gives a faint smile, "If we wanted you dead, you'd be dead."
Phillip slams his head forward sending Wyle to the ground. Wyle reaches for the bleeding gash on his forehead. He drops the two guns and another bullet rings through the apartment.
I pull out my weapon and turn the corner. I force my gun against his bloody, gray hair and command him to the ground. Phillip ties his arms behind his back and I cover his mouth with masking tape. Phillip takes back his gun and points it at Wyle.
He tosses me the keys, "Bring the car to the side of the building."
"What?!" I say, "That's not the plan!"
"Just do it!"
"We take him down the escape. It's the best way."
"I can't get down the escape!"
My eyes follow his hand as he reaches for his pant leg. As he presses the cloth against his ankle it quickly changes a bright shade of red.
The second bullet didn't just hit the wall. Instead of backing toward the window I find myself kneeling beside him.
"Are you alright?" I say.
I press my hand on his wound and watch as my hands turn the same shade of red. His face is pale—so pale-and I can see beads of sweat dripping down his face.
"I'll get you something to wrap it with." I say.
"I'm fine! Go!" he says.
"But you're…"
"Bring it to the side door and wait for us. Go!"
I wipe my hands on my pants and back away. I follow our path down the fire escape and drop to the ground. I keep the car lights off and turn the small, dark corner to the workman's entrance to the building.
There's no way he can get Wyle down by himself-not with that leg, and not without being seen.
I roll down the window and let the contents of my dinner fall to the ground. I wipe my face with my sleeve and stare at the door.
Minutes go by and there is still no sign of them. I tap against the steering wheel and my eyes remain fixated on the old door.
"Come on," I whisper.
The knob slowly turns and two dark shadows appear. Phillip has his gun against Wyle's back I get out of the front seat and walk toward Phillip.
"Trunk?" I say.
"Back seat." He responds. "I promised if he kept quiet."
I swing open the back door and we force him inside.
We take our seats and Phillip pulls a small syringe from the glove compartment. Wyle's out the moment the needle hits his arm. His head is bent completely forward against his check.
"Well that can't be a very cozy way for our poor guest to sleep." He says.
He smiles at me and I start the car. Once we hit the highway Phillip pulls off his shirt revealing a site I hadn't seen in weeks. He takes his top and wraps it around his bleeding ankle.
"That should hold it till we get to the drop site." He says
I try to keep my eyes from drifting from the road. I forgot how fit he was-His solid six-pack rising with every breath. American men just aren't built like ours.
I give him a little smile, "If you bleed through it, you can always take off your pants too."