Excerpt of Mann of War by John Brantingham

“You have one more chance,” the man in black said. He pulled an automatic out of his waistband and pointed it at the white-haired man. The white-haired man laughed. “You’re not going to let me live.” “That’s not what I was talking about. Let me put it another way. Your wife and your daughter have one more chance.” “You want to know where the money is?” “Of course I want to know where it is.” “We can make a deal, but the deal is that I get to live.” The man in black shook his head. “Nah,” he said. Southern accent. That’s right, Georgia or something, Robert thought. It didn’t matter, but the man was from the South. “I’m not authorized to make that deal.” “What?” “They said that I could make one deal with you. If you want your wife and daughter to be safe, you tell me where the money is.” The white-haired man laughed. “You think I’m stupid. You can make any deal you want to. You go to Mr. Jordan right now and tell him what the deal is. He can have it all back.” “I don’t know Mr. Jordan. I’ve never met him.” The man in black fired a shot into the white-haired man’s leg. The single blast echoed across the desert. The white-haired man screamed, and Robert jumped a little. It’d been a long time since he heard a bullet fired at someone. Gunfire for real was different than gunfire on the range. Louder. The man in black cocked his head and looked in Robert’s direction. He’d seen Robert move. He knew something was out there. He stared almost directly at the bush Robert was hiding behind. Probably trying to decide if it was a person or a coyote. Robert could almost see the question in the man’s eyes, almost see him wondering if there could be a man out here. Why would anyone be back there? Still, as soon as he killed the white-haired man, he’d probably fire a few shots in Robert’s direction. Meanwhile the white-haired man screamed. Probably a slug had shattered his femur, maybe it had ruptured the femoral artery too. If so, there was no way out of this for the old guy. Not that he’d had a chance to begin with. Robert wasn’t here to save him. “You know how many accountants I’ve shot in the head out here?” The man looked up at the sky to calculate. “I’m not sure, but it’s a lot.” The accountant kept screaming. “You guys all think you’re the first to do this, but it seems to me that disappearing accountants is just part of the cost of doing business. If I was Jordan, I’d call it a business expense and be done with it. I’d shoot me an accountant every year or so before the guy got the idea to skim a little off the top.” The accountant had stopped screaming now. He just breathed, listened. “And why is it that you guys never come up with anything better than just skimming a little off the top. Five million ways to make your fortune, and you all do the same thing.” Another blast from the gun, this one catching the accountant in the shoulder. More screaming and damn it, Robert had flinched again. This time, the killer’s eyes were on Robert’s bush. Casually enough, he turned back to the accountant. Nothing anyone could do to save the accountant now. But that shot wasn’t meant for the accountant. The shooter wanted to see if anything in the bush moved. Robert was sure of that. He raised the AK-47 to his shoulder slowly, smoothly. He had the man’s stomach in his sights. Never bother with the head. Not with a weapon like this. The man would be just as dead either way and the stomach was an easier shot. “You’re dead. You want to save your wife and daughter?” the man said. He wasn’t supposed to shoot the man in black until the accountant was dead. “I want to live,” the man said. Another shot. This time Robert didn’t flinch at all. Maybe he should have. A coyote would have. “The next one’s in your head whether you tell me or not. You want your daughter to live?” Waiting was stupid. He was going to shoot the accountant and then shoot Robert. It was easy. It was obvious. “It’s in a numbered account. I know that. Just tell me the number.” The man in black raised his automatic level with the accountant’s head. He was going to pull the trigger. Robert had an image of the man in black firing the weapon once and spinning and shooting him. No way. Not today. Robert pulled the trigger, spraying the area with what, ten bullets? Fifteen? In the slow motion that came with adrenalin, Robert watched the man in black trying to dodge the bullets. He moved at the first sound of the bullet, danced out of the area in a smooth twisting dive. He was graceful like a ballet dancer or running back as he spun back behind his own bush. He’d been in Robert’s sights. He couldn’t have missed, could he? He shot an AK-47 aimed directly at the man in black. He couldn’t have missed. Anyone could miss.