Page 98 of Lion & Lamb

“Red knows more than he’s telling,” Veena said.

“To be fair, though, we’ve always had a strange dynamic. He enjoys holding things over me. He’s like a creepy uncle or something.”

“And yet you place bets—large amounts of money—with this man.”

“Hey, you heard him. I’m just a small-timer.”

The boardwalk wasn’t entirely empty. There was a man in a clear rain poncho and a fedora lingering by their hotel’s entrance. Taking a break between shifts at the slot machines, most likely.

“Do we take his advice and leave?” Veena asked.

“Hell no,” Cooper said.

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say. So how do we find these mobsters you claim to know?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Cooper saw the man in the clear rain poncho start walking toward them.

“Cooper?”

Something off about his face. Distorted features, like he was a burn victim and had endured months of skin grafts. Or maybe it was the winter sun playing tricks on Cooper’s eyes.

But then Cooper saw the stranger in the clear rain poncho take aim.

There was no time to cry out. He slammed into Veena with his left shoulder as he pulled the Browning out of his jacket pocket. His intention was to push Veena out of harm’s way—push her all the way to friggin’ Ventnor, if he had to—and return fire on this bastard.

The bad news was that Cooper moved too suddenly and powerfully to stop his own momentum. He fell on top of Veena, and his gun went skittering across the boardwalk.

The good news was that this probably saved their lives, because the man in the clear poncho wasn’t anticipating this and fired above their heads. Bullets sparked against the steel railing.

“Shit!” Cooper yelled. They were defenseless and completely out in the open. The only play he had left was to scramble to his feet and charge at the man. Sure, Cooper might take a bullet. He might take multiple bullets. But if that gave Veena time to find cover, it would be worth it.

Cooper tensed, preparing to sprint. But something grabbed the collar of his jacket and jerkedhard. Immediately he was reminded of a seashore attraction: the Hell Hole, a ride where you’re spinning so fast, you almost don’t feel the floor fall away from your feet.

For two seconds, Cooper had no idea how or why he was falling.

When sand exploded in his face, and he saw Veena still clutching the collar of his jacket, he understood.

She had pulled him off the edge of the boardwalk—and out of the line of fire.

Maybe Cooper had saved her life a few moments ago, but she had absolutely just saved his life.

“Thank you,” he said, struggling to catch his breath.

“Thank me later,” Veena said quickly. “Crawl under the boardwalknow.”

They scuttled like crabs under the wooden walkway as bullets chopped into the sand. The killer in the poncho was intent on seeing this job through.

Veena dragged Cooper across the sand, back toward the casino.

“Wait!” Cooper whispered.

He looked up at the underside of the boardwalk. Hazy light poured through the gaps in the planks. Creaks in the wood revealed the gunman’s path. The man knew they were hiding down there, so he was following them, keeping pace with them, lining up his next shot.

There was a peculiar melody cutting through the silence, not far away. The man was whistling a tune. Familiar, yet out of place, given the circumstances. What the hell was it? Cooper wondered.

“Under the Boardwalk”—the Drifters’ hit from 1964. That’s what it was. This scarred-up hit man had a peculiar sense of humor. Cooper Lamb did not want to die under the Atlantic City boardwalk listening to that goddamn song.

He reached for Veena’s arm, but a bullet punched through the boards and cut through the patch of sand between them. The shooter knew exactly where they were hiding!

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