Page 105 of The Evening Wolves

“Go,” Auggie said.

Nodding, Theo said, “Stay with Tean,” and then he and Jem took off down the side of the hotel. Something was hanging from Jem’s hand, swinging slightly as he ran. Emery hoped it was his imagination, but he thought he saw the grip of a gun under Theo’s coat.

“So much for a fucking plan,” Emery said.

“We’re improvising, big boy,” North said as he inspected the lock. “Otherwise, you’d have walked in there and gotten your pretty head blown open.”

“Big boy?” Auggie said.

“I was more interested in the ‘pretty head’ thing,” Tean admitted.

“I think it’s romantic,” Shaw said, “this whole I’m-perpetually-blue-balled-for-you—”

Shouts broke out near the back of the hotel. Under one of the security lights, a pair of men in dark winter gear were facing off with Jem and Theo. Jem danced back, and something whipped out from his hand. One of the men screamed. Emery expected Theo to go for the gun he was carrying, but instead, Theo lunged forward. He caught the second man by the coat, swung him around, and drove him face-first into the side of the hotel. The metal cladding rang like a gong, and there was a distinct crunch of bone. When Theo released the man, he fell and didn’t get up.

“Good Christ,” Emery said under his breath. “What kind of arm day does he do? I think that poor bastard’s feet left the ground.”

“We’ve got to move,” John said, and he pulled Emery toward the hotel.

Emery caught Shaw’s eye, and Shaw nodded.

It wasn’t much of a backup plan, Emery thought. But it was the best he could do.

They were halfway to the building when he noticed Auggie and Tean running behind them. He waved for them to stay back, but Auggie shook his head. “We’re covering the front.”

Emery had a brief moment to wonder what Tean would do—the vet was extremely intelligent and knew a wide variety of important information about a range of topics, but he lost points in general argumentativeness and assholery, which were slightly more important at a moment like this. Before he could consider the question more, though, he and John reached the front doors to the hotel. They slid open, and a rush of cinnamon-laden air met them, warm enough to make his skin sting after the cold. John slowed to a walk, and Emery copied him as he scanned the lobby.

It was a large, open space done in creams and golds. Long, tufted banquettes and throne-like armchairs lined a pathway to the front desk, while wooden screens separated off additional seating areas and provided the illusion of privacy. A massive clock on one wall filled the silence with its ticking, the only sound until a tiny train appeared, winding a path through tiny snow-covered villages on a ledge above them, the train choo-chooing as it chugged along its tiny tracks. A red-cheeked Santa rode the back of the train, a bag slung over his shoulder. The only other person in the lobby was a skinny fortyish man. His suit looked like a polyester straitjacket, and he had opted for the traditional rat tail, a mark of concierges everywhere. He drooped over the desk, looking half asleep, but at the sound of the doors he straightened and tried for a smile. Then his face changed.

At the same time, the sound of a door opening came, and men’s voices broke the quiet. “—gone out there when I told you to—”

Whatever the man had been about to say, he cut off as he passed one of the privacy screens and caught sight of Emery, John, Auggie, and Tean. He had his head shaved and was dressed in all black, and he had two other men with him. They were dressed in black too. One had a tattoo of an eagle climbing his neck, one wing stretching up across his cheek. The other had the too-thin look of a meth head. They all had guns.

Emery drew his revolver at the same time that the one with the shaved head reached for his gun. John tried to shout, “Get down!” but the other two were going for their guns as well. The Blackhawk bucked in Emery’s hands, and the one with the shaved head went down.

The guy with the eagle tattoo screamed, his gun forgotten now, and spun to run back the way he’d come. The meth head, however, grabbed a strap hanging around his neck and brought up a submachine gun with a half-moon clip. Emery shouted wordlessly and dove to the floor. John landed next to him as bullets stitched the air above them. Foam padding exploded out of the tufted banquette where they’d taken cover, and as bullets hammered into it, the banquette rocked.

As abruptly as it had begun, the gunfire broke off. There was a strange gargling noise, and then the thump of a body hitting the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Tean said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Emery scrambled to see past the banquette. Wires ran from the Taser in Tean’s hands to the meth head, who was still jerking and jumping as the electric current ran through him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tean was saying as he squeezed the trigger—and, consequently, kept the shock going.

Eyes wide, Auggie looked like he was somewhere between a panic attack and an unstoppable case of the giggles. Then his face changed, and he sprinted toward the front desk. For a little guy, he threw on some serious gas. He practically flew across the room, and as he reached the front desk, he jumped and slid across the marble top. It was an annoyingly twentysomething move, flashy and risky and unbearably impressive. When Auggie landed on the other side, he wrenched the phone away from the skinny clerk. He turned and yanked the phone line from the wall.

Tean still looked like he was intent on cooking the meth head from the inside out, so Emery got to his feet. He took Tean gently by the wrists, lowering his hands, and said as calmly as he could, “You did a good job. That was very good. But I need you to relax your finger now, yep, just like that, and now take it off the trigger completely. Excellent.”

“I’m sorry,” Tean whispered. He looked like he was about to cry.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Emery said, squeezing his wrists. “You saved our lives. If he moves again, even a little bit, give him the juice. Got it?”

Tean blinked to clear his eyes, but he nodded.

“Auggie?”

“We’re good here,” Auggie shouted back. “Hey Emery, get this. It’s a landline!”

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