Читать книгу Death Dealers - Don Pendleton - Страница 3

LYONS PUMPED A SINGLE ROUND INTO THE FALLEN ATTACKER’S SKULL

The man at the end of the hallway paused and turned at the sound of the finishing shot. He had one more round in his big revolver, and he raised it toward Lyons. The Ironman wasn’t risking the spread of buckshot reaching him. He pumped three rounds into the outlaw biker, catching him in the upper chest.

The gunman’s revolver blasted a storm of lead into the ceiling above him as he crashed backward, ribs broken, lungs torn apart by the fat 230-grain mushrooms of lead and copper.

Lyons swept closer, his Colt leveled at the man’s head.

In an instant, guards were running everywhere. Lyons lowered the pistol, muzzle aimed at the carpet. The uniformed men regarded him cautiously, then looked at the body on the ground.

“Try not to get any more blood on the walls,” one guard grumbled. “We’ll send up someone from maintenance to fix whatever they shot up.”

Lyons took a deep breath, then nodded.

Their first morning at the weapons auction, and someone had already tried to kill him.