Читать книгу Chicago Vendetta - Don Pendleton - Страница 6

Mack Bolan triggered the first volley on the run as he got behind the late-model Dodge. All four rounds nearly decapitated his target. The torso, topped by a now mangled head, wandered drunkenly for a moment before crumpling to the grimy pavement.

One of the remaining targets spun on his heel and attempted an undignified retreat, but Johnny took him down. Three 9 mm Parabellum rounds left the younger Bolan’s P-320 pistol, punching into the running man’s back.

The Executioner got the last hardman with a rising burst that stitched the enemy hard case from crotch to sternum. Red holes opened up at the front and a few blew plum-sized holes out his back.

Bolan kept one eye on the entrance to the alleyway while engaging his brother with a strong handshake. He could tell Johnny wanted to throw his arms around him, and Bolan visibly fought the urge to reciprocate. The only way they could protect each other was by maintaining the anonymity of their relationship.

“Good to see you,” Johnny said with a steady grin.

“Likewise.”