The front doors flew open. Two men dressed in black wearing black balaclavas jumped out. Nobody noticed Marika dart into the darkness.
The two gunmen held Glock 34s in a two-handed grip, legs apart, the weapons pointing at Balthazar and Memed, who were directly in their line of fire. One of the gunmen was tall and rangy, the other shorter and wiry. A third man sat in the driver’s seat.
These were trained professionals, Balthazar instantly understood.
Balthazar looked at the men, then at the car. The blue Mercedes looked familiar. The left-hand headlight was smeared with dirt, the right-hand one shiny and pristine.
The taller gunman stood in front of Balthazar and Memed; the other stood to their side.
‘On your knees and hands up,’ the taller gunman shouted, pointing his weapon at Balthazar.
He and Memed looked at each other.
The Mercedes driver, Balthazar saw, was now reversing down Nemet Alley. He would turn around, he guessed, then reverse back down to be in position for a rapid getaway.
Balthazar took his hand out of his jacket, raised his palms to his shoulders and glanced to his right with his eyes. Memed nodded, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement.
Balthazar instantly pivoted sideways on the ball of his left foot, stepping out of the line of fire.
He lunged at the pistol with his right hand, fired a punch at the side of the gunman’s head with his left.
Balthazar’s fingers flew around the barrel of the Glock. The gunman struggled to free his weapon but Balthazar kept his elbow and right arm locked so he could not take control. His left fist connected with the gunman’s head, but he moved sideways at the last moment and Balthazar only delivered a glancing blow.
Still, it was enough to disorientate him.
Balthazar drew his left arm back again and slapped the gunman on the back of his head with an open palm as hard as he could, his right arm still solid as he gripped the barrel of the Glock, the two men locked in a danse macabre as they struggled for control of the weapon. This time the blow connected, the hard bone of the man’s skull smashing into his hand.
The gunman reeled, dizzy and disorientated.
Balthazar pivoted again, turning on his hip, his left hand shooting forward and gripping the gunman’s wrist.
Now he had the gunman in a two-handed grip, one hand on his wrist and the other still grasping the weapon. Balthazar quickly turned back in, slamming his right knee sideways into the gunman’s groin as he raised their arms even higher. At the same time he twisted the barrel of the gun sideways as hard and fast as he could. The gunman grunted in pain and half fell forward. This time he let go of the weapon.
Balthazar gripped the barrel of the gun in his right hand, holding it like a hammer, pivoted again, twisted his wrist and slammed the base of the stock into the gunman’s solar plexus, the full force of his body behind the blow. The gunman groaned and fell forward, wheezing as he tried to catch his breath.
Balthazar now had control of the weapon. But disarming and disabling an armed assailant demands enormous concentration, courage and determination. There was no chance to check how Memed was doing.
Balthazar stepped back, the Glock 34 in his hand, and looked around.
The second gunman was standing with one leg on Memed’s prone body, pointing his gun at his back. The Bosnian was unconscious and blood was seeping from the side of his head.
‘Nice work, Detective,’ said the tall gunman. ‘Really, very impressive. But as you can see your friend is not nearly as efficient. So now we have a Mexican standoff. You can shoot me, I can shoot Memed. But we are not in the shooting business, at least not tonight.’
‘Then what kind of business are we in?’ asked Balthazar. He felt the anger surge through him as he kept hold of the Glock. His body was pumping adrenalin, sending his senses into sharp focus. He could hear distant traffic, smell exhaust and cigarette smoke on the freezing night air. And where was Marika?
The wiry gunman righted himself, still panting, his face pale but tight with fury, clenched his right fist and stepped towards Balthazar.
The taller man shook his head. ‘Not now.’ The wiry gunman stopped, staring at Balthazar, hatred blazing in his eyes.
The taller gunman continued speaking. ‘Let’s call it the guided discussion business, Detective. Someone wants to talk to you.’
‘Then why don’t they call? I’m sure they can find my number.’
‘They can do that. But they believe that you will need a bit of persuasion to have this discussion. That’s why we are here.’
‘Who?’ demanded Balthazar. ‘Who sent you?’
‘Come with us, and you will find out. You listen and then you can go home. I give you my word.’
‘So what happens next?’ asked Balthazar, still training the Glock 34 on the taller gunman. The other man, he saw, had quickly walked over to the Mercedes, which had reversed down the alley and was now parked nearby with its front facing towards Nemet Street.
The tall gunman said, ‘Next is you are going to lower that gun and hand it back to my colleague, as well as your weapon and your mobile phone.’
‘And what if I don’t?’
‘Then I will shoot your friend in the back. At the same time you will shoot me. Then my friend will shoot you. And everything will get very complicated.’
Balthazar glanced sideways. The wiry gunman was back in his two-handed stance, pointing a Glock at Balthazar again, with a look on his face that said he would be only too happy to use it. He must have picked up another weapon from the car.
The taller gunman continued talking. ‘So you see, you will be dead, I will be dead and your friend here probably will be too, or at least crippled for life.’ He paused. ‘All because you refused to come for a little chat.’
He stepped forward. ‘Look, I don’t want to shoot you, Detective. Or your friend. I don’t want to shoot anyone. It draws so much attention. It causes enormous hassle, especially if a cop is involved. But I will if I have to. So what do you say? Just come for a chat, then you can go home later. Eva neni will feed you some of her famous turos palacsintas. How is she, by the way? She must get lonely at night, an elderly lady living on her own. You’re very important to her.’
‘Is that the best you can do, threatening an old lady?’
The tall gunman shrugged. ‘Who is threatening anybody? It’s just an observation.’ His tone changed, became harder. ‘Now, Detective, much as I am enjoying our conversation, we really need to get a move on. Hand over both weapons to my colleague – yours and ours – and your phone. Give him the one in your hand, and he will remove the other pistol and your phone.’
Balthazar did not believe the gunman for a moment. Whoever had sent these men wanted to know what Balthazar knew. The likelihood of him simply taking a taxi home later was more than remote. For the moment, though, he had little choice. But he could take as much control as possible.
