There was no sign of Andre or Drakov or the other man. But Manelli, sitting at his table in the corner, looked up and saw him, spotted the switchblade in his hand, quickly tapped Vincent on the shoulder and pointed at Lucas. Vincent and the other man quickly got up and started coming toward Lucas, reaching inside their coats. Lucas didn’t think that they were reaching for cigars. He took the rolled cables and slung them hard at the man furthest away from him. Instinctively, the man threw his hands up to protect his face. The cables struck him and he staggered back against the balcony railing, lost his balance, and the wailing of the electric guitars drowned out his scream as he went over.
Lucas didn’t stop. He continued moving forward fast after he threw the cables and just as Vincent cleared leather with his big, black Beretta, Lucas was on him, grabbing his gun hand with his left hand and with his right hand, driving the knife deep into his solar plexus and up underneath his ribs.
Vincent’s breath hissed out of him and his eyes opened wide in shock, as if he was unable to believe that someone with a knife had actually kept coming when he had a gun. Then he was collapsing to the floor and Lucas had the gun. Manelli was coming up out of his chair, the girl beside him was screaming, the sound drowned out by the band, and then her scream suddenly became sharply audible as the band stopped, having seen the first gunman fall from the balcony. There were more screams coming from downstairs now and Manelli was reaching inside his coat. Lucas raised the Beretta and shot him in the chest.
And then all hell broke loose.
The yellow cab pulled up in front of the entrance to Il Paradiso, and the moment they stepped out, the terrified driver mashed the pedal to the floor and peeled out into traffic, fishtailing and nearly causing a collision between two other cars, whose drivers blew their horns in loud, prolonged blasts of protest.
“Nervous fella,” said Hunter. “He didn’t even wait to collect his fare.”
People were starting to queue up outside the club, waiting for the doors to open. Their costumes ranged from the casual to the outrageous. Spikey hair in shades of blue and purple, studded and fringed leather, cheeks dusted with glitter, young men wearing eyeshadow and black lipstick, girls with their heads shaved bald. A sign advertised that a band named Flesh was playing there that night.
Hunter glanced at the kids on line, then at Gulliver’s green transit fatigues, the black base fatigues that Delaney was wearing, the holstered laser on Delaney’s belt and the plasma pistol strapped to his upper thigh.
“Think we’re too noticeable?” he said.
Darkness suddenly appeared beside them.
“Unless you expect me to take care of everything for you, you’d better get in there right now,” he said. .
“Wow!” shouted a longhaired young man in a headband, faded jeans and a camo fatigue jacket festooned with military pins and insignia. He pointed at Darkness, standing there and flickering like a ghost on a television screen. “Check him out!”
A gum-popping black girl in spike heeled boots and Dan-skins nudged Delaney with her hip. “Yo, Rambo,” she said, touching her tongue to her upper lip, “can I play with your big gun?”
“Come on,” Delaney said, grabbing th
e bewildered Gulliver’s arm and pulling him along toward the entrance to the club.
“We’ll take a raincheck, honey,” Hunter said to the black girl, then hurried after Delaney.
Darkness had disappeared again and the bewildered young longhair in the camo jacket kept pointing at the spot where he had stood and insisting to his friends on line, “He was right there, man! Seriously. Then he beamed out, just like on Star Trek!”
Two large club employees who looked like bikers stood at the door. They saw Delaney and Gulliver coming, looked at each other and shook their heads.
“Christ, look at this,” one of them said. “It’s Chuck Norris and Buckaroo Banzai. “
“Awright, hold it right there!” the other one said, pointing at them. “Look, you can’t bring those sci-fi toys in here, Mac, somebody might think that it’s a real—”
Delaney unholstered his laser and shot a beam straight at the sidewalk between the biker’s legs.
“Ho-ly Shit!”
The biker leaped backwards and as Delaney continued resolutely toward the door, the other one swallowed hard and hastily opened it for him. The sound of the band making its final sound check came through and the kids on line shouted gleefully and started to push through after them. As Delaney, Gulliver and Hunter pushed past a startled cashier, a body fell from the balcony and landed on the dance floor. The band fumbled to a stop and somebody screamed.
Above them, on the balcony floor, someone fired a shot. And almost simultaneously, there was the unmistakable whump of a plasma blast. Holding his laser pistol in one hand and the leather satchel in the other, Delaney ran for the stairs.
“Hold it!” gasped the white-faced bouncer, hunched over and clutching his groin.
Delaney slammed into him with his shoulder and sent him crashing to the floor, not even slowing down as he ran up the stairs.
“Unnnh!” groaned the bouncer, huddling on the floor. “That’s it. I quit!”
Steiger hit the floor and rolled just as Andre struck Drakov. Drakov’s shot slammed into the chronoplate, destroying it. He kicked Andre away savagely and raised his pistol once again.
Steiger fired.
Drakov threw himself to one side as the plasma blast struck the door and burned right through it, but before Steiger could fire again from his position on the floor, filament-thin laser beams came lancing down at him, striking him in the shoulder. grazing his left ear, hitting his leg and narrowly missing his groin. He cried out with pain and looked up, seeing the flock of lilliputians circling above him like tiny vultures.