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Death of a Pusher — Richard Deming
One surprise deserves another.
“Think you'll need any help, Sergeant?” Lieutenant Wynn asked Matt Rudd.
“I don't think so, sir,” Rudd said.
“Kuzniki is a dangerous, but he doesn't know I'm here.”
“O.K.,” Wynn said. “I'm going to lunch.”
With his back to the door, Rudd hadn't seen Kuzniki enter the hotel lobby. As he turned around, Kuzniki's hand darted to a shoulder holster and he swept out a .38 automatic. Rudd froze in position, then slowly raised his hands.
“You must be slowing down, Matt,” Kuzniki said. “First time I've been able to take you.”
“It'll be the last, too,” Rudd said angrily.
“That's right, Matt -- I'll see to that.”
“Think you'll need any help, Sergeant?” Lieutenant Wynn asked Matt Rudd.
“I don't think so, sir,” Rudd said.
“Kuzniki is a dangerous, but he doesn't know I'm here.”
“O.K.,” Wynn said. “I'm going to lunch.”
With his back to the door, Rudd hadn't seen Kuzniki enter the hotel lobby. As he turned around, Kuzniki's hand darted to a shoulder holster and he swept out a .38 automatic. Rudd froze in position, then slowly raised his hands.
“You must be slowing down, Matt,” Kuzniki said. “First time I've been able to take you.”
“It'll be the last, too,” Rudd said angrily.
“That's right, Matt -- I'll see to that.”
