[Quinn 01] - The Cleaner

No one had opened fire on him yet. As he had hoped, the contents of the van acted as a makeshift shield. None of them wanted to be the one who destroyed the product.

Quinn headed toward the rear of the van. He needed to get a count of the boxes, make sure they were all still there.

Behind him, something scraped the ground. As he turned he saw a man racing toward him. It was one of the two thugs who had been standing outside. In a single motion, Quinn jumped to his right and unloaded a short burst from the Uzi, before landing hard on the sidewalk.

The man was barely five feet away when the bullets smashed into his chest, whipping him around and spinning him to the ground.

'Give it up. You're not getting out of here,' someone yelled from across the street.

A bullet flew by Quinn, just missing his shoulder. Someone had gotten smart and was shooting under the van. Quinn, ignoring the pain in his side from his fall, pushed himself off the ground and took two quick steps to his left, putting the van's rear wheel between him and Borko's men. The hands-free earpiece to his phone was dangling over his shoulder. He placed it back in his ear.

'Quinn? Are you there?' Orlando asked. 'Quinn?'

'I'm here. I'm okay,' Quinn said.

'We're two blocks away,' Orlando said. 'What's your situation?'

'There are at least six men, probably seven, on the north side of the street.' Quinn's voice was calm. 'They were in a couple of sedans, a BMW and a Mercedes. Don't know if they're still in them now. I'm out of the car, but I've got the van between us. I need you to take those guys out.'

'We're on it,' Orlando said.

'Is that you, Mr. Quinn?' Another voice called to him from across the street. 'You come out now and I'll make sure nothing too bad happens.' A pause. 'Mr. Quinn? You really think you are going to be able to stop this? If you do, you are wrong. You do not start playing smart, in a couple of minutes you are going to be dead.'

Quinn had been silently counting the seconds in his mind. Orlando and Nate should have been here by now. What the hell was

Orlando's voice came over the receiver. 'Cover your ears and duck.' Quinn immediately curled into a ball, a hand squeezed tightly over each ear.

For a second there was nothing. Then suddenly the air was filled with a loud whomp. Quinn could feel his whole body pulse inward, his breath nearly knocked out of him. Thankfully the van protected him from the brunt of the concussion grenade.

'Are you all right?' Orlando asked, still on the phone. Quinn uncurled himself and stood up. 'I think so. Did it work?' 'Yeah,' Orlando said. 'There were actually eight

of them. But they're all sleeping now. Some more permanently than others.' Orlando suddenly appeared from around the side of the van, and jogged over to Quinn.

'It was stronger than I expected,' Orlando said.

'Where's Nate?'

'Still in the car.'

'Count the boxes,' Quinn said, nodding toward the back of the van. 'I'm going to see if this thing will still start.'

'Okay.'

Quinn stopped first at the Porsche and retrieved his backpack. At the cab of the van, Quinn threw his stuff inside, then climbed in. It took him less than thirty seconds to find the right wires to hotwire the vehicle. As he touched them together the engine roared to life.

In the distance, Quinn could hear sirens. They weren't nearly as far away as he would have liked. Soon the street was going to be flooded with police.

'I've got to go,' he yelled toward the back of the van. 'Are you done?'

'They're all here,' Orlando answered.

'Okay,' Quinn said. 'We're back on plan. I'll take the van. You guys run point.'

Something pinged off the hood of the van. Quinn looked out the windshield. Someone was standing at the end of the block pointing a gun at the van. Quinn shifted into drive and hit the gas.

'I'm still in here!' Orlando shouted.

'Hang on,' Quinn yelled back.

They raced down the street. Quinn had no choice but to go in the direction of the man with the gun.

Bullets kept coming, but none had yet to pierce the windshield. The shooter was obviously torn between stopping the van and not putting the cargo in danger. As Quinn got closer he ducked below the dash, keeping the accelerator pressed to the floor.

Another ping, this time off the passenger-side door, followed quickly by two more. Then there was the squeal of brakes and, very near, the wail of a siren.

Quinn looked up. They had passed the building and were in the intersection just beyond. Coming at them from the side was a cop on a motorcycle. The driver had apparently not anticipated the appearance of the van, and was coming at them too fast. At the last second, he turned to the left, laying his bike down in a storm of sparks and screeching metal. The cop rolled off his bike just before it smashed into a light pole, silencing the siren.