Back in the room, Andy was paralyzed, staring at a side view of Guillermo in the hall, framed by the open door. Blasting away toward Serge and Coleman.

Andy surprised himself with what he did next. Almost like an out-of-body experience, looking down from the ceiling observing someone else. He dove for the bed, grabbed Ramirez’s nine-millimeter Glock and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

He turned the gun over and back in confusion. TV cop shows ran through his head. “Don’t they pull some kind of slide thing to load a bullet?”

Guillermo emptied his gun again. The ejected clip bounced on the carpet as another magazine slammed home.

Andy watched out the door as Guillermo pulled a slide thing. He looked down at his own gun and followed the example.

“He’s changing out clips,” Serge told Coleman. “Now’s our chance!” Serge reached around the corner. A bullet whistled by before he could get off a round. He jumped back. “Faster than I thought.”

Guillermo heard sirens coming up A1A. Then he heard something slam into the wall behind his neck. He looked at the bullet hole, then turned quickly to trace the line of fire to its source: an open-mouthed Andy, stunned that the gun in his hand had actually gone off.

He raised his pistol toward the boy. A bullet ripped into Guiller-mo’s thigh from Serge’s direction.

“Son of a bitch!”

“Is he still up?” asked Coleman.

“Guy’s like a Frankenstein.”

Andy fired again, but Guillermo had disappeared from the doorway, racing toward Serge’s position.

Serge peeked around the corner. “Shit. Run!”

They took off down the second corridor, Serge again shooting wildly behind them.

Guillermo reached the corner in full psychopathic bloom. He fired over and over at the retreating pair, but handgun accuracy delivers rapidly diminishing returns over distance. A hail of bullets from both directions passed each other in the middle of the hall and hit nothing but walls and fire extinguishers.

At the other end of the hall a man in a fedora rounded the corner. One of Guillermo’s last bullets found a target. Mahoney went down, grabbing his calf.

Serge heard the gunfire end. “Why’s he stopping?”

Guillermo turned in the middle of the hall and reversed field.

“He’s going back for the boys!” Serge crouched for a steady shot.

Click.

“I’m out!”

“Serge!”

He turned.

“Mahoney, what are you doing down there?”

“Catch!”

Serge grabbed a.38 police special out of the air and sprinted back toward the room, where Andy was slapping the side of his gun. Jammed. Actually he’d just accidentally hit the safety. He heard something in the hall and looked up. Guillermo grinned wickedly and took aim. “Good night.” He pulled the trigger.

A ceiling lamp shattered. Andy covered his head as glass rained. Guillermo continued twirling in the hall from Serge’s well-timed slug in his unwounded arm, which had sent Guillermo’s last shot high into the lighting fixture.

“Motherfuck!”

Louder sirens. Then they stopped. Which meant they were here.

Guillermo had never taken such a beating before. He emptied his gun in Serge’s direction and limped away for the fire escape.

“Coleman! He left!” Serge ran to the doorway. “Let’s go, kids.”

They all fled through the corridor where Mahoney had been hit.

“You going to be okay?” asked Serge.

“Don’t move,” said Mahoney.

“What are you doing?”

“Guillermo’s gone now, and the kids are safe.” Mahoney aimed his backup piece. “You’re under arrest.”

“That’s fair. I know our rules, but…”-he gestured with an upturned palm at two peach-faced students-“… They’re not safe. Guillermo and Madre are still out there, and who knows who else they have inside. You know I’m their best bet. Another time?”

Mahoney kept steady aim, then lowered the gun. “Get the hell out of my sight.”

The entire building had heard the gunfire. Nine-one-one operators and the hotel’s front desk became swamped with freaked-out calls that placed the shooting on almost every floor. First officers at the scene were spread thin as they responded to a dozen false locations.

Guillermo grabbed a bath towel from a cleaning cart and wrapped it around his shoulders-one of the least noticeable people as he casually escaped out the pool deck in a multi-directional stampede of screaming sunbathers.

Serge’s group caught a break with the service elevator. They ran into the kitchen.

Chefs had armed themselves with their largest carving knives. “What the hell are you guys doing in here?”

Serge, still running, pointed behind him. “Someone’s shooting!”

The trio pushed open a steel door to the loading dock with a box compactor and crates of rotten lettuce.

“What now?” asked Andy.

Serge looked up the alley toward the front of the hotel and the back edge of a growing throng of onlookers.

“If we just can get into that crowd…”

More and more squad cars screamed into the parking lot.

The quartet watched from the rear of the mob, then slowly retreated across the street.

Back up in the blood-soaked room, two hands grabbed a briefcase.

BAHIA CABANA

City and Country were bored, starved and car-less.

They had clicked the remote through all TV channels ten times.

Serge ran into the room.

City jumped up. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Someplace.” He ran for the sink, stuck his face down and splashed water.

“Holy Jesus! What did you do to your ear?” said Country.

“What the hell happened to Andy and Melvin?” said City.

The pair collapsed on the couch, pale as they come.

“Give ’ em space.” Serge held paper towels to the side of his head. “They just had a close one.”

Andy stared at nothing. Shock suddenly gave way to delayed emotion. Weeping and shaking.

Serge sat and put an arm around his shoulders. “It’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry. Should have listened to you. I almost got us all killed.”

“That part wasn’t good.”

“Swear I won’t screw up again.”

“You can relax-you’re safe now.”

Andy sniffled and wiped his eyes. “But what about Guillermo? He’s still out there.”

“You leave that to me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Andy, I have to tell you something. This might not be the best time, considering what you just went through, but I’d want to know if I was in your shoes.”

“What is it?”

“It can wait till later. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

“I’m good now.”

“You sure? It’s pretty heavy.”

Andy nodded.

“Your mother.”

“What about her?”

“Andy… I’m just going to say it. She didn’t kill herself.”

“Of course she killed herself. She shot-” He stopped and read Serge’s face. “Are you saying she was murdered?”

“Afraid there’s not much of a happy distinction between the two. But you’ve been under the impression all these years that she lingered through prolonged suffering and put herself out of misery.”

“She wasn’t sick?”

Serge shook his head. “Some of the happiest years of her life. And if it’s any consolation”-Serge crossed his fingers behind his back- “Ramirez told me she never heard it coming. Almost like going in her sleep.”

“Ramirez killed her?”

Serge shook his head again. “Like I said, you leave that to me.”

“Guillermo?”

Serge pulled the pistol from under his shirt for a tear-down mechanism check.

Andy remembered something, feeling the bottom of his own shirt and Ramirez’s Glock, which he’d concealed underneath in all the excitement. He decided not to bring it up. “What are you planning to do?”

Serge reassembled the gun. “I’m foreclosing on his karma.”