Wading Into War: A Benjamin Wade Mystery by Scott Dennis Parker

shining through. “You’re damn right I
read it. Enough to know that the Nazis are murderers. When we win this war,
they’re going to pay.”
    “Mr. Gardner,” Dietrich said, “the United States isn’t even in this war.
And if they join, they will lose, just like everyone else.”
    I said, “Tell that to the Soviets.”
    Dietrich laughed. “Even if they stop the Führer , they won’t be
able to do anything. They’re as good as defeated.” He indicated the briefcase
with my gun. “Now, the case.”
    Gardner didn’t move.
    Dietrich said, “Since you know what’s in those documents, I’m not sure I
can let you live. You might still write a story. You’ll have no proof, of
course, but you could rouse some anger over here.” He cocked the gun, the click
a sharp sound in the night.
    Gardner, anger clearly flashing in his eyes, tensed. I saw it. From the
corner of my eye, I could tell Dietrich saw it, too. We were all tense but none
of us moved.
    Then things all began to happen at once.

Chapter
Sixteen
     
    In a move that, later, we would declare under
oath was neither planned nor choreographed, Gardner tossed the briefcase in
Dietrich’s direction. At almost the same time, I brought my right hand up and
across my body, clicking the button of the collapsible steel baton as I did so.
It was the one weapon I carried at all times even when I didn’t carry my gun.
Bad guys don’t usually expect something so blunt to be used as a weapon of
first resort.
    The baton snicked out to nearly its full length as I brought it down on
Dietrich’s extended gun hand. The gun went off. Gardner yelled and spun
backwards. Dietrich grunted, a mixture of surprise and pain. He dropped the gun
to the pavement. I lunged for it, but a vicious kick by the Nazi swept my legs
out from under me. I crumpled to the ground, afraid Dietrich would get my gun,
shooting both Gardner and me. Instead, Dietrich lurched forward and grabbed the
briefcase with his uninjured hand and started running.
    I quickly got to my feet and grabbed the gun. For a second, I considered
taking aim and firing, but his figure was already at the edge of the light. I
wasn’t going to take the chance of hitting something or someone.
    I took off after him, the hard leather of my shoes crunching the cement.
Dietrich was fast. All he had to do was get to his car parked in the alley. He
had at least fifty feet on me, so I dug in and found some additional speed.
    At that moment, a car turned into the side street next to the lot.
Dietrich abruptly changed his direction and headed for the car. It was closer
than his own, and he would reach it before I could catch up to him.
    The window of the passenger side rolled down and a man stuck out his
head. Even though I had only seen them once, I knew it was one of the goons. He
reached around and opened the rear door, giving Dietrich a clear shot at
escape.
    Having no other choice, I changed my trajectory. Clearly I couldn’t catch
Dietrich before he got into the car, but I could overtake the car while it was
trying to get away. I wasn’t a good enough shot to take out a fleeing man, but
I was pretty sure I could hit the broad side of a moving car.
    Dietrich dove into the back seat and the goon behind the wheel threw the
car into gear. With screeching tires, the sedan peeled out. I was close enough
to fire so I raised my gun and pulled the trigger. Despite my running, I hit
the front side, the bullet pinging off the sturdy frame. I fired two more
times, missing once, but shattering the glass of the still-open rear door.
    That must have been enough of a surprise for the driver because the car
caromed, crashing into some trash cans, scattering the contents across the
street. I fired again and heard the bullet thunk somewhere inside the car.
    The goon in the passenger seat decided to get into the game. As he
extended his hand, I saw the handgun in his grip. Without thinking, I dove to
the ground, rolling behind a parked car. Two