He felt the dead body kick and jerk as bullets smashed across the dead legs. Then a new sound started his heart beating again: the sound of police sirens and the sharp crisp crack of police automatics.
Goetz, swearing, spun around as three police cars screamed down the street towards him. He raised his gun, but the first car, accelerating, hit him like an express train and flung him high into the Mr. He dropped like a half-filled sack of corn on to the sidewalk.
Conforti didn’t look back. He ran into the porch.
Pete caught a glimpse of Conforti’s legs as he bent over the dead cop. He tried to squeeze himself into the ground, clinging with all his strength to the dead cop’s belt.
Conforti spotted him and his teeth showed in a triumphant grinning snarl. He dragged the cop away with Pete still clinging to the cop’s belt.
“Get away!” Pete screamed, trying to hide himself behind the cop’s body. “Don’t do it!”
Conforti lifted the Thompson. The barrel swung up. Pete stared at the sight as it covered his face. His eyes started out of his head. He saw Conforti’s finger whiten as Conforti took in the slack on the trigger.
Then guns cracked behind Conforti.
Pete saw the sudden look of agony come over the thin ratlike face. He saw the eyes go lifeless. The Thompson jerked up as the dying hand stiffened and began firing as the dying finger automatically tightened on the trigger.
Then Conforti dropped the gun, took one step and pitched forward on his face.