"Change of plans." Vance heard the Alfa's bumper slam against the car parked behind as the startled attendant's foot brushed against the accelerator.
"Den katalaveno!"
"Out." Vance yanked him around and shoved him toward the asphalt pavement. "And stay down."
Now the bus had begun pulling out from the entryway across the street. Although traffic still clogged the avenue, he was a clear target.
He threw the suitcase onto the seat, then slid in and reached to secure the door. As he pulled it shut, he heard the ping of a bullet ricochetting off metal somewhere. Next came a burst of automatic fire that seemed to splatter all around him.
The young Greek pulled himself up off the pavement and reached . . .
"Down." Vance waved him away as he shifted the transmission into drive.
At that moment a slug caught the young attendant in the shoulder, spinning him around. He gave a yelp of surprise, then stumbled backward. But now he was out of the way, clear, with what was probably only a flesh wound.
Vance shoved his foot against the accelerator, ramming the rear fender of the car in front, then again, knocking it clear. Another spray of bullets spattered through the back window as he pulled into the flow of traffic.
Your time will come, friend, he told himself. Tomorrow, by God, we finish this little dance.