Manhattan Killer

Leseprobe

Larry Kostler was in no great mood this morning, as he was being driven to the office by his driver.
Trouble was brewing in his company and it looked like he would have to come down heavy to sort things out again.
But at this very moment his mind seemed somewhere else. He gazed out of the window, deep in thought, while his driver, Henson, steered the black limousine through the traffic of New York.
There came a point in life where you asked yourself: What’s it all for? And maybe Larry Kostlerhad arrived at just that point.
He checked his watch again.
He was running late. Looking out at the rain the reason why Larry Kostlerwas running late - for the first time in years - seemed obvious: it was the weather and the heavy traffic.
But, no, this wasn’t the reason.
Kostler had briefly seen his notary that morning. This had been one of those things which he hadn’t been looking forward to and which he had kept putting off for as long as possible.
What the hell!, he thought. At least that’s behind me now!
And the company wouldn’t run away. It would still be there a little later...
If anyone could afford to run late, he could. He was the boss.
Shortly the car arrived in front of a large building within which the Kostler Holding Company had its offices.
The car stopped. Henson hopped out first to open the door for his boss.
“I might need you again in half an hour!” Kostler told him. “So be prepared.”
“Yes, Sir!”
Kostler got out of the car awkwardly. His movements were a little clumsy.
He was almost two stone overweight. This slowed him down. He was panting pitifully and his face had turned bright red by the time he had managed to complete this manoeuvre. Finally he was standing next to his driver.
That’s when it happened.
Kostler could hear screeching tyres and a car speeding towards them.
He turned around automatically. It was a two-seater sports car with tinted windows. This was as much as he managed to see.
Everything else was a matter of just a few seconds!
One of the windows was lowered slightly and something long was pushed out of it. Just a few inches. Then there was a sudden flash.
It was a muzzle flash without any sound of a shot. Only a mere click of the trigger which was almost completely swallowed by the surrounding noises.
It was a sound that made Larry Kostler’s blood freeze. A sound he knew all too well...
A bloody ugly sound, even though you could hardly hear it.
Larry Kostler watched a bullet scratch a bit of paint from the roof of his limousine. Right in front of his eyes.
Before he realised what was happening - that the driver of that car was obviously trying to kill him - a second shot was fired. And a third. And a fourth.
Then Kostler saw his driver lying there on the pavement with a small round hole in his head.
His eyes were wide open, staring up at the smog-laden sky. He was dead.
Kostler felt paralysed.
Then he felt a hellish pain in his left shoulder. The impact of the first bullet swung him right around. The second bullet hit him in the side of his chest.
The last thing he felt was dizziness.
Everything started to spin.
And then he felt weak.
His legs gave way and he collapsed. He heard lots of people running over, all talking at once excitedly.
Someone screamed hysterically.
And then Kostler heard the screeching of those tyres again. That car was evidently speeding away from the scene.
Then suddenly everything went silent. And dark.
Very, very dark...