I'd reached the top of the stairs when I felt a hand brush against my
face, then a grip circle around my biceps. Somebody had been too quick.
I brought my elbow around hoping to catch him in the face, bring him
down, but instead it slammed against something metal, which clattered
onto the floor.
"_Chingado_!" came a muffled voice.
I drew back and swung, and this time my arm scraped hard against the
flesh of a face and the bastard staggered backward his grip loosening.
I twisted away and dropped to the floor to begin searching for what had
fallen. Surely it was a pistol.
The marble was cold against my bare arms as I swept my hands across the
floor. Then I ran my fingers down the edge of the stair.
And there it was, on the first step. My left hand closed around the
cold barrel of an automatic. I shifted it to my right, grasping the
plastic grip, not entirely sure what I should do with it. But at least
I had a gun. I'd never actually held a real one before, but it was
heavy and I assumed it was ready to fire.
I was halfway down the first set of stairs, on my way to the landing,
when I felt an arm slip around my neck. I ducked and twisted away,
stumbling down the last three or four steps, and landed on my feet,
staggering back against the wall to regain my balance. All I knew was,
the next steps loomed somewhere to my right. Just a few more feet . . .
But he was there again, moving between me and the final stairs. Get
around him, I told myself, but at that moment he grabbed me at the
waist.
Dancing in the dark, but the swirl had no music and no swing, just a
quick, dizzying pirouette. I aimed the pistol as close as I could to
his face and pulled the hard metal trigger.
"_Mierda!_"
Blinding light, a face lost in the burst of flame, stars filling my
head. The fiery explosion tongued out past his ear like a brilliant
sword of reds and yellows, sending a round off into space. The noise
left a ringing in my ears and multicolored hues stuttering across my
eyes.
It hit me who I'd just seen. It was Ramos. With a gun! Shit.
The flash of my pistol had given me the advantage for a second, since I
knew it was coming, and with that edge I swung an elbow across his
chin, then kneed him in the groin. It should have been enough to bring
him down, but instead he merely sank to one knee and redoubled his grip.
Hey, I thought, maybe I know something he doesn't. How to take a fall.
I'd seen enough movie stunts to know what you're supposed to do. It'd
be risky, but I knew I wasn't going to win a wrestling match.
I opened up with the automatic, firing everywhere again and again and
again, getting off five rounds in a crescendo of light and sound, like
a huge firecracker in my hand, enough to illuminate the stairwell like
a strobe and catch him off guard. In that fleeting moment I slipped a
foot behind his ankle and shoved.
I think I yelled as I felt myself being pulled forward. Then I realized
he was wearing a heavy bracelet that had tangled in my hair. I'd been
planning to roll down the remaining stairs, protecting my head, and let
him bounce, but the pull of his bracelet ruined it. I felt myself being
swept into empty space, my gun flying away.
Then something glanced off my face, the wooden banister of the stair,
which had mysteriously come up to meet me. I turned and felt his body
beneath mine, arms flailing, a soft landing, till we rolled and I was
beneath him again.
I struck out, a right fist, and he fell away, his bracelet
disentangling as he tumbled farther down the stairs. Then I rose and
tried to take a step, but it wasn't there. In the pitch dark the angle
was wrong, off by just inches, and as I toppled forward into empty
space I reached out, taking a handful of dark air.