14“Get down,” I shouted at Bella. Her head dropped to the level of the dashboard. Her hands scrabbled under it, reaching behind the glove compartment.
I jammed the gas pedal to the floor and the Mercedes shot forward.
“Go over the fat slob in the middle.” Bella’s head rose. Her window powered down. Her pistol appeared in her hands. “I’ll take the one on the right.”
“Get down,” I growled.
She fired four fast rounds. She hit the Uzi-holder low in the gut, doubling him over.
A blast of automatic fire scattered gravel in front of us. The mountainous man in leathers dove sideways, but not quickly enough to avoid my bumper. Metal slammed into flesh. He rose a foot in the air and dropped out of my line of vision.
I yanked the wheel right, working the brake and accelerator to throw the Merce
