Chapter 1

Mac Taylor sped along the deserted side road his shoes splashing through the icy puddles. He saw his prey turn the corner not thirty yards ahead of him. As Mac approached the corner he skidded to a stop wishing he had better shoes for chasing suspects in such conditions. He leant against the wall. His breath misted in the air as he risked a quick look around the corner. He ducked back, a triumphant look coming over his face. It was a dead-end. A tall chain-link fence blocked the end of the street and the man he had been chasing was standing staring at it as he realised that there was no way he could get over it. Mac hesitated as he took another glance at the man's right hand. A revolver, six shots. Mac counted in his head : two outside the bar, one further along the road, one at the last corner that had ricocheted off a lamp post. Four shots … not good!

Spotting a discarded newspaper on the ground, Mac checked out the lighting in the alley. The gunman would be firing into the light. He decided to take a risk and grabbed the newspaper.

"NYPD. You've got nowhere to run. Put your gun on the ground, hands on your head now!" he shouted with as much authority as he could. He whipped around the corner both hands holding the paper as if it were a gun, all the while hoping the gunman would not realise that he was unarmed. As he predicted the gunman, surprised at being challenged, spun around and loosed off a shot as Mac ducked back around the corner. The bullet clipped the brickwork just above his head sending a chunk that caught him on the cheek. Mac flinched. Perhaps that was a little too close for comfort but he had achieved his objective. Five!

"Just one more!" said Mac to himself and then to the gunman. "You're under arrest! Drop the gun. Turn around, hands on your head." The gunman hesitated unsure what to do.

At that moment a fire door to the gunman's left swung open and a man in a chef's whites stepped out into the street with two bags in either hand. The gunman jumped almost as much as the man in the doorway. It was only a second before the gunman leapt forward through the door pushing the hapless chef into the street.

"Dammit!" Mac tossed the paper and tore after him only just managing to get through the door before it closed. Mac pursued the man through the kitchens dodging men with trays of food, ducking under the arm of a waiter whose tray of glasses tumbled through the air before landing with a resounding crash. Shouts, yells and a variety of insults followed in their wake as the two men tore through the crowded room.

Mac's target yanked open a door and disappeared momentarily from sight. Mac dodged past a young woman in black skirt and white blouse, swinging her round, leaving her open-mouthed as he muttered "Excuse me!" and disappeared after the gunman.

A long brightly-lit corridor stretched away in both directions. Flicking his head left and right Mac heard a door bang. He crossed to the door and pushed it open cautiously. Seeing nothing, he dodged around the door to find himself in pitch-blackness. He flung himself to one side, fists clenched, heart pounding but he heard nothing but the sound of his own breathing. Taking a deep breath he willed himself calmer. It was unbearably hot so he clawed at his throat loosening his tie and collar. As the rushing in his ears stopped he could hear sounds of gentle piano music, the clink of glasses and the muted sounds of quiet conversation coming from above him. He took in his surroundings as his eyes adapted to the darkened room, a contrast after the bright lights of the corridor.

Mac's immediate thought was "Theatre...?"as he appeared to be in a room with boxes overflowing with a variety of decorations. He spotted a large pink valentines heart on it's side, rolled up banners arranged in a pyramid, a crate with red, white and blue bunting, and some instrument cases laid out on tables along the back wall.

A creaking sound from the other side of the room caught his attention. He tilted his head to listen unconsciously biting his bottom lip as he concentrated. The sound was repeated. "Footsteps on stairs …?" His eyes were becoming more accustomed to the dark and glancing to his left he noticed a short flight of wooden steps curving upwards. His gunman must have ran further into the room and was now making his way up to what Mac assumed was a stage via the stairs on the other side. Mac took the stairs nearest to him, carefully stepping on the edge of the treads pausing every so often to listen.

As he neared the top he noticed a heavy black curtain. The sounds of conversation and music were getting louder. He pulled the curtain aside and peaked through the crack. He was surprised to see that he was sandwiched between a wall to his right and heavy black curtains to his left. There was barely enough room for one man to pass. Mac smiled to himself. There was his gunman centre stage peering out at the audience through the gap in the curtains. What to do? He couldn't risk any bystanders getting hurt. Mac hesitated wondering if his gunman had had a chance to reload. That question was answered for him as the gunman ducked his head back through the curtains and glanced down to check his gun. He flipped the barrel out and closed it again muttering a curse under his breath. Mac knew it was now or never.

Flinging aside the curtain to the stairs, he crossed the small stage in a few strides and hurled himself at the man and sent him flying into the heavy black curtaining drawn across the stage. However something at the other side of the curtain arrested his fall. Mac yanked the man towards him grabbing his wrist. He spun him round and pushed him against the wall. Mac tried to force the man to drop the gun by slamming his gun hand repeatedly against the roughened surface but his adversary was able to use the wall as leverage to swing Mac around. As he did so Mac used his own tactic against him. Mac pressed himself against the wall and pushed with all his might while not letting go of the gunman's wrist. They both fell against the curtains once more coming up against the obstacle on the other side. However, they felt it begin to give way but it was too late, whatever it was came crashing down accompanied by shouts of panic from the other room.

Mac and the gunman landed heavily on the other side of the curtain as the gun skittered across the stage. They both recovered quickly and scrambled for the gun. The man reached the gun first but Mac locked onto his wrist. But before either could gain the upper hand, they both froze to the spot as they heard the sound of a dozen guns being drawn and cocked.

Mac raised his head slowly, his eyes leaving his suspect for the first time. He looked at the room in dismay.

"Oh shit!"