Snowman's Chance in Hell Read Free Page A

of .357 Magnum cartridges.
    The helicopter drifted sideways as the seconds ticked away. Hanging there, in those lost beats of time, I took one last look at the view--Brooklyn sprawling to the left of me, the lower tip of Manhattan at my right...the East River flowing ahead of me, running down to the upper bay of New York Harbor. It looked so vast, so alive, so intricate...and yet so distant, so small. From my God's-eye view, suspended at a great height, it looked like a tabletop diorama spread before me, built by a lonely hobbyist to serve as his own little world. A place for him to project his hopes and dreams, to live vicariously in the million million secret nooks and crannies where an unfulfilled heart can dwell. It reminded me of another cold and distant world cobbled together to hold a lonely soul, a bitter, jaded bastard only fit to inhabit imaginary places.
    It reminded me of my life, in other words. My career in film. My self. Because that's what I've gotten from twenty-two years in the movies--two Oscars and a portable fortress of solitude that follows me wherever I go. More money than I can count and less happiness than the scabbiest bum in that city out there.
    That's what I was thinking as I hung there, waiting for the call. The next scene.
    And then the clock ran out.
    "Action!"
    As the word came over my earpiece, the helicopter surged forward. I swung back on the cable as if I were riding a flying trapeze.
    "Okay...okay..." D.X. was watching, timing my next cue. "Aaaand...gun up!"
    Gripping the cable tightly with one hand, I raised the Smith and Wesson with the other. As the helicopter zoomed toward the pier, I aimed the barrel at the belly of the aircraft.
    Clenching my jaw, I jerked the gun around as if I were fighting to get a bead. For the benefit of the distant cameras, I made the movements bigger than they had to be.
    The helicopter charged ahead. We were coming up fast on the pier, on the end of the line.
    "Stand by, Stag," D.X. said in my ear. "Just a few more seconds..."
    I continued to jerk the gun, trying to aim at the pilot...but I couldn't get a clear line of sight from my angle below and behind the aircraft. Then, the helicopter lunged to one side, swinging me out wide, and I finally had it.
    The shot. The gun-sight was lined up with the pilot's helmeted head.
    At that exact second, you-know-who barked in my you-know-what. "Fire! Fire! Fire!"
    I hesitated for a heartbeat, as if I could sense that this was the tipping point. As if I knew deep down that this would be the last normal second of my life.
    And then my finger squeezed the trigger.
    The sound of the blast roared in my ears. The recoil spun me around like a pinwheel in a tornado. As I spun, I saw the glass of the cockpit shatter, and the pilot's head buck forward in a blossom of red.
    And I knew instantly, without the slightest doubt.
    That gun was not firing blanks.
    I spun like a stone on a string and pinched my eyes shut against the dizziness. Instantly dropping the gun, I clamped both hands on the cable.
    D.X. dropped the F-bomb five times in a row in my earpiece. "Oh my God! What happened up there?"
    But his voice didn't matter much to me. I was too busy hanging on as the helicopter lurched out of control. It pitched from side to side, then seemed to stabilize for an instant.
    Just before it bolted hard left and plunged toward the water.
    "He's going down!" said D.X., as if I needed the running commentary.
    Snapping my eyes open, I saw the glittering surface of the East River spinning toward me as the helicopter spiraled out of the sky. It was coming up fast.
    Things looked bad for me, but my mind still raced, straining for a plan.
    "Get the rescue crew out there!" said D.X. "Hang on, Stag!"
    I decided to do the opposite. Maybe I'd stand a better chance if I jumped clear instead of being pulled in with the wreckage.
    Reaching under my shirt and into my pants, I released the wires from the safety harness. They sprang away from me like