Chapter ElevenAN HOUR BEFORE DUSK, two Huey helicopter gunships made strafing runs over the Citadel. Meanwhile, in the courtyard of the doctor’s house, the civilian reporters placed their bets. Ehlo held Roark’s .45 in hand, collected the money and matched it with his own. In the bleak afternoon light, the birthmark on his cheek looked more like a smear of blood than a pinkish rash.
Ehlo aimed and fired at a can of ham and limas. The round hit dead center. He fired two more rounds, and the can bucked wildly, spun to the ground, and the contents oozed out. “So much for ham an’ muthas,” he said.
Hines tore out of the house as if shot from a cannon. “Jesus f*****g Christ, warn someone, will ya. Ever heard of ‘fire in the hole’?”
Ehlo ejected the magazine, cleared the round in the chamber a
