9-10 - Targo Fight

He flattened himself against the wall, turned a corner, and discovered he had company. A big, beefy man-not Simon-suddenly blocked his way. He fired. The other man returned the fire. McClane dived behind a container and let loose three more shots that sent the man sprawling backwards onto the floor.

His gun still drawn, McClane leaned over to take a quick look at the terrorist. Satisfied that the guy wouldn't be causing anyone any more trou­ble, he turned around to continue the manhunt. He caught a fast glimpse of someone standing on the container above. He recognized the face from the FBI pictures. Targo!

Targo leaped into a karate kick. McClane dodged, but he wasn't fast enough. The boot caught him square in the face and sent him flying. His gun skidded away behind one of the contain­ers. He grunted as Targo landed on top of him, wrestled his arms to the floor with one hand, and smashed his jaw with the other. The guy was a fucking animal. McClane had a strong hunch he was about to get the shit kicked out of him.

(...)

McClane broke free of Targo's choke hold. He scuttled across the floor on all fours to retrieve his gun. Before he could reach it, Targo was all over him again, hammering his back and neck and face with his fists. McClane bent his knee and blindly aimed for Targo's groin. Targo grunted and doubled over, giving McClane time to roll away and throw a hard right jab that caught Targo square on the chest. The blow would have flattened most other men. Targo barely seemed to feel its impact.

He recovered in an instant and belted McClane with an uppercut to his chin. McClane tasted the blood in his mouth and slammed a sharp hook into Targo's stomach. Targo reared up, grabbed McClane by the throat, and clobbered him with a series of jabs to his face and head.

"I see you all day, little man," he yelled be­tween punches. "And you don't go away."

"I'm the Energizer-fucking-Bunny," Mc­Clane gasped, trying to duck away from Targo's merciless right hand.

Targo slammed him against a bulkhead. Mc­Clane momentarily blacked out. When he came to, Targo belted him in the mouth. "What you going to do now?'' he taunted him. He whacked him across the nose. "You going to arrest me?" Another crack on his cheek. ' 'Huh, bunny?''

A whack to McClane's gut knocked the wind out of him. He went limp as a rag doll. Targo dropped him and went looking for McClane's gun.

McClane caught his breath. "No, I'm not gonna arrest you," he muttered.

He dragged himself to the far side of a huge container, where Targo couldn't see him. He stomped down on the cleat lock that kept the con­tainer anchored in place, snapping it free.

"I'm gonna fucking kill ya!" he said. He threw his weight behind the container. It went sliding along the rail on which it had been parked, rattling loudly as it gained momentum.

Targo whipped around as the container hurtled toward him. It was moving too fast for him to escape. It crashed against the wall with a resounding clang that reverberated through the hold, crushing Targo beneath its weight.

Battered and bloodied, McClane staggered over to Berndt and picked up his pistol. The mag­azine was full. Grateful for small favors, he limped through the door of the hold and up the stairs.


- Die Hard with a Vengeance, Chapters 9-10