11 - Flak Jacket

"What are we going to do?"

"Play a game. Called Simon Says." He reached into his coat and pulled out a green metal tube, two feet long and two inches in diameter. He set the tube on the table. One end pointed at McClane, the other at Simon.

"You've seen these before. Little Chinese rocket-launcher. Afganis used to love them. Simon says put your hand on the trigger."

Simon put his hand on the trigger. "You've pulled the sights and the directional arrows off, John. How can I tell which end will fire?"

"You can't." He pointed the gun at Simon's head. "Pop quiz. Answer all the questions, I tell you. You got thirty seconds."

Simon stared at the mortar. His left eyebrow twitched, betraying his tension.

(...)

He turned the mortar around again. He studied McClane's face. It gave him no hints, not even the slightest clue. Simon couldn't tear his eyes away from McClane's. He was sure the answer to the riddle of the mortar was there, if only he looked hard enough.

McClane glanced nervously at the mortar.

Simon smiled. The policeman had betrayed himself, as Simon had known he would. He spun the mortar around and pulled the trigger.

Fake out.

The tube exploded in Simon's face with a blinding flash of gunpowder that blew him out of his seat and sent him crashing backward against the far wall. Bits of flesh and pulverized organs splattered across the bar. A severed hand landed on one of the tables. A pool of blood began to seep out from beneath his body.

McClane stood up wearily and removed his coat. Under it, he was wearing a heavy flak jacket, which he stripped off and threw on the table. He took one last look at what remained of Simon Gruber.

He had one more piece of advice for him: "Never drink Napoleon brandy without a flak jacket."


- Die Hard with a Vengeance, Chapter 11