by Adam Smith
Max spared a glance over his shoulder and saw the stone wall just a few yards away. Without hesitation, he rolled over the roof of the car and kicked off with both feet to hurl himself free of the car.
Screeching metal and the boom of a speeding object impacting a wall resounded through the alley. Debris rattled on the dumpsters like stone hail. The three businessmen around the corner cried out in terror.
Max splashed down and rolled through the mud to disperse his momentum before climbing to his feet again. He glanced back over his shoulder and surveyed the damage of the crash. “Lunch hour traffic will really kill you.”
More gunshots rang through the alley as the three businessmen finally pulled themselves together. They charged around the corner with guns blazing.
Max returned fire behind him as he ran toward the opening of the alley. One of his bullets caught a businessman in the shoulder and spun him around. Blood flew from the wound.
Goatee crouched behind a parked car across HD Avenue. Several cars had been abandoned in the middle of the road, creating a traffic jam for a hundred feet in both directions. Goatee had just pulled a cell phone from his pocket and was raising it to his ear, and Max knew that if Goatee got a call off, this situation would go from bad to worse. He charged toward the man and raised both pistols.
Two businessmen jumped from behind cars and leaped at Max. Each man held a long knife in one hand and a 9mm pistol in the other. The man on his right slashed at Max as the man on his left tried to bring his gun to bear.
Max dropped into a sweeping kick. His foot caught the knife wielder’s leg and yanked it from under him. Rather than drop flat, the man was forced to drop his pistol and catch himself on a nearby car hood.
Max used his momentum to whirl behind the knife wielder. The move disrupted the other man’s aim, and his panicked shot shattered the window of the car Max and the staggered knifeman stood against.
Max fired two shots into the knifeman’s spine and kicked him toward the gangster with the gun. The corpse missed the gangster but did disrupt his aim long enough for Max to get a bead on him. Another shot from one of his pistols blew off the top of the businessman’s head and sent his ragdoll body thumping against a blue minivan. The dead man’s face was fixed in a stupid-looking expression of shock as he slid down the side of the van and left a trail of blood.
Max raised his pistol toward the car where Goatee was hiding. Through both windows, Max could see Goatee shouting into his phone.
Three businessmen with metal bats jumped out from behind cars and rushed to attack Max as one group. He didn’t even have time to aim his pistols before the swinging started. Max was forced to duck and dodge as metal bats whistled through the air inches from his flesh.
The businessman to his right stepped in and swung horizontally. Max leaped back and sucked in his stomach, so the blow narrowly missed him. He tried to aim at the assailant, but the businessman to his left was already swinging. The downward arc of the bat was aimed to crush Max’s skull.
Max jerked his finger from the trigger guard on his left pistol and raised the gun in a desperate attempt to deflect the blow. Metal rang like a bell as the bat smashed into the gun and knocked the pistol from Max’s hand. Max’s desperate maneuver lost him one weapon but did manage to deflect the blow into the windshield of a car to Max’s left. Glass crunched as the windshield caved in and the man struggled to rip his weapon back out.
The third businessman came at Max with a jab. The attack caught the ex-cop off guard, and the metal bat tip slammed into his chest. Nothing cracked, but the blow shoved Max. He tripped over one of the corpses of the first two businessmen he’d shot and lurched over backward. The fall turned out to be lucky, because the first businessman’s next blow cracked into the pavement between Max’s legs and narrowly missed emasculating him.
Max shoved with both legs and scooted backward as the man with the bat rained blows down on him. Each blow narrowly missed, and Max had to spend all his effort just dodging. The attacker started to pant from the exertion, and Max finally gained enough room to raise his remaining pistol. The slide locked open after a single shot, but the lone bullet tore through the businessman’s chest and blew chunks of his heart out through his back. The corpse toppled over onto Max.
The second businessman ripped his bat free from the car windshield and closed in on Max with the third gangster.
The first swing cracked against the corpse Max was pinned under. He tossed the empty pistol aside, snatched up the fallen man’s bat, and shoved the corpse off so he could roll to his right. Metal bats slammed the pavement behind him again and again as he rolled.
Max came up swinging. His first strike knocked aside an incoming attack. The charging businessman stumbled forward, and his defenses gaped wide open. Max slammed his bat down on the back of the man’s skull and knocked him senseless to the pavement where he lay in a spreading pool of his own blood.
The last businessman launched into a flurry of blows. Metal rang against metal as Max parried the blows and knocked them to each side, but the enemy’s energy seemed tireless.
As the attacks rained down, Max laughed. “What is this, a sword fight?”
The businessman growled and swung as hard as he could. Max backstepped to let the swing pass before lunging forward and slamming his bat hard against the side of the man’s face. The blow caved in the gangster’s temple and hurled him through the air. The corpse crashed through the wide window of a red SUV, and the dead gangster hung with only his limp legs visible outside the window.
Max tossed his bat aside. “Sorry pal, but there can be only one.” He glanced around until he spotted another 9mm pistol. In one smooth motion, Max scooped up the pistol, turned with his arm outstretched, and dropped his sights over Goatee behind his car.
The bald man in the blue silk shirt could only utter a choked gasp before Max blew him away with three rapid shots. Exploding glass from both windows rained down on the sidewalk in tinkling chimes as Goatee’s dead body collapsed to the ground.
Max lowered his gun and blew out a breath. His shoulders slumped in exhaustion. “Well, I guess that—”
A car slammed into Max from behind. His knees buckled and he flew up over the hood, rolled off the top of the car, and landed on the hood of a nearby parked car. Somehow, he had kept hold of the 9mm pistol, and his fingers clenched around the grip as Max struggled to stay conscious. Through dazed eyes he looked up at the blue sky overhead.
Glass crunched as the silver car that had hit Max slammed into a nearby parked car and came to a stop. The gangster driver quickly threw his vehicle into reverse. Tires squealed and smoked as the car picked up speed and backed toward the car Max was lying on.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Max groaned. “Can’t you jokers see I’m trying to take a nap here?” The battered ex-cop rolled off the parked car an instant before the speeding car swept it out from under him in a screech of twisting metal and shattering glass. The two hurtling vehicles slammed into the mess of other cars left abandoned in the street.
Max slammed down on the hard asphalt and gasped from the pain coursing through his body. Ignoring the shrieking of tired muscles, he forced himself to his feet and looked around. Most traffic had disappeared on HD Avenue outside of the tangled mess of abandoned cars. However, Max saw more silver cars speeding toward him from up the street to his right, and the driver of the smashed car was already throwing the vehicle into drive to take another shot at running him over.
Max retreated to the edge of the tangle of cars and spotted a black muscle car with the keys still hanging from the ignition. He slid into the black leather seat, slammed the door, and threw the car into reverse. He completed his Y turn just as the swarm of silver cars slid up onto the sidewalks to bypass the traffic jam. Max peeled out and took off down the wide street away from his attackers.
Gunshots rang out from behind him as hi
s pursuers gave chase through the streets. For the first time since the fight started, Max heard the rapid popping of automatic rifles. Streams of bullets exploded shop windows on both sides of the street.
Max’s mouth firmed to a hard line as he pumped the brakes and threw the black muscle car into a hard right turn down a side street.
Chapter 6
Enter Angel of Death
Ice clinked in a cut crystal glass as Sal Lombardo poured himself a splash of bourbon. Known across San Pajita as Papa Sal, the old gangster was approaching his mid-sixties but still had a full head of thick black hair. A large nose and defined chin gave his face an aggressive look, and his clean-shaven olive face and meticulously coiffed mane matched the crispness of his dark maroon suit. Tasteful gold jewelry sprinkled across his person displayed his wealth in a modest fashion.
His office, however, showcased a garish appreciation for opulence. Thick Turkish rugs lay on top of polished mahogany floorboards which gleamed from a recent polish. Mahogany covered every surface in the lavish office, from the hand-carved wall paneling and ceiling to the thick pillars holding up the vaulted roof. Sparkling marble statues stood between the pillars lining the room. Papa Sal’s taste in sculpture ranged from topless women to completely naked women. Elaborate framed oil paintings on the walls echoed the same preference.
Sunlight poured in through wide bay windows looking out over the city from eighty stories up.
Papa Sal stood at a side table along one wall which held a small collection of alcohol bottles and glasses. His massive polished desk stood to his left with another window behind it looking out on a different section of the city. In the center of the spacious office, several maroon couches and chairs were arranged with tables to create a comfortable meeting space.
“Will you take one?” Papa Sal asked. He held up his crystal glass over one shoulder to show the only other occupant of the room what he meant.
“Not while I’m working,” came the reply from the muscular man seated on one of the plush maroon couches. Johnny Legion’s voice was deep and resonant enough to shake the bones of whoever heard it, and the man stank of blood and gunpowder no matter how far you stood from him.
Johnny’s wide jaw and deep-set eyes under a heavy brow looked like they were permanently carved into a serious expression. His face showed pale skin shaved clean, and his dark hair was slicked back. A flawless white suit with matching white gloves were kept meticulously clean. A maroon vest and tie poked out from under his buttoned jacket. Heavy black dress shoes gleamed in the sunlight streaming in through the windows.
“Pity,” said Papa Sal. “You’re always working. Young men should take time to enjoy life a bit before you get to my age and can’t enjoy pleasures to their fullest.”
“You seemed to enjoy those girls just fine last night,” the man in the white suit remarked.
Papa Sal chuckled as he turned from his bar and walked toward his companion to take a seat in one of the plush maroon chairs. “My flock of birds do keep things interesting,” the older man agreed as he settled back into his seat. “But when you’re my age, try eating pizza even for lunch. I’d never get to sleep.” Papa Sal took a sip, shut his eyes, and relaxed.
The comfortable silence between the two men was shattered by the electronic jangling of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” echoing from Papa Sal’s breast pocket. The older man fished out his phone and accepted the call. “Hello?”
“Papa Sal!” a frantic voice shouted so loud the older man had to yank the phone away from his ear. “We need help, fast!”
“Calm down. Tell me who this is.” Papa Sal’s voice was measured and calm. The caller would be receiving an unpleasant reminder later about phone etiquette.
“It’s Antonio Marino, sir!”
Papa Sal raised an eyebrow at Johnny.
“Bald,” Johnny said. “Goatee. Wears silk shirts.”
“Ah,” Papa Sal nodded. “Yes, Antonio. What could prompt such a loud phone call during my private hours?”
The voice on the other end rose to a new register of panic. Sal Lombardo loathed men who whined like that.
“I know, Papa Sal, and I’m sorry. Only, it’s an emergency down here! There’s some hitman from a rival gang tearing up our operations!”
Papa Sal set his glass down on a table beside his chair. “What gang? Which hitman?”
“I don’t know! The guy’s a monster. He’s torn up half my boys already, and he’s chewing through the rest as we speak. I’m trying to collect the monthly pay from the boys down on HD Avenue and I got ambushed by this beast. Turned me down flat on my offer to pay off the debt and refused to tell me who he’s working for.”
Johnny’s gray gaze sharpened as his eyes bored into the phone.
“Details, man,” Papa Sal scolded. “I need details.”
“I don’t know who he is, Papa Sal, I swear! Some demon with a shaved head in a flannel shirt. Right now he’s… Oh shit—” Antonio made some choking sounds as gunshots popped and glass crashed. The line clicked and went dead.
Papa Sal looked at his phone before quietly placing it back in his breast pocket. He picked up his glass and took a sip of bourbon before looking at his hired gunman.
“You heard all that, I’m sure. Yes, I can see by your eyes that you did. It’s good to see a young man looking so eager. Take care of it, Johnny. Bring this hitman in alive if possible, I’d like to discover who orchestrated this attack on our business.”
“Yes, sir.” Johnny’s deep voice pounded out the words like nails being driven into a coffin. The powerful man rose from the couch in a smooth motion. Heavy footsteps rumbled through the floorboards as Johnny strode for the mahogany double doors leading out of the office.
Papa Sal paid a monumental annual salary to keep Johnny Legion on retainer. The gunman would do what he’d been hired to do: maintain order throughout his employer’s empire.
By any means necessary.
Chapter 7
Grand Theft Burrito
Glittering sparks exploded against the black muscle car’s windshield. Max threw the car into a hard turn to avoid the falling electric marquee as automatic gunfire tore the sign to shreds. With a booming crunch, the tall electric display board crashed into the pavement of Hale Avenue to Max’s left and erupted in a crackling discharge of energy.
One of the drivers pursuing Max plowed straight into the sign. The gangster’s car skidded across the road as the bulky marquee lodged under the axles and lifted the car into the air. A shuddering vibration ran through the street as the silver sedan slammed into the buildings lining Hale Avenue.
“One down. That only leaves…” Max checked his rearview. A swarm of fast-moving vehicles filled the mirror. “Well, that only leaves a shit ton. At least they’re persistent.”
Plastic thumped and Max’s car shook as automatic gunfire blew out the back window. He ducked and threw the car into a left turn down a narrow street. The swarm of cars followed close on his tail.
The narrow street he’d chosen, Rankin Road, appeared to be mostly empty for half a mile. Max kept his left hand firm on the wheel and turned to aim back at the lead car. The street was narrow enough that only two vehicles could stack up behind him.
Thunder roared through the car as Max squeezed off some of his precious remaining rounds. His first shot pinged off the enemy SUV’s white hood. He corrected his aim and fired again. The second bullet took the driver in the face and blew the businessman’s brains all over his headrest.
The white SUV jerked hard to the right and slammed into the SUV beside it. Both vehicles scraped hard as they lurched toward the righthand wall of shops. Glass exploded into the street and people screamed as the cars plunged into the shop lobbies at top speed.
The cars following Max slowed. The precious seconds of hesitation gave Max time to widen his lead and dodge the hail of automatic fire that poured down
the street at his fleeing muscle car.
At the far end of Rankin Road, Max spun the wheel into another hard right turn. Tires screeched as the black muscle car fishtailed before righting itself and speeding down St. Thomas Aquinas Boulevard. Max was already a full block down the wide road before the rest of the pack of pursuing cars swarmed out of the side street.
St. Thomas Aquinas Boulevard had plenty of traffic on it. People honked and shook their fists as Max sped by at dangerous speeds. Pedestrians leaped out of crosswalks as Max barreled through.
Sudden movement to his right yanked Max’s attention to his passenger side window as a bright green motorcycle pulled up next to him. The driver in matching green suit and helmet straightened his pistol arm to take a shot at Max through the window.
Max dropped his passenger window and swerved hard to his right until the driver’s gun arm entered the window. Max couldn’t see the man’s expression through the dark helmet, but the gangster’s body jerked in surprise. The motorcycle driver managed to get off one harmless shot into Max’s car before Max grabbed his gun hand and pulled hard. The bike scraped along the side of the car and wobbled precariously.
The gun came free in Max’s hand as the green driver yanked his hand back to try to regain control, but Max didn’t give him the chance. With another twist of the wheel, Max slammed the tail of his vehicle into the front half of the bike. The motorcycle turned and spilled across the street in a shower of sparks.
The green driver’s suit protected him from the fall, but not from the stampede of pursuing cars which tore through the street and crushed the driver under their merciless wheels.
“Okay,” Max muttered to himself as gunfire slashed the buildings around him, “now I’ve got two guns. Just need to do that about fifty more times and things should work out fine. Real fairytale ending.”
