Another Mother

by Rodney Riesel

  “Not you,” said the caller. “Someone else.”

  Dan dropped his head and stared into the floor. “Fine,” he said. “Someone will be right out.”

  “Don't try anything stupid.”

  Dan hung up the phone.

  “What did they say?” Red asked.

  “Someone has to go with one of his guys to get Maggie. He said it couldn't be me.”

  “I'll go,” said Jocko.

  “Are you sure?” Dan asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, listen,” Dan said. “Whatever happens, Jocko, that guy who goes with you, he can't make it to Maxine's house alive.”

  Jocko nodded his head. “Understood,” he said. He stood up and started for the door.

  “Wait,” Skip said.

  Everyone looked over at him

  “As soon as Jocko walks out that front door, Dan, I'll go out the bathroom window, and run to your house. I'll—”

  “Run to my house?” Dan interrupted. “”What the hell—”

  “Running full speed, I can be there in five minutes, Dan,” Skip assured him. “I'll take out the men at your house.”

  “With what?” Dan asked. “You don't have a weapon.”

  “There's a bunch of butcher knives in that kitchen,” said Skip. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys. He tossed them to Red. “Give me fifteen minutes, then start shooting at those assholes. Red, while Dan's covering you, you get to my Thing and get the go bag out of the trunk. There's three weapons in that bag. Use them.”

  “Cindy!” Dan called out, “get out here and keep pressure on Rich's wound. I'm gonna need my dad to fire one of those weapons when we get them.”

  Skip looked up at Jocko. “Go ahead,” he said.

  Gene slid his car keys across the bar floor. “Take my car, Jocko,” he said. “The gray Camry.”

  Jocko went out the front door, and Skip hurried to the kitchen. He came back into the bar carrying a butcher knife and a smaller steak knife.

  Skip twirled both knives in his hands, flipped them into the air, and caught them both by the handles. He made quick stabbing motions like he was in a knife fight. “These should do the trick,” he said

  “Show-off,” said Dan.

  Skip grinned. “I'll be back as quick as I can, guys.” he turned and ran to the men's room.

  Dan hurried back to the window and peeked around the wall. He watched as Jocko crossed the parking lot, his hands in the air. One of the unknown gunmen frisked him. Jocko climbed into the driver's seat of Gene's car. The man who frisked him climbed into the passenger seat. A second goon climbed into the backseat.

  Shit, Dan thought. He had hoped only one man would be going with Jocko.

  The car started, and Jocko drove out of the parking lot.

  “Good luck,” Dan whispered.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Jocko drove Gene's rented Camry down White Street and hung a right onto Flagler Avenue. He glanced into the rear view mirror. The guy in the back seat blocked most of the rear window.

  “Can you slide over a bit, pal?” Jocko asked. “I can't see behind me.” He reached up and adjusted the mirror.

  The guy in the back locked eyes with Jocko. He didn't say a word.

  Jocko looked over at Goon One, in the front passenger seat. “Your friend's not very talkative,” he said.

  “Shut the fuck up,” said the thug.

  “Yeah,” said Goon Two, “shut the fuck up.”

  Jocko heard Goon Two disengage the slide lock on his pistol and pull back the slide. Several scenarios went through Jocko's head all at once. He imagined himself slamming his fist into Goon One's throat. Then he imagined Goon Two shooting him in the back of the head; that was not how Jocko wanted the night to end.

  I could swerve into an oncoming car, Jocko thought. But that could kill an innocent person. I could slam on the brakes. Goon Two isn't wearing his seat belt. If I'm lucky, he would fly forward, I could wrestle the gun out of his hand, and shoot both of them. What are the odds that would work?

  As they passed Leon Street, Goon One's cell phone rang. “Yeah,” he answered. “How much farther?” he asked Jocko.

  “It's right up here,” Jocko lied. “About two minutes.”

  “Roger that,” said Goon One. He hung up.

  “Fuck it,” Jocko whispered to himself. He punched the gas petal to the floorboard.

  “What the hell are you doing?” shouted Goon Two.

  “Slow down!” said Goon One. Out of the corner of his eye Jocko saw him release his seat belt and reach for his weapon, holstered under his arm.

  Jocko felt Goon Two's cold steel barrel press against the back of his neck. He yanked the wheel hard left, crossing the westbound lane.

  Jocko glanced down at the speedometer—72MPH. The vehicle jumped the curb, barreled across the parking lot, and smashed into the front of Advance Auto Parts. There was no explosion, like in the movies. There was only one loud crash, followed by the continuous wailing of the car horn. Steam rose up from the mangled radiator and curled around and over the store's canopy.

  Chapter Thirty

  Skip was running shirtless down Atlantic Boulevard as fast as he could, a knife in each hand. He thought back to how many times his mother had told him not to run with scissors.

  He turned the corner onto Grove Street and then cut across someone's lawn onto Sky View Street. When he was halfway down the street he turned and ran through a vacant lot, and ended up behind Edna McGee's house. Skip slowed to a jog and scanned Beach View Street. He moved to a position at the corner of Edna's house and stopped. His heart continued to pound.

  Dan's living room light was on and the curtains were open. A black Lincoln Navigator, just like the one at Red's, sat parked in the street in front of Dan's house. Skip could see one head in the vehicle. He crouched down and made his way to the Navigator for a better look. He peeked through the rear passenger side window. A man in a black T-shirt sat behind the steering wheel. His arm hung out the open window, a lit cigarette between two fingers. The radio was on and music played quietly.

  Skip duck-walked around the back of the vehicle and up the side. When he was right below the driver's side window he grabbed the man's arm with his left hand, and quickly rose up, putting the blade of the butcher knife against the man's throat.

  The guy tried to pull back, but the headrest prevented him from doing so.

  “How many of you are there?” Skip asked quietly.

  The guy didn't answer.

  Skip pushed the knife harder into the man's throat. “How many?”

  “Two of us.”

  “Where's your partner?”

  “He's inside the house.”

  “Slowly remove your weapon and drop it outside,” Skip calmly ordered.

  The man obeyed, dropping his 9mm on the pavement at Skip's feet.

  “Thanks, dude,” Skip said. He pulled the knife away from the man's head, turned it slightly, and smashed the butt of the handle into the bridge of the guy's nose. Blood instantly ran down the man's lip like the flood gates had just been opened.

  “Agh!” the guy hollered. His hands went to his face.

  “Here, hold this,” Skip said, handing the man the butcher knife.

  The guy took the knife, and in one swift motion Skip placed one hand on the back of the man's head and with his other hand on the guy's jaw, effortlessly snapped his neck. The man's lifeless body slumped forward.

  Skip pushed him over in the seat, and then turned toward the house. He bent down and picked up the weapon. As he walked toward Dan's house, he ejected the magazine and checked the ammo. He jammed the magazine back into the grip and yanked back the slide.

  “What's going on out there?” Edna McGee hollered from her front porch. “Who's out there?”

  “Hey, Mrs. McGee,” Skip hollered back without diverting his attention away from Dan's house. “It's just me, Skip.”

  “Oh, okay, sweetie,” said Edna. “Nice night.”
>
  “Yes it is.” As he walked up the steps he could see the other black T-shirted thug standing in Dan's living room, his arms folded across his chest. Maxine and Peg sat on the couch.

  Skip crossed the porch, kicked open the front door, and put nine rounds into the man's chest before he had time to react.

  Peg and Maxine both screamed.

  “Is anyone else here?” Skip asked.

  “There's a man out front,” Maxine replied.

  “He's already dead,” said Skip. “Where's Dan's weapon?”

  “In the nightstand.”

  “Danny has a weapon?” Peg asked. “Why does Danny have a weapon?”

  “Get it,” Skip ordered.

  Maxine stood. “Where's Dan?” she asked.

  “He's at Red's. He's fine. Get his gun.”

  Maxine ran to the bedroom and returned seconds later with Dan's chrome 9mm. She handed it to Skip.

  “Where're the keys to the Porsche?”

  Maxine turned and grabbed them off the small round table that holds Alex's photograph. “Here.”

  Skip took the keys. “Call the police. I have to go.” He turned and ran back out the busted door.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Well, that makes fifteen minutes,” said Gene.

  Red slowly got to his feet.

  “You ready?” Dan asked.

  “I'm ready,” Red responded.

  “Wait.”

  What?”

  “I'll go,” said Dan. “Give me the keys to the Thing.”

  “Don't be stupid,” Red said. “I'm going. Just cover me.”

  Dan nodded. “Are you sure?”

  “Oh my God,” Richard groaned. “If you guys are gonna kiss, then kiss, but one of you has to go now. I'm bleeding to death here.”

  Red started for the back door. Dan waited.

  Red yanked open the door and Dan started firing. As he fired the pump action shotgun he watched the three men he could see near the Navigator scatter.

  Red ran out the back door, then ran back inside seconds later, empty-handed. He swung the door shut behind him, and hit the floor on his belly.

  Dan emptied his weapon and jumped back behind the wall. “Where's the go bag?” he shouted.

  “I didn't make it that far!” Red hollered back.

  “Why not?”

  “Someone started shooting at me.”

  “You have any more shells for this thing?”

  “Of course.”

  “Get them.”

  “They're at my house.”

  Dan shook his head.

  “What now?” asked Gene.

  The three men out front opened fire. The silencers on their weapons made it seem as the destruction inside the bar was taking place by magic. Everyone inside lay down and covered their heads as bullets shattered glasses, windows, and booze bottles. Wood splinters flew about the room. One of the suspended surfboards hit the floor next to Dan. A ceiling fan blade disconnected from the motor and sailed across the room, smashing the glass front of the Wurlitzer.

  “Dammit!” Red shouted.

  All at once the shooting stopped. Everyone remained still.

  Skip emerged from the bathroom holding the two pistols. Dan looked up. Skip tossed him his 9mm.

  “Maxine and my mom?” Dan asked.

  “They're both fine,” Skip replied.

  Their heads turned toward the parking lot when they heard the vehicle doors slamming. The engine started.

  Skip ran out the front door, with Dan close behind him. The two men ran to the center of the parking lot as the Navigator was speeding away. Both men raised their weapons and began firing. The rear window of the Navigator exploded.

  Dan and Skip continued to pull their triggers until their weapons were empty. They watched as the black Lincoln turned the corner and disappeared from sight.

  “Well, that was fun,” Dan said.

  “You know it, bro,” Skip responded.

  The two men turned and hurried back to the bar.

  Skip knelt down next to Colton and checked for a pulse. “He's dead.”

  “Yeah,” Dan said, “I figured.”

  When they got back inside, Gene was already dialing 911. Judging by the sounds of sirens in the distance, it probably wasn't necessary.

  Red grabbed a table cloth off one of the tables and spread it over Abby's body. Dan saw what Red was doing and yanked another table cloth off the table nearest him. He turned and went back through the front door.

  As Dan spread the cloth over Colton's body his cell phone rang. “Yeah, Joey?” he answered.

  “Hey, Coast,” said Joey. “You okay?”

  “I'm just fine. How are you?”

  “Is it over?”

  “It's over.”

  “They left?”

  “Yes. But, why?”

  “It took me awhile, but I got a hold of their boss and had him call them off.”

  “Their boss?” Dan asked. “You mean, Harrison?”

  “No, not Harrison. Those men didn't work for Harrison. They were just assigned by one of his clients to protect him.”

  “Isn't Harrison gonna be pissed when he finds out what you did?”

  “No,” Joey replied. “Harrison is probably already dead.”

  “Oh,” said Dan. “Good.”

  Dan paused for a second. “Ya know, Joey, for a minute there, I thought it was you who sicced those goons on us.”

  Joey chuckled. “Don't be ridiculous, Coast. I love you guys. I'll call you back tomorrow.”

  “What time—”

  Joey hung up.

  Red picked up the bar phone and dialed. He waited, but there was no answer. “Come on, Jocko, pick up.”

  Jocko's phone went to voice mail.

  Red hung up and dialed again. There was still no answer. “Dammit!” he said.

  Sirens could be heard off in the distance.

  “I'm sure Jocko will be walking back through the door in no time at all,” said Dan.

  Red hung up the phone. “Yeah, probably.” He flipped the lights back on. Only one bulb lit, the others had all been shot out during the last volley of shots.

  “Holy shit, Red Man,” said Skip. “This place is a mess.”

  Red stood behind the bar, his eyes going from one broken beer sign to the other. His movie posters and even his autographed photo of Ernest Hemingway were riddled with bullet holes.

  “Anyone need a drink?” Red asked, as he poured one for himself. “I think I have about five glasses left.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the reverend said, as he stood at the head of Jocko's grave, two days later.

  Maxine, Peg, Cindy, and Lydia Bell, Jocko's only sibling, sat in metal folding chairs at the graveside. Dan, Red, Skip, Richard, Gene, and about thirty other folks stood behind the chairs, and near the foot of the grave. Dan and Red were looking uncomfortable in their suits. And even Skip wore a tie and dress shirt with his board shorts and Vanns. Richard stood next to Gene, his arm in a sling.

  As the reverend spoke, Dan looked around the crowd. “Looks like Jocko had a lot of friends,” he whispered.

  “Looks that way,” Red whispered back.

  Dan reached forward and put his hand on Maxine's shoulder. She reached up and put her hand on his, and gave a slight squeeze. He looked up at the sky and watched the gray clouds float by for a second, wondering if the rain would at least hold off until after the burial. It was hard to imagine a world without Jocko sticking his head through the kitchen door and saying, “Hey, Coast,” and then busting Dan's balls for being pussy-whipped.

  Out of respect for the deceased, Rick Carver had delayed his investigation into Dan and his cohorts once again taking the law into their own hands. The mitigating circumstances would likely clear them of any wrong doing. Rick took Jocko's death hard, and while he couldn't attend the funeral, he sent a lovely wreath on behalf of himself and the police department. He shared the general opinion that Jocko
was a brave man who died a hero's death.

  Meanwhile, Rick's forensic team had pieced together what went down the night Jobe “Jocko” Morris died. The passenger side air bag was turned off, and didn't deploy. Goon One—who wasn't wearing his seatbelt—hit the dashboard, killing him instantly. Goon Two, also unrestrained, went through the windshield and hit the block wall of Advance Auto Parts. The coroner said almost every bone in his body was fractured. Jocko's air bag opened. The coroner said the only mark on Jocko's body was where Goon Two's bullet, after ripping through the front seat, entered his back and pierced his aorta.

  “Thank you for coming,” said the reverend. “After the burial, Jocko's friends and family have invited everyone back to Red's Bar and Grill—where Jocko has worked for the past twenty-five years—for food and drinks.”

  “Twenty-five years?” Dan asked.

  “Yeah,” Red replied. “He was there way before me.”

  As the crowd dispersed, Dan and Red stayed by the grave, staring into the hole.

  “This really sucks,” Red said.

  “It sure does,” Dan agreed. “At least he took those two bastards out with him.”

  “Have you heard anything about Colton and Abby's funerals?”

  “Colton's funeral is Friday, and Abby's parents are having her body flown back to Georgia to be buried.”

  “You going to Colton's funeral?”

  “I guess I should.” Dan replied. “Maybe some of his contractor buddies will be there. I still need my ceiling painted.”

  “Wow, you're a prick.” Red turned and walked toward the street.

  “I never said I wasn't.”

  *****

  Cindy and Red had pulled several tables together to accommodate the large groups of mourners. Dan, his parents, Maxine, Bev, Richard, and Skip all sat at one of the tables. Empty beer bottles and glasses were scattered about the table top.

  After the crowd thinned, Red, Cindy, and her boyfriend, Derek, joined the group.

  “It's too quiet in here,” Dan said. “Put a couple bucks in that jukeb—oh, crap, that's right.” He glanced over his shoulder at the pathetic looking Wurlitzer. “I think this will be the third time since I've known you that you had to have that thing repaired.”