by William Oday
Three shiny, black SUVs were parked at the curb out front. The kind you usually see the President or rappers riding in.
“Yeah.”
“That’s the Milagro Corporation building. Tallest building in Los Angeles. Full of rich people that don’t give a damn about you and me. We’re going in, whether they like it or not.”
Elio didn’t respond.
“Cheer up, ese,” Cesar said. “You’re gonna become one of us tonight. It’s gonna change everything.”
That’s exactly what Elio was afraid of.
The walkie-talkie chirped.
“We got movement out front.”
Elio peered down the street as they rolled forward.
Four figures emerged from a revolving door and stopped by one of the pillars. All had broad shoulders and wore dark suits. Security guys, no doubt.
Their cars crept forward, now no more than a couple hundred feet away.
Another man exited the building and joined them. This one tall and lanky. His bald head reflected light. He joined the others.
“That’s Frank!” Cesar screamed. “Elio, drop your window and get ready! The bald guy’s mine. You’re on the others. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
Cesar thumbed the transmitter.
“Go! Go! Go! The bald pendejo is mine!”
Both cars launched forward, like wolves in the short sprint to finish prey.
Elio lowered the window and rested the TEC-9 on the windowsill. His fingers barely responded. His whole body was numb, like he was a body snatcher still getting used to the new controls. He tried to swallow and his throat gave up halfway.
He couldn’t go through with it.
But he had to.
It was them. Or it was him. Or worse yet, Theresa.
60
As if by remote control, Elio’s fingers encircled the pistol’s grip and the barrel rose toward a future he wouldn’t be able to take back.
His body pressed back into the seat as the engine roared.
All the security guys turned to see what was making so much noise. Their hands dug inside suit coats and pulled out dark shadows.
Elio watched as thin black barrels extended from the passenger windows of the blue car in front. Flashes of light exploded outward and the crack of gunfire filled the air.
The suits returned fire with pistols. One shoved Frank to the side behind a concrete planter. One of the suits dashed toward the street and ducked behind the nearest SUV at the curb. Flashing muzzles strobed the scene, like a death disco.
The car in front charged ahead.
“Blast ‘em! Blast ‘em!” Cesar yelled into his walkie-talkie.
The thunderous boom of his .50 caliber Desert Eagle deafened Elio’s right ear. A keening whine accompanied a jolt of pain deep inside his head. He looked right to see a gleaming barrel extended from the back window, kicking out an enormous flower of flame each time a round fired.
Elio raised his pistol and pointed it at the suits.
Rounds peppered the car in front. Glass shattered onto the street. Their tires crunched as they sped over it.
The suits fell back, their semiautomatic pistols no match for the firepower leveled against them. The glass entrance behind them shattered and crumbled to the ground.
The tallest one jerked as a cloud of mist exploded from his chest. He jerked again and fell to the pavement.
Elio watched, paralyzed. He turned to see Theresa screaming. Her shriek just one more note amidst the roaring concussions of shots firing all around. He looked forward and the suit behind the SUV stepped into the road, blasting away at the lead car.
The driver’s head snapped back and the car lurched right. It slammed into the suit, flung him back ten feet into the last SUV, and then slammed into both of them.
Metal crunched as the doomed guy’s legs and waist disappeared in a metal meat grinder. Car horns blared as he screamed in agony.
His suffering was short-lived.
Cuts jumped out of the passenger side of the blue car and emptied a shotgun into him from point blank range. The trapped suit jolted back as slugs ripped through his chest. And then he collapsed forward onto the hood.
Evil spilled out the left back seat door and leaned low over the trunk, spraying his rifle at the two still standing. Another of Cesar’s soldiers staggered out of the blue car and pitched forward. His body shuddered like an electrical current zapped it. He collapsed in the street, a puppet with the strings cut.
Elio’s car skidded to a stop.
“What’s happening?”
Elio glanced back and saw Holly looking around with a dazed look on her face. Cesar kicked the door open and wrapped a huge arm around her chest.
“Let go of me!” Holly shouted.
Theresa reached over the seat and grabbed Holly’s hand.
“No! Holly!”
Cesar yanked Holly free and pinned her to his chest. He ran straight at the spot where Frank had hidden, his pistol booming again and again.
One of the suits pulled Frank back and they disappeared into the ruined building entrance. The last guy stood his ground, the muzzle of his pistol jumping at Cesar’s approach.
Holly’s body jerked as a round hit her in the stomach. Another slammed into her chest. Another hit Cesar in the shoulder and Holly fell to the side. Cesar leapt at the suit. They landed hard and rolled to a stop. Cesar climbed on top and rained down punishing elbows. The blows crashed through the upraised hands trying to stop them.
Red covered Cesar’s arms as he rained down blows, any one of which could’ve ended a man’s life. The suit’s face turned into a pulp of blood and lacerated tissue.
The poor guy’s arms fell to the side and still Cesar didn’t stop.
Elio wanted to turn away, but couldn’t. Like watching a car wreck as it happened.
Evil approached, still aiming his rifle toward the entrance.
“Jefe, that one’s dead.”
Cesar stopped and lunged down. His teeth clamped on exposed neck. He jerked back, tearing the dead man’s throat out.
Theresa screamed and her hand clutched tight on his knee.
Elio’s stomach heaved and his mouth filled with spit.
Cesar turned and his face and frontside were covered in carnage. Like he’d chainsawed a cow. Torn flesh hung from his jaws. He spat it onto the ground.
Another burst of gunfire screamed into the night as Evil pin cushioned the body of one of the fallen suits. And then only the car horns and the gurgling cries of the injured remained.
Cuts staggered to the sidewalk, holding his right side. The shotgun he carried used as a cane now. “I took one!”
Cesar yanked the dead guy’s ID tag from his chest and shoved it into his pocket. He then marched over and threw open Elio’s door. “Get out!”
Elio didn’t move. He could shoot him now. He could unleash a thirty-two round magazine at point blank range. Before this madman tore out his throat. Or Theresa’s.
He could finish this.
Cesar’s brow dropped like a hammer on the broad anvil of his glistening face. He brought his mirrored pistol to Elio’s forehead. “Get out, now!”
Not waiting for a response, Cesar reached across him and yanked Theresa out of the car. He wrapped an arm around her and marched her forward in front of him.
More expendable body armor.
61
He had to do something. But he couldn’t shoot Cesar now, not from behind. What if the bullets went through and into Theresa?
“Holly!” Theresa screamed. She reached toward her fallen friend as Cesar shuffled by.
Elio jumped out and scrambled to catch up.
Pushing Theresa in front, Cesar stepped through the mostly empty panes of glass in the entrance. Evil, Cuts, and another of Cesar’s soldiers followed. Elio tried not to look at the suit with the torn out throat as he passed.
Pale brains oozed out onto the sidewalk.
He turned away, praying he’d forget and knowing he wo
uldn’t.
He stepped over the bits of glass that remained stuck in the metal framework. His shoes crunched over safety glass reduced to rubble.
A thought came to him. He crouched down and picked up a shard sticking out of the metal framework, long and thick as a dagger, and carefully slid it into his back pocket.
If he didn’t get a chance to shoot Cesar, maybe he could stab him.
He followed them into an enormous lobby. Beyond the wreckage of the glass, the floor was a large checker pattern of glossy beige and black stone. A long oval booth to the right of the entrance was empty.
Cesar walked around the booth and shuffled through papers on the table.
“Cleaning services are located on the eleventh floor. ”
“Elevators over here, Jefe,” Cuts said pointing off to the left in the center of the lobby. “One’s going up.”
They all ran over. The red digital display above the closed doors stopped at the 55th floor. Cesar punched the call button and an elevator behind dinged and swished open.
They piled in and headed up.
Elio stood closest to the closed doors. He caught Theresa’s eyes in the hazy metal reflection. Her eyes looked faded. Hollow. Empty of the life that normally animated them.
They reached the 55th floor and the upward movement slowed to a stop. The doors opened.
Cesar tapped Elio’s shoulder.
“Take a look.”
Elio crept forward and peeked to both sides. To the right stretched a long hall that looked like an infinitely nicer version of a typical hotel hallway. Instead of threadbare carpet, gray marble floors inlaid with brass designs. Instead of old 1980’s light fixtures that threw hard light underneath and left the spaces between dark, modern recessed LEDs illuminated the ceiling with a warm, even glow. Both sides of the hall had closed office doors every twenty feet or so.
He stepped into the open space for a better look.
“Don’t see anyone. Lot of rooms to hide in though.”
The hall erupted with gunfire. At the far end, the suit that escaped earlier fired from inside an open doorway.
He ducked back into the elevator as rounds snapped by, some passing inches from his head.
Evil and Cuts leaned their guns around the corner and triggered off an answering barrage.
The air filled with the sounds of promised death. The loud crack of rifles emptying long magazines. The boom of shotgun shells delivering fatal slugs. The thunk of ammunition chewing into polished rock, lacquered wood, and textured drywall. The high-pitched whine as rounds zipped by.
Death reached for anyone unlucky enough to be caught. And Theresa was caught in the middle of it all.
Cesar dug something out from behind his back. He yanked a pin from it and a shim of metal popped away and clattered to the floor. He grinned at Elio and slung his arm around the corner, hurling a grenade down the hall.
Evil and Cuts retreated into the elevator as a massive bang destroyed whatever hearing Elio had left.
A cloud of particulate fog billowed past and curled into the elevator.
“Vamos,” Cesar shouted.
They edged out of the elevator and into an impenetrable cloud of choking dust. Cesar waved Cuts forward.
His shotgun up and ready to fire, he disappeared into the obscured air. Evil and the other soldier disappeared next. Cesar followed with Theresa pinned to his chest.
She vanished into swirling eddies of particulate haze.
Elio took a deep breath and plunged in.
The shadowed forms of those ahead vanished and reappeared as Elio moved through varying densities of airborne debris. The hall stretched out into an endless choking cloud. They continued on for what seemed like forever.
The gray dust swirled as Cesar’s darker form again disappeared. The world seemed far away, kept at a distance by the painful ringing in Elio’s ears. Muffled echoes of his own coughing and hacking came through.
Panic grew in his chest. He couldn’t see Theresa. He shoved his way forward and slammed into Cesar’s broad back. The brute reacted with the speed of a mongoose. He whipped around, throwing an elbow out as he spun. It caught Elio on the temple and tossed him like a wet rag against the wall.
Theresa’s face was sheet white.
A warm wetness trickled down Elio’s cheek and jaw. He touched it and his fingers came away slippery and red.
Cesar waved his gun at Elio, motioning him to go ahead.
Elio stumbled forward while the hall tilted back and forth at odd angles.
Through the metal door at the end of the hall, stairs appeared out of the smoke. Evil, Cuts, and the other soldier waited at the bottom step for that floor. Cesar and Theresa came up behind.
Cesar shoved Elio and roared, “Go!”
The boom of a shotgun and the metal railing pinged as slugs filled the empty column of air in the middle and ricocheted around. Several floors above, the suit leaned out over the railing, raining down death.
The soldier screamed and spun to the wall as red blossomed on his white shirt. He slumped to the floor, leaving a crimson streak on the wall behind. Blood dribbled from his lips.
Cesar snarled and waved his gun up the stairs.
“Go!”
Evil took off up the stairs, his back hugging the outside wall as he went. Cuts followed with Elio behind. Cesar brought up the tail with Theresa stumbling forward in his grasp.
More slugs screamed down and caromed off the railings of the floors above.
Elio’s feet pounded the steps as his brain searched for a solution. How could he save Theresa?
They made it up four floors, Evil and Cuts with their guns raised and sporadically blazing. The sharp stink of gunpowder burned Elio’s eyes. The surrounding blasts created a deafening storm. And any second Theresa could get hit in the storm of lead.
Then the onslaught silenced. The suit above either got hit or retreated out of the stairwell.
Cesar’s soldiers rounded the last bend and made it to the 60th floor. Spent shotgun shells and smaller pistol casings carpeted the concrete floor. Evil rounded the stairwell and ran halfway up to the next floor.
“Nothing up here, Jefe. They must be on that floor.”
Evil rejoined the group on the landing to the 60th floor. He reached for the closed metal door partitioning the stairwell from the office space beyond.
“Wait,” Cesar said. A barrel jabbed Elio in the back. “Get up front. Kill the one with the shotgun, or I’ll kill you.”
Theresa reached out and caught his sleeve.
“No!” she screamed. “Don’t do it!”
If only that were an option.
He stepped out of the stairwell. More closed office doors lined the hall, about ten to a side. One of those rooms held the guy Cesar was after and the last suit. The silence hid which room it might be. They all appeared equally unwelcoming.
Gazing down the hall, Elio considered his situation. There were guns in front and guns behind. Both sides ready to punch holes in his body. He crept toward the first door on the right knowing only two things.
One, he would die.
And two, there was no escape.
62
MASON watched the tracker app as he and Iridia sped east on Pico. Theresa’s phone hadn’t moved in the last five minutes. He slowed the big Bronco as he turned left onto Fifth Street. A few blocks down was where her phone had stopped.
At the base of the Milagro Corporation Tower, one car blocked the middle of the road. The metallic red ’64 Impala.
He’d driven like a madman to catch up, but now he approached slowly, reading the scene. He shut the lights off and parked halfway down the block.
“Iridia, don’t get out. It’s not safe.”
She didn’t answer. Those police officers that got mowed down. The destruction meted out by the Apache gunship. The brush with death. She was in deep shock. He’d be surprised if it were otherwise.
Anyway, he preferred the silence.
“Don’t l
eave me!”
Of course, he wasn’t lucky enough for her to stay quiet.
“I have to.”
She stared at him, arms crossed and still looking supermodel beautiful. Anger worked for her.
“Listen, just stay put.”
“Stop bossing me around! You aren’t my manager!”
“No, your manager would have told you to screw that director to advance your career.”
“Screw you!”
“I don’t have time for this,” he said as he got out of the Bronco. He so wanted to slam the door in her face. But stealth was more important than the satisfying pop of a bubbling outburst.
He eased the door shut and drew his Glock 19. He inched the slide back and verified the weapon was hot. In a low crouch, he moved forward keeping close to the buildings.
He swerved back into the street and approached the red Impala with his pistol at the ready, his finger extended along the slide, his head on a swivel scanning for threats. A sky blue lowrider had smashed into the last of three black, late model Cadillac Escalades. The kind close protection officers used for high-profile clients. The wrecked lowrider’s horn droned continuously.
He scanned to the right and saw that the entire entrance area was a wreck of shattered glass and chewed up metal framing.
Several bodies lay on the pavement in front. None moved.
He side-stepped around the rear door, looking through the open window, slicing the pie as he went. The back seat was empty. He cut around the front seat and found it empty as well.
A quiet moaning surfaced below the much louder car horn. It was coming from over by the building. He moved around the back of the Impala and approached the source of the sound, a body partially hidden in shadows. The dark form lay on its side, curled up in the fetal position.
As he got closer, he realized with a shock that he recognized the clothes. And the victim.
Holly.
He holstered his weapon and knelt beside her. He touched her shoulder.
