by T. C. Clover
during a drug raid. I don’t know many details, but they said it happened at 75th on the Brooklyn and caught them by surprise.”
Fassim closed her eyes and put her head down until her face disappeared underneath a pink headscarf. Jazzy put her hands over her mouth and shook her head. She then leaned back into the sofa, forgetting that she was about to divulge the story of her sexual assault on national television.
“Is he going to be okay?” Richard inquired with a perplexed expression. “Stoney always seemed so tough; I can’t imagine somebody…” The film editor trailed off and had a difficult time forming another thought.
CKB stood up from a barstool near Jazzy and walked over to the kitchen counter with his head hung toward the floor. He seemed to be trying to work something out. The powerful man appeared defeated in his black muscle shirt and white cargo pants. His left foot dug into the carpet in an anxious manner, and he gave off the ambiance of a haunted man.
“We need to go to the hospital,” Jazzy stated with urgency as she adjusted her black skirt and stood up tall in a pair of matching high heels. “Where is Litz?” She looked around the room and tugged at her lime green blouse in a nervous way.
“I think Litz is on a plumbing call,” Richard contemplated aloud and stood up from the other barstool.
Fassim glared at Richard with confusion but knew that her jealousy was misplaced. She watched his black and red tie swinging across his white button-down shirt and seemed hypnotized by his appeal. The man had been wearing tighter pants lately, and the black jeans he had on today were impressive. A sensation of pure guilt crept over the woman, and she leaned back into the sofa as if to disappear.
“I have to go,” CKB announced in an abrupt fashion and turned on his heel toward the exit.
“What the hell, CKB?” Jazzy demanded with outrage, placing her hands on her hips. “You’re leaving, and Litz isn’t here: doesn’t anyone care about Stoney?” She gestured to the room with her hands outstretched, but everyone seemed to have other priorities.
“I’ll go with you,” Fassim answered as she jumped up from her seat and made quick strides in her gray sundress to stand near Jazzy.
“Yeah, I’ll go too,” Richard agreed with a perplexed expression and watched CKB leave the loft in silence.
Jazzy glared at Mike and folded her arms, which caused him to lower his head and blink with exhausted eyes. The director appeared to be thinner than normal in a pair of blue jeans and a gray two-button dress shirt with white stripes.
“Yes, of course; why don’t I drive?” Mike responded like a man who had just spent the last four days shoveling coal at a prison. “Let’s go see how he’s doing,” the executive conceded and began to shuffle toward the front door.
Jazzy shook her head and raised her eyebrows, electing not to say anything due to the director's cooperation. Fassim and Richard seemed to share her sentiments, and they communicated their solidarity with expressions of disgust.
“Why don’t you stop marveling over what an a**hole I am and keep your minds on your friend?” Mike called back to the group without turning around.
Although this statement tempted the group to share another round of disapproving glances, none of them wanted to make him look smarter than before. The three cast members bowed their heads with disappointment and followed Mike in a silent march of uncertainty.
Warehouse 38 – Brooklyn, New York
CKB tugged on the handle of the bulletproof, tinted glass door of his employer’s warehouse, entering the facility like an elephant ripping a tree from its path. He knew that Stoney’s near-death experience had nothing to do with fate, and two men had threatened his friend's life in the past few weeks. The career criminal moved slower upon entering the warehouse and decided not to let his rage play against him. CKB's better senses told him that Hector had initiated the shooting, but making assumptions about the enterprise of crime was an amateur’s errand.
The muscular television star began to move between racks of spring clothing but froze in place when he laid eyes on the head of the timber wolf. There was something odd about the piercing gaze of the animal, and it made him reconsider the nature of his employer. CKB retrieved a satellite phone from the right pocket of his cargo pants and began to type on the display.
‘I’m here.’ He texted and stared at the rough birch door with its chipped brass handle that stood between him and Mitch's deadly enterprise. ‘We need to talk about the cop.’
‘What is there to talk about?’ Mitch responded within a few seconds. ‘I thought you were on our side. Or is this some other cop?’ There was a brief pause before the conversation continued. ‘Why don’t you come in and we’ll discuss?’
‘Why don’t you come out?’ CKB suggested, and fixed his gaze on the aged interior door of the warehouse. ‘I’ve never known Hector to use The Laundromat to do business-‘ His rapid typing was interrupted by the sound of the interior door opening.
CKB crouched down when he noticed that the lights were out in the security office. He knelt toward the floor until his right hand touched its warm, dark hickory surface. Just ten feet behind him and to the left, he heard the sound of a steel tumbler turning as the front door lock was engaged. His body became overwhelmed with anxiety and everything seemed to be moving too fast. CKB glanced up at the wolf above the door and cursed his employer in silence for his ruthless way of doing things. He looked around for a weapon and saw a rack of metal baseball bats hanging down from a shelving unit to his right. The career criminal chided himself for not finding a way to smuggle a firearm into the warehouse. It would have been simple to use a piece of lead to fool the cheap X-ray security system on his way through the front door. His hands shook when he considered that staying outside of the building would have been the better choice.
“I got your video uploaded,” CKB confided under his breath as he strafed toward the shelving unit. “Then you have the balls to accuse me of becoming an informant because I was nice to a cop for five seconds?” He let these thoughts fuel his actions, using caution and patience to pick up a blue and gray metal baseball bat without making a sound.
Cody became nervous as the seconds went by with no movements in the warehouse. He removed a glossy, black wireless video camera from a small case in the left pocket of his pants and clipped the unit to the neck of his muscle shirt. The young man squatted again and transferred the baseball bat to his left hand, feeling the rubber grip with pensive authority. His right hand fished for his satellite phone in the right pocket of his pants, and he clicked the ‘quick record’ button on top of the unit. A small red light illuminated on top of the camera, and he gripped the steel baseball bat with both hands, preparing himself for action.
The warehouse lights went out, and his breathing escalated to a state of mortal terror. He forced his eyes to stay open, trying to adjust to the blackness as quick as possible. A shotgun fired twice into the racks of clothing from just inside the doorway of the security office. CKB put his head down and held his breath, ignoring the temptation to run for the exit. He knew that the front door was formidable with layered bulletproof glass, and the locking mechanism had three steel cylinders. The explosive sounds of gunfire seemed to be amplified by the enclosed space, and all he could hear was ringing in his ears.
CKB saw the barrel of a shotgun protrude from the doorway of the security office and was grateful that his vision had adjusted to the darkness. He waited for the security guard to emerge, but knew that the man was unlikely to make his day by being stupid.
The guard panned across the entire space from right to left, listening for any signs of his target. After this brief interlude, the shotgun swung in a wild arc back to the right and was fired at random two more times.
CKB closed his eyes and inhaled until his lungs filled with oxygen. A fifth shot went off and hit the back of the shelving unit behind which he was taking cover. His legs b
egan to cramp under his weight, and he noticed sweat forming on his brow. The television star knew that Mitch had trained all of his men to use patience to their advantage. He thought about the blocked escape route through the front door and lamented his decision to enter the building before knowing the truth.
“You stormed in here like-“ CKB started to criticize himself but was interrupted by thunderous gunfire.
Two more shots went off as the security guard pulled back on the pump action to eject the spent shells. CKB got to his feet and tripped on the corner of the shelving unit, causing a factory-packaged basketball to fall from the top shelf to the floor. Although this object made enough of a sound to alert the guard, Cody knew that the man needed to reload his shotgun. He imagined the heavyset man with his unkempt black hair and dead eyes, trying to force shells into the magazine of the weapon in total darkness. CKB smirked and dodged between the racks of clothing, but his victory was short-lived. At least one thug would be waiting outside the front door, and CKB’s survival depended on several factors that he didn’t want to contemplate.
The inundated man made his way to the winding staircase that was made of stainless steel and ascended the stairs as if his body were on fire. When Cody reached the second floor, he dodged past
