by T. C. Clover
CKB protested the treatment of his Japanese co-star, and Jennifer rewarded him by smashing the butt of her pistol into the back of his bald head.
“Where are our security people?” Fassim thought aloud and glanced around the room.
“Your security people work for us,” Jennifer answered in a callous manner. “Now stop with the twenty questions, or we won’t be able to end this peacefully.”
Several members of the television crew came running toward the living room to see what was happening. The group of over a dozen men and women stood at the end of the hallway with shocked expressions, attempting to understand whether they were witnessing something real. A few of the men became aggressive when they saw the director abusing the television stars, but Mike was quick to train his weapon on them.
“Get back to your rooms, or we’ll execute all of them,” the director assured the small group of onlookers. “In fact, anyone that gets between us and the door is going to get shot in the throat. Do you know how horrible it is to get shot in the throat? Do you want to find out?” He added through gritted teeth, which caused the crew members to raise their hands and back away.
CKB lurched backward at Jennifer with the hulking weight of his body while Mike was distracted, and used his left arm to swat at her pistol. The producer had been watching the crew members over her shoulder, and the criminal was able to knock the gun from her hands. Cody turned further when he saw the pistol fall away, but the woman exploded back to attention and jabbed him hard in the throat. He began to choke, and Jennifer grappled his left arm with formidable aggression, twisting it around his back at an uncomfortable angle. With a slight amount of pressure, the producer was able to make CKB feel like she was about to dislocate his elbow. The large man submitted and fell to his knees. As a measured response, Jennifer reached over the back of the television and pushed it off of its stand onto his back. The layered 3D hologram screen smashed against CKB’s back and shoulders but did little else, other than serving as a garnish to Jennifer’s rage.
Jennifer turned to see that Richard was holding her pistol, and the agitated film editor had it aimed at the center of her chest. She exhaled with wounded pride and doubled her hands up into white-knuckle fists.
Richard crept across the room between Jennifer, Jazzy, and Fassim, preventing Mike from getting a clear target.
“Do you think that having your co-stars in my way will keep me from shooting you, Richard?” Mike threatened and took aim at the back of Fassim’s head.
Fassim exhibited a paler color on her face after the director uttered these words, and with her eyes, she begged Richard to do something. The film editor locked his gaze on the petrified Muslim and then began to sprint across the living room carpet toward the kitchen.
Mike tracked the fleeing television star across the room with his pistol and waited for a clear shot at the center of mass. However, Richard dove over the kitchen counter like a superhero, taking bowls of fruit and bananas crashing to the tiled flooring with him.
The film editor felt his body smack the cold tiles face first, and he dropped the pistol to inspect his left eye. Richard was relieved when the wounded eye opened and closed without issue. Although his vision was blurry; the damage didn’t seem permanent. Richard shook his head and found the pistol on the floor under his right leg. He then used his right hand to pull the weapon up to his chest and slid backward against the kitchen cupboards.
“Richard, if this turns into a standoff between us and the police, it’s going to end badly for you,” Mike promised from his position at the center of the living room. “Look, everyone, Jennifer and I just want to leave in peace. We came in here to subdue Stoney and CKB because they’re the biggest threats to our safety. That's what we’re trained to do, and I’m sorry it had to go down this way. But you need to surrender your weapon and let us get out of here.”
“I don’t think we can trust you!” Richard called out from below the kitchen countertop. “You look like evil people to me.”
“Richard, I don’t care if I get out that door with fifteen bodies at my feet, or with no bodies, but I'm getting through that door!” The director proclaimed with a roar from his commanding throat, causing his face to redden somewhat.
The television star clutched the pistol tighter in his right hand and looked at the front door to his left. He was confused by this ultimatum from Mike because both exits led to the elevators, but the route from the front door was shorter than the back. Richard tried to recall what was unique about leaving through the front door, but the adrenaline in his veins and a rapid heart rate would not allow him to focus.
“Come on, shutterbug!” Mike demanded with authority from someone in the living room and began to shuffle across the carpet.
The film editor held the pistol silencer close to his cheek in dismay, considering the possibility that the crazed director was holding someone hostage. He jumped backward and almost fired the gun when a woman’s head peeked over the kitchen counter at him. Richard bit his lower lip when he saw Fassim’s pink headscarf fall from her hair and float down to the tiles on the cool kitchen floor. Someone was squeezing her neck and holding a pistol against her right temple. The helpless woman looked down at Richard with empty eyes that dripped small tears of confusion onto his clothing.
“Since your ears don’t work, Richard, let’s see how good you are with visual aids,” Mike growled as he manhandled the timid Muslim atop the kitchen counter. "In five seconds, I’m going to start with her, and then I’ll empty my clip into the rest of your friends. One. Four. Five!” The retired CIA assassin yelled through the loft and watched as the suppressed pistol was tossed gently upward on the kitchen counter. “Jennifer, get your piece,” he called out to his companion and yanked the photographer away from the countertop.
Jennifer sprinted to the kitchen and retrieved her pistol from the smooth white tiles on the counter, and then took aim on the crew members in the hallway. The group began to retreat backward, feeling less emboldened with two gun-toting psychopaths in the loft.
“Jenn, you’re out the door,” Mike barked with efficiency and pointed his pistol at the crew as the producer ducked below his arms, darting forward to open the front door. “We’re gone, and you’re safe, as promised. But if anyone tries to follow us, we’ll put no less than four bullets into you, and we won’t care about where they land.” The director followed his co-conspirator through the front door, walking backward to keep an eye on everyone in the room.
The front door slammed shut, and the attack was over as fast as it began. Jazzy had tears streaming down her face in perfect, glossy lines, and her expression was that of a terrified animal.
“I think they’re taking the stairs,” Richard surmised as he got up from his position behind the kitchen counter. “The only reason they would want to go through the front door is so that they could make it to the stairs. I’m going after them.”
Stoney wiped his mouth and shook his head from side to side at the conservative film editor. He wanted to speak, but his swollen, bloodied lips were burning with pulsating pain.
“Leave it alone, dude,” CKB replied to Richard as he pushed the broken television aside and got to his feet. “Look, if someone is dangerous enough to make Stoney stay put and force me to play dead – it’s like a hornet’s nest.” He finished in an awkward manner, unable to articulate his explanation. “Just stay put and be glad you’re alive.”
“Is someone gonna’ call the cops?” Jazzy asked with subtle sarcasm that was overshadowed by fear. “I appreciate you guys pretending to be macho, but if Stoney and CKB couldn’t do anything, then we need more help.”
“I’ll try Stoney’s partner and see if he can send someone over,” CKB responded in a manner that lacked enthusiasm. “In the meantime, Richard, just chill out and lay low with the rest of us. Let’s find out what’s goin’ on.”
Richard ignored this sentiment and used his right hand to
snatch a butcher knife from a white oak block in the corner of the kitchen. He then bolted for the front door and exited the loft in a rush. The film editor felt a surge of horror upon leaving the safety of their living space and wanted to close his eyes. But the hallway near the elevators was empty, and this discovery gave him confidence.
Richard walked past the elevators and confirmed that the lights above the doors were not moving. He smirked to celebrate this small victory, realizing that his theory was correct. After taking a moment to gather his wits, he began to trudge across the tan and brown carpeting of the hallway toward the door labeled ‘stairs.’ The halls were typical of a hotel layout, complete with a few dark brown end tables with fake fruit and knickknacks atop their shiny surfaces. Richard felt odd running with the butcher knife and tried to conceal it beside his right thigh. His left hand gripped the bronze door handle to enter the staircase, and he pulled the door open in a slow and steady manner.
The heedful man moved his body under the pale lighting of the stairway, keeping his left hand taut against the door. This maneuver allowed him to close the heavy door without making a sound. Richard peered over the stairway railing and couldn’t see any movement below, but he suspected
