Shots Fired in the Melting Pot

by T. C. Clover

You disgust me!” The man began to scuffle with Richard on the ice and spat in his right eye.

  The television star pulled away from the aggressive stranger but felt his hoodie stretching in his attacker’s eager grasp. He blinked both eyes several times, trying to wipe the fresh saliva from his right pupil. The film editor detected a lightning rod of fury moving through his core as the fresh spittle stung the surface of his eye, and he began to manhandle his opponent.

  Richard grabbed the stranger's tan jacket near the zipper and felt that the man somehow looked familiar. His assailant was tall with a well-groomed graying beard and deep brown eyes. The young man began to slip on the ice and decided to be mindful of his surroundings, noting that self-defense was more vital than chance memories at the moment. The older man was wearing baggy blue jeans and a New York Knicks baseball cap, but there was something in his eyes that seemed patriotic and distant.

  “Litz Rack was a disgrace; shame on you for touching that filthy woman,” the angry New Yorker scolded Richard again, and punched him with fierce energy three times on his left cheek. “I think you were in cahoots with her the whole time! How does a man put his hands on a woman and not know that she’s evil?” He continued his violent assault until the conservative film editor began to fight back.

  Richard had learned some defense moves over the past few months, courtesy of new friendships with Stoney and CKB. He stripped off the black hoodie and allowed his attacker to take it from him. This maneuver left him wearing a thin white T-shirt in the frigid cold. The television star then threw a swift right uppercut toward the vulgar pedestrian, but the older man blocked his fist and stunned him with a head-butt to the nose.

  The Republican allowed himself to go ballistic with rage, watching steam rush out of his nose as he used the raw power of his body to flip his opponent onto the ice. Although this move was beneficial, Richard’s shoes betrayed him, and the two men fell into a heap on the sidewalk near the curb.

  “Litz wasn’t bad; she just had a rough start in life,” Richard lamented with his face pressed hard into his opponent’s chest. “She was the desert rose that survived the blizzard,” he added with contempt while his fists pounded the mouthy New Yorker in the kidneys and back of the head.

  A red van jolted forward in traffic and stopped at the curb next to the skirmish. Richard lifted his head as the side door of the vehicle glided open, and two young men stepped out onto the concrete. They wore black T-shirts and loose-fitting cargo pants with tan work boots. One of the thugs reached down and pulled Richard up by the abdomen as if he were for sale from a local butcher shop. The other man grappled his legs, and they slid him into the van without gaining the interest of more than a few onlookers.

  Richard tried to fight his abductors, but they locked his arms at the elbow behind his back. He started to kick with both legs, using all his strength, and someone responded by tying a seatbelt around his ankles.

  “Hello, Richard,” a familiar female voice said after he heard the door of the van slide shut and lock. “If you stop fighting, then nobody here is going to hurt you.”

  The van sped away from the curb into traffic, and Richard felt the back of his head resting on someone’s lap. He looked up to see Litz Rack smiling at him in full makeup with her long blonde hair in a ponytail. She seemed mysterious and optimistic, sporting a royal blue dress that someone might choose before going on a date.

  “Look, you need to stop fighting, or you’re going to break something,” the woman instructed in a frigid manner as she gripped the underside of his chin. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m not taking any s*** from you either.” She swore with a loving smile and patted the reddened skin on the left side of his face. “God, Robert, you didn’t have to hit him so hard!”

  “You told me that he was skinny and timid,” Robert protested and folded his arms to pout in the rear seat of the van. “That guy is muscular and ready to dance. All I did was give him a good taste of pain; nothing was broken.”

  Richard glared at the two men that restrained him like a ravenous polar bear snatched from his icy lair. The television star refused to speak or smile, but locked eyes with his captors using all the pride he could muster.

  “Well, you’ve got your man, Litz,” Mike called out from the passenger seat, “and now I want my s***. I’m sure you two will have some time to catch up later,” he announced with a sadistic grin and pushed a pair of dark sunglasses close to the bridge of his nose. “Hello, Richard - glad to see that you’re in one piece,” the ex-CIA agent said in a relaxed manner as he twisted his body around to face the windshield.

  Richard sensed himself going numb when he saw that Mike and Litz were riding in the same van together. He stopped fighting his captors and stared at the back of the passenger seat. The film editor could feel his heart pulsating in his head when he took in the vision of his greatest enemy. Mike wore a gaudy black leather jacket that was of the same poor quality as his thick sunglasses. The television star guessed that they had purchased these items during their road trip, along with the cheap black jeans that Mike was sporting.

  After observing the pain in Richard’s face, Litz lowered her head and fixated on the light gray interior of the van. She had never realized the extent of her betrayal until this moment, and by staring into his eyes, it was like he and Jason were both judging her. The amorous woman’s hands trembled as she anguished over Richard’s disdain for her and the company she kept.

  Litz waved dismissively to the young thugs, and Richard watched the men retreat to the rear of the van to sit with Robert. The nervous vixen then got up from her position in a delicate fashion and let Richard's head drop onto the seat. Litz then sat on the edge of the plush bench near the belly of her former co-star and remained silent while the van rolled forward through traffic.

  Richard found himself lying on his back in the middle seat of the large passenger van, and although his legs were bound, his arms remained free to move. The annoyed man turned his head to the left toward the driver of the vehicle and saw long locks of blonde hair. Upon closer inspection, Richard decided that the person couldn’t be Jennifer due to the masculine clothing and broad shoulders.

  “Aren’t you going to say anything?” Litz prompted her former lover with a demeanor of hope.

  “I wish that I’d ripped the head off of your frog!” He taunted her with a brazen sneer.

  “So, when do you think you’ll be able to get those plans to us?” Mitch Gentile pressed from the driver seat of the van, demonstrating an impulsive mood.

  Mitch was flaunting a cream-colored suit that complimented his thick blonde hair, and sunglasses that were far more stylish than those worn by Mike. His green silk tie had a faint blue checkered pattern across it, and the fabric swung each time the van made a turn.

  When the van was on a straight path with less traffic, Mike pivoted in his chair with haste to look at Litz and raised his eyebrows, awaiting an answer. Litz shook her head with irritation and reached for a big, white road maintenance envelope tucked into a wide cloth pocket on the back of Mike’s seat.

  “Here you go,” she said in a succinct manner and dropped the envelope into Mike’s lap, “enjoy...”

  “That was behind his seat the whole time?” Mitch assimilated with a friendly smack to Mike’s left knee. “She had the plans in the back of your seat all the way from California – in the maintenance records!” He began to laugh in several octaves of mocking harmony along with the other men in the van.

  “I can’t believe the balls on you sometimes, Litz,” Mike scorned with a deep sigh as he opened the envelope and pulled out some handwritten documents to pore over them. “I wish you were a real professional,” he added with wounded pride while his colleagues continued to chuckle.

  “Do you want me to think of you as my enemy?” The young woman suggested with a powerful gaze and leaned closer to the passenger seat.

  “You get that
thought out of your head, right now!” The former CIA agent requested in a sudden state of concern. “I don’t need you running scenarios through that monster brain with me as a target. We’re all friends here, everybody loves you, and you’ve got your boy toy. Let’s just relax and enjoy the road for a while.” Mike put up his hands with the palms outward and turned back toward the dashboard.

  Richard felt odd seeing Mike show concern over the rambunctious hellcat and was stunned when none of the men questioned her authority. He looked up at her pouty expression and voluptuous figure, sensing that his pelvis yearned for her warmth, but the film editor forced his body to put the hunger aside. The captive man thought about his painful physical therapy and the scars from small third-degree burns on his arms and legs. After a brief moment of recalling the pain that she had caused him, it was easy for Richard to grimace at the duplicitous woman.

  “I know that you’re angry with me, but I’ve put a lot of work into this, and you’re going to hold me,” Litz demanded as she turned her body and tried to lie next to him on the bench seating.

  Richard used his left arm to push the blonde woman away and heard two men jump up from their seats at the rear of the van. But Litz signaled with her right hand and waved