by Mike McCrary
Pretty sure I see a smile on her face. It’s brief, but it’s there.
She pushes forward to the front door as she lets the clips drop and slams in fresh ones, keeping up the ballistic pressure on the place.
I follow her lead.
I get off a few shots as I help Sandy get up to her feet. We find some relative safety by taking up a spot behind a big tree. I plant my back against the massive trunk, with Sandy in my arms in front of me, squeezing in tight so as not to create an easy target. The bark rips and spits in every direction. Someone inside has opened up on us with an assault rifle.
The tree hums and thumps as the streams of fire land and stop inside the wood. There’s an odd rhythm to it all. Gunfights. Not soothing or welcome, but it has become a familiar beat of sorts. Unfortunately.
I can feel Sandy shaking.
Or is it me?
“Fuck this,” she tells me.
Sandy spins away from my arms. She screams as she pops two shots from her .38. I jam a fresh clip in mine, spin the other way and let a few fly.
Rosie is to the side of the front door, waving us on. The gunfire from the house has stopped. Well, at least it has stopped coming at us. There’s more gunplay going on inside the house. I can make out flashes and pops blazing through the blown-out windows. Guessing the boys got my text. Smell of gunpowder fills my nostrils as I get closer to the house. Busted glass crunches under my feet. I take a spot on the other side of the door, with Sandy behind me.
The front door slams shut.
Rosie and I both squint. Who in there is worried about the door?
Rosie reloads.
I get Sandy to take care of those two she spent. She slides in fresh bullets like a champ. I reload for the hell of it. Not sure I needed to. I hate doing bullet math during a fight.
Like I said: keep shit simple.
Rosie has both Glocks raised. Eyes locked. I can see her teeth grind under her cheeks. She’s completely terrifying and completely reassuring at the same time. Not easy to pull off. She gives her head a jerk toward the door.
I grab the knob and throw it open.
A lamp flies out, crashing to the porch.
“Eat shit,” Gordo screams.
Rosie jumps into the doorway. A plate flies, hits her in the face like a Frisbee. Her neck gives a quick snap back. Her head jerks back lightning quick. Another plate sails into her chest then another to her head.
Her eyes go blank.
Face frozen. She’s stunned.
Another one lands, hitting her just above her nose. Rosie falls back, legs failing her, stumbling off the porch, landing on her back in the yard a few feet from the steps.
I hear guns continuing to boom inside. Sounds like the firefight is coming from the back. I think of rushing to Rosie. I want to help her. I fight with everything I’ve got not to go to her. Placing a hand on Sandy, I hold her back. She wants to do the same, rush to Rosie. I see a shadow in the doorway. Pushing Sandy back, I raise a finger to let her know to be quiet.
The shadow is bouncing back and forth just on the other side of the doorway. Looks like the moves of someone suffering from great indecision. Blasts at the back of the house start and stop, then start up again. A sporadic shitfit. Men yell and call out. Profanity. Threats. More guns boom. The shadow moves back and forth, then stops for a moment. Only for a moment.
A blur rips out from the doorway.
Gordo blazes by us at top speed.
He’s barefoot, wearing a fluffy, baby-blue bathrobe. Hair wet. Dripping. He’s a rambling, ass-hauling, panicked man fleeing as if people were out get him.
They are.
We are.
He flies from the house, managing to miss every step on the porch, trips as he lands, rolls, then springs up, hardly breaking stride. Gordo barely misses stepping on Rosie as he races through the yard and out into the night. A glimmer in his hand catches my eye. A reflection off the moonlight. Fear spikes through me as I realize what he’s got.
Keys.
That asshole has car keys.
“Shit,” I say.
Sandy has already jumped away from the porch before I can turn to her. She’s running, chasing after Gordo with all she’s got. I land in the front yard, taking a knee next to Rosie. I place my ear next to her mouth then check her eyes. She’s breathing, not well. She’s out cold, but alive. I take off. Hate to leave her, but she’s a tough lady and she’d do the same damn thing if it were me. The plan was simple, with one objective we all agreed on—get Gordo.
Period.
Sandy is burning at full warp speed in front of me with Gordo not far in front of her. The driveway is close and getting closer by the second. Rosie’s boys have the keys to our ride. That part of the plan needs to be revisited next time. If there is a next time. Multiple sets of keys, in case we get into something like this. Because if Gordo gets to a car we’ll be left watching his taillights disappear into the night. We’ll be screwed. Done. Game over.
I know it.
Sandy knows it.
Gordo knows it.
Gordo’s problem is his bare feet. Sandy is a physical specimen who works out about two hours a day so that men will dream about her. A workout plan designed to drain wallets upon the sight of her.
It’s her profession. Her superpower.
Her money depends on it. Not to mention, she’s got on two-hundred-dollar running shoes. And I get the feeling she doesn’t like Gordo all that much. Not to brag, but I’m not in bad shape myself. Not high-end hooker shape, but I can hang. While wearing slightly less expensive footwear, I make up the difference with anger. Got a lot of it, and for those keeping score, I’m not a fan of Gordo either.
My legs churn. Thighs burn. My blood turns to acid. I’m breathing fire.
My rage is real.
I pass Sandy.
I can smell Gordo’s horrific cologne. Have to fight the urge to put a bullet in his brain. The back of his head is right there, begging to become a target. Have to fight the urge to plant this bat into his skull. His robe ripples behind him like a cape worn by the shittiest superhero ever. The night is quiet now. Just the sound of his bare feet hitting on the ground like hooves, the huff of heavy breathing.
His.
Not mine.
I think about hurling my bat at him like I did with Rondo on the beach, but I can’t risk damaging this asshole’s brain. A brain I never thought I’d need so badly.
I think of Skinny Drake.
I think of my parents. My new New York memory.
I think of the box Jonathan has at the house and what else it might hold for me.
I launch from my feet, landing on Gordo’s back like a linebacker with anger issues. Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I pull my weight downward, bringing us both slamming to the ground. We’re mere feet away from a silver BMW whatever series. I slap the keys from his hand before I stuff my Berretta into his filthy mouth. Thoughts of blowing his brains all over the ground flood my head. I can feel the release that would come from ending this piece of shit’s time on this earth.
I think of Mama McCluskey.
I stuff the gun down farther. He’s choking now. Eyes are watering. Fear is rising up inside of him. He doesn’t bother making noise or trying to speak. There’s a strange acceptance in his eyes. I watch the veins plump up in his neck and forehead. I think of my spirit animal, Rosie, at her hotel choking Rondo with her nice-ass shoe.
“Where is he?” I say, spit flying from my lips.
Gordo shakes his head with his eyes wide.
“Where is my brother, motherfucker?”
His eyes are hard, but full of questions. I push my down gun harder. He gags. Spit spurts out and slips around the gun’s barrel.
“Better have an answer when I pull this gun out,” I say. “Got no time for your shit here, Gordo.”
Gordo nods, gag-induced tears streaming down the sides of his face.
I pull the gun free from his mouth.
Sandy slams int
o me, sending me flying sideways. As I skid to a stop, crashing into the side of the BMW, I see Sandy pinning Gordo’s arms down with her knees and beginning to beat the shit out him.
She’s raining fists down on his face like a demon released fresh out of hell. I get it, but I can’t have it. Not right now. I let her get a couple of good ones in before I shove her free. She spins away, getting up on her feet in a single motion. Her face is red, some of it from the run, but mostly from her pent-up hostility. Hostility now directed at me.
I hold up a finger to her letting her know I need a second. Grabbing Gordo’s shirt collar, I place my spit-wet gun on his forehead this time.
“Tell me where my brother is or I’m going to cut her loose on you,” I say. “Then, after she gets tired, I’m going to shoot you.” I move the gun lower, toward his balls. “Right in the boys.”
“Please, Teddy. I can’t.” He spits out a tooth, along with some blood. “I don’t know.”
I crack the top of his skull with the butt of my Beretta. “Nope. Try again, Gordo.”
“I don’t know where your brother is,” he says through gnashed teeth. “I don’t have him. Haven’t seen him since the side of road outside Vegas.”
“Fine. New idea.” I let go of his collar, letting him drop to the hard ground. Leaning over, I pick up my bat from the ground, then put a foot on his chest. Taking a wide golfer’s stance, I pull the bat back like I’m going to tee off on his nuts. “How about now? Not a golfer, but I hear it’s about keeping my eye on the balls.”
“I don’t know. I swear to God. I don’t know anything about your brother.”
I pull the bat back farther. I’m going for distance on this one.
“Wait! Please!” Gordo screams out. “Did Jonathan come to your house? Did he bring the box?”
I stop.
“What did you say?”
“The box. Did he bring a box of your things?” Gordo stammers out while looking into my eyes. He must see it on my face. “He did, didn’t he?” Gordo breathes out. “He actually did it. I can’t believe it. That bastard actually did it. Even I thought that was cruel.”
I hear sirens in the distance. There are flashing lights down not far from here. Cops will be here soon. Real soon.
“Teddy?” Sandy says, seeing what I see.
“Running out of time, Gordo,” I say. “Better have something good to offer up to me.”
“I do.”
I look to Sandy. She rolls her eyes, but accepts what’s happening. We have to get the hell out of here. We have to hear him out. I pick up the BMW keys.
Gordo removes something from his pocket.
Sandy points her .38 at him.
Behind us, Gordo’s house explodes into a fireball.
Chapter 35
All three of us spin around.
Beyond the trees I see fire screaming up into the night sky, with flames roaring and smoke mushrooming, as if a tiny nuke just hit Lake Tahoe.
“Rosie!” I scream out.
Sandy grabs me, holding me back from racing headlong toward the blaze. The sirens are getting louder now. Closer. No doubt there will be more soon.
She was not in the house, I tell myself, but she was close.
Rondo was in the house, maybe. I don’t know for sure. My stomach sinks. I drop to my knees, feeling hopeless. Guilty. I shouldn’t have left her there. I should have done more.
Done something.
Anything.
“We need to go!” Gordo yells out as he fires up the BMW.
Sandy pulls me up, dragging me to the car. All I can do is watch the fire light up the dark. Rosie and Rondo risked everything to help me. I led them directly into this disaster with my sad sob story, and look what I did. What I did to them.
Maybe they got away before it happened.
Maybe they are running toward us now.
I dig my heels into the dirt, slowing Sandy from dragging me toward the BMW. I hear the engine rev behind us.
“We’ve got to move, Teddy.” She pulls harder. “This is it. Nothing we can do.”
Sirens are even closer now.
I stare so hard at the woods I feel like my eyeballs will burst from my head. Wanting so bad for Rosie and Rondo to come bolting out from the trees.
“Come on,” I say under my breath.
Nothing.
Sandy yanks me with all she has, moving us closer to the BMW.
The tree limbs sway and the leaves blow in the wind, but no one comes. I hear the back door of the BMW open. There’s a smell of new car leather as I’m shoved into the back seat. Sandy plops into the passenger seat. I can hear the sirens wail in the not-too-distant distance.
Sandy punches Gordo in the nose.
I see the dark blood roll slowly from his plumping nostrils.
“Let’s get gone,” she says as she shoves her seatbelt together with a click. “Dickhead.”
Part 4
“Everybody has a heart. Except some people.”
- Bette Davis
Chapter 36
We’ve been driving for a while.
Seems like forever.
At night it all looks the same out there. Moving masses of darkness. You sense the forward progress, but any kind of progress is impossible to measure. This area is packed tight with trees and winding roads that snake us all over the place, so getting any kind of visibility is hard. Also difficult to see through the tears. The ones that started the second we began moving through this damn dark night.
I let them roll quietly down my face so I don’t draw any attention to myself. If I fight the tears from coming, I’ll start to shake in the shadows of the back seat. They’ll see me. I might even make a sound while fighting them back. Thought about asking for some music, but I thought that might be weird as hell and draw even more attention to myself, so I didn’t. I’d shoot myself before I let that son of a bitch Gordo see me cry.
I giggle a bit to myself off the son of a bitch label, considering who Gordo’s mom is, or was. Bitch gone. I giggle again, then cry a little harder. This is what I’ve become. Someone who giggles and cries as the death toll rises and the world burns.
Jesus. I need to take some of this money and talk to someone.
Like a professional.
Like damn soon.
“We have to kill my dad,” Gordo says.
Not sure how long it’s been since he spoke, but that’s not what I expected him to say, that’s for damn sure. I wipe my eyes. Clear my throat.
“Okay,” I say. No need to argue with the man. “Want to talk that out?”
“It’s the only way this stops with any semblance of a happy ending,” Gordo says. His eyes shift back and forth between the road and back to me in the rearview mirror. “Hate to be overly materialistic at a moment like this, but it’s the only way we get any money as well.”
“How so?” I ask, struggling to hide my anxiety, working to control the fluttering in my voice.
“I can only assume he wants me so I can amend the trust.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Well, the trust docs were in that house. The one we left that’s on fire. The originals, along with the backups. I didn’t want to go scorched earth with this. I didn’t, you understand, but you kind of forced my hand.”
“How’s that, Gordo?” I feel a spike of anger off his accusatory tone.
“Believe it or not, I did learn a few things from my father. I don’t like the man, hate him even, obviously, but I have family experience in this these matters.”
“What are you talking about?” I press.
“I rigged the house to blow. It’s something Jonathan does. Calls it leaving yourself an out. An in case of an emergency burn it down type of thinking.”
I think of Rosie. I think of Rondo. I think about Gordo pulling something from his pocket right before the house blew up. I think about blowing his head off.
“You need to talk to me, Gordo. You need to tell me why I shouldn’t kill you right now,”
I say. “Because I’ll tell you what, killing you sounds like a great idea.”
“I concur,” says Sandy.
“Think about it, Teddy. You were coming after me. Jonathan is trying to find me. The police were closing in on me. I was boxed in with nowhere to go. All I have, or had, was those documents, one Nasty Brother and a few goons with guns.”
I breathe in deep, pushing down my anger.
“If that goes up in flames, and they did,” Gordo continues, “meaning the docs mainly, and if Jonathan and you know those are in the wind, then maybe, just maybe, it buys me some escape time. Maybe even slows down the need to find me since the money is locked. If the docs are gone there is nothing for Jonathan to alter or amend. He can’t get the money. It was a survival play, Teddy.”
“You piece of shit.”
“Really? You going to tell me you don’t understand that? You lack a survival instinct?”
The silence returns to the car. I want to go back in time. Go back to when we were in Vegas. I’d tell everyone not to go to Tahoe. To forget about all this shit and just go live a life. But that can’t happen, can it? Have to move forward with what we’ve got, right? I decide to shift the subject slightly. Back to trying to find something I can actually do something about.
“Talk more about the trust docs,” I say. “Talk to me about the money and how that all works now.”
“Teddy—”
“Don’t!” I scream at him. I let it out so loud Sandy and Gordo both jump in their seats. I take in another deep breath and reset. Got to get ahold of myself. Need to work this through and understand what I’m actually dealing with now. “Talk to me like I’m five. Make me understand.” I’ve smoothed out my tone. “What were you wanting to do in Vegas? Couldn’t have been all about booze and girls, right? You had a reason for being there.”
