Certain Reprisal

by Kevin Macklin

  Lisa's head swiveled toward the staccato rhythm coming from her window. Mahoney stood there, waving her out of the car.

  "Let's go," Jackson said as he opened the door and got out.

  She didn't want to get out. The moment she stepped foot outside of this vehicle would be the beginning of the end. Although superficial, the car was the only barrier between life and death, safety and certain doom. This was her sole defense and she was loath to relinquish it.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Now, he was just taunting her. A broad smile was plastered on his face as he spoke in a sing-song voice, "Come out, come out."

  Chapter 10

  I was leaning against the wall, asleep, when I heard the door opening. Looked up just as Lisa was being tossed in. She sprawled across the floor, then turned her head toward me and met my eye.

  I guess I had a cellmate.

  Hipster Hair closed and locked the door, leaving us alone.

  "Oh, my God. Are you ok?" she asked, noticing the blood on my face.

  I offered what I thought to be a comforting smile, but with the blood on my face, it probably looked like something from a nightmare. "I'm fine. Just a little blood. Nothing serious."

  She came over and examined my face, the nurse in her taking charge. They didn't bother restraining her hands, and she poked and prodded at my face.

  "Your nose isn't broken," she pronounced.

  Even though I already knew my nose was fine, I offered my thanks for her professional opinion. Then, I asked, "How did they find you?"

  She recounted her evening, up until she was thrown into this modern day dungeon with yours truly. When she finished, I sat there a moment, thinking.

  "This is my fault," I said. "You've been following him for days and he never spotted you. Me getting caught up in his backyard must have made him pay a little more attention to his surroundings."

  "How long have you been here?"

  "I don't know," I responded. "Since we split up at the stop sign. Twenty-four hours, give or take."

  "I wonder if my sister was here."

  "It's possible. This place has been cleaned recently. But, listen to me. It's gonna be hard, but I need you to not think about that right now. Ok?"

  "I can't help it, Jon."

  I was asking her to do the impossible, but I needed her to keep her head on straight until I could get her out of here. When it was just me stuck in this place, I could bide time until I got what I wanted. Now, there was someone else in here and Mahoney was a madman with a short fuse. But, he'd already made a mistake.

  Lisa's hands were free.

  Not that it mattered, really. I was going to pick my handcuffs when I was ready to do so, and I could have just as easily picked hers, as well. But, he just showed that he was either too confident, or not completely thinking things through.

  "Think they're going to kill us?" she asked.

  "No."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "Because, I'm not gonna let them kill us. I need you to trust in me. I know that's hard to do, given the circumstances. But I will get us out of here. And, I won't let them kill us."

  "Jon, I don't know if you've noticed, but you're in handcuffs."

  I laughed, a full bodied chuckle. "You're right. Indeed, I am in handcuffs. Trust in me, though."

  Lisa probably thought I was losing it, but that was fine. My plans were need to know, and she didn't need to know right now.

  "What's your favorite song?" I asked.

  "What?"

  "Your favorite song. Come on. What is it?"

  "We're prisoners," she exclaimed. "Being held captive against our will. And, you're asking about my favorite song!"

  "Indulge me, Lisa. What else do we have to do? We're here for the next sixteen hours, at least, and we have to pass the time somehow. Stress and panic are our enemies. So. What's your favorite song?"

  She sighed, long and deep. "Anything by K. Michelle or Yemi Alade."

  "Yemi-what?" I asked.

  "A-la-de. She's a Nigerian singer. You've really never heard of her?"

  "I can't say that I've ever heard of any Nigerian singer. Now that I think of it, I never even considered Nigeria as a hub for music."

  "Music, dance. Most of the dances you see people doing, now, originally come from Nigerian musicians and dancers," she explained.

  I teasingly asked, "You can dance?"

  "What," she said, incredulously. "Is my skin brown? Is my hair curly? Rhythm is in my blood, baby."

  An image of our first encounter popped into my head, and I remembered the grace and fluidity with which she moved. I believed her. She was a descendant of Africa. Rhythm was in her blood.

  The door opened and Hipster Hair walked in with a bucket in his hand. "For the lady," he said, then turned around and left, locking the door behind him.

  "What's that for," she asked?

  "Ladies room," I answered.

  "He really doesn't expect me to use a bucket.. Does he?"

  "I'll make sure to turn around," I joked.

  "You playing…"

  "Seriously though. Just hold on for a few more hours. We're getting out of here." I paused. "I need you to do me a favor. Unbuckle my belt."

  She looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "The bucket?" she asked.

  "Nah. I need my belt."

  Lisa knelt down beside me and unbuckled my belt in the most dispassionate way possible. Like a nurse. Like she'd done it a thousand times, to a thousand patients in need of medical attention. Never before had I experienced a woman taking my belt off with my hands restrained and felt absolutely no arousal. First time for everything, I guess.

  Her brow wrinkled, something crossing her mind. "You said sixteen hours… What's happening in sixteen hours?"

  "Mahoney will be at work. It seems that Hipster Hair-"

  "Hipster Hair?" she questioned.

  "The guy who brought the bucket. I think he's the one keeping an eye on us while the others are gone. He'll be here, alone. That's when we make our escape."

  "So, what's the plan?" she asked.

  "In all honesty… I don't have one."

  "That doesn't inspire confidence."

  "Just be ready, " I said. "I've been in worse situations than this. We'll be fine."

  She got my belt unbuckled and from around my waist, then handed it to me. Since my hands were behind my back, I had to work by feel only, but it wasn't long until I had what I wanted.

  The GPS tag wasn't the only useful piece of equipment I'd brought along when I set out on this mission. My belt had been custom made, and contained a small slot that held a jimmy, specifically designed to slip handcuffs. It jammed the teeth and prevented them from locking. Encounters with the police and the risk of arrest was a real concern in my line of work. Years ago, I had several of these belts commissioned by a leather worker, for all of my top guys. I kept two for myself, and up until today I'd never had to use the custom feature.

  I worked the jimmy into the cuffs and manipulated it until I felt slack on my left wrist. It wasn't easy, but I persisted and was rewarded. With my left hand free I was able to work the second cuff in front of me, where I could see, and made short work of it.

  I rubbed my wrists, inspected the bruises left behind by the unforgiving metal. Then, I put the belt back around my waist, and replaced the handcuffs, leaving enough room around my wrists to easily slip my hands out.

  Now, we just had to wait.

  The wait ended up being surprisingly short. The quartet burst through the door within minutes of my cuff adjustment. I felt a moment of panic, thinking that maybe they had been watching us on a hidden camera, but that wasn't it at all.

  Salt and Pepper Afro went straight to Lisa and yanked her to her feet.

  Mahoney said, "Well, sweetie, you ready to have some fun?" Then he turned to S&P Afro. "Take her upstairs, Jackson. We're gonna give her what she's looking for."

  I started laughing, loudly. Hystericall
y.

  "Now, what the fuck are you laughing at?" Mahoney questioned.

  "I didn't know you were gay," I responded.

  He took a step towards me, said, "What the fuck did you just say to me, boy?"

  Mahoney was a domineering, sexual deviant with a narcissistic complex. I didn't have a psych degree or anything, but I've been dealing with people like him in the streets for a very long time. And, they hate it when you play on their sexuality. It burns them to their core.

  I've never had anything against the LGBT community, and I meant absolutely no disrespect.

  I just wasn't going to let them rape Lisa.

  "Boys… So, that's more your flavor?" I was taunting him.

  Mahoney stormed over and swung at me with a wide right hook.

  I'd been sitting there on my ass, feet planted on the floor, knees up, hands behind my back. As he strode toward me I slipped my hands out of the cuffs. When he swung, I rocked myself backwards, allowing my feet to come off the ground. His fist missed my chin by mere inches.

  As his weight transferred from his right leg to his left with the momentum of his missed swing, I kicked out at his left knee. Mahoney crumpled to the floor, a look of disbelief plastered on his face.

  I jumped up to my feet and rushed the other blonde officer, slamming him into the wall. I heard the wind expel from his lungs as his chest was compressed between my shoulder and the hard concrete, then I thrust my knee into his groin as I stood up straight. He grabbed himself with both hands and dropped to one knee.

  Jackson fled out of the door with Lisa in tow.

  I faced Hipster Hair. He stared back, not a drop of fear in his eyes, which was something that I hadn't expected from him. The suddenness of my attack should have drummed up some kind of reaction. But, nope. Nothing.

  I threw a weak jab at him to force some kind of a response. He easily slipped it with the head movement of a boxer who'd done it many times.

  My man knew how to fight.

  He thrust a front kick towards me that I easily swept aside. My arm bounced off his leg as I took a step forward, bringing my fist up and allowing it to crash into his chin as I continued walking past him. No need to look back. He was down. I heard him crash to the floor.

  People usually throw a kick to keep you at a distance, and it usually works. No one expects you to walk past a kick and close the distance. Always do the unexpected in a fight and end it as fast as possible. Especially when someone else might need your help.

  I shot through the door and saw a staircase leading up to the main floor on my left. Took the stairs two at a time and emerged into what looked like an old restaurant kitchen that hadn't seen use in a very long time. It was empty of people so I crossed into the front of the place.

  A bar was to my left, but other than that, it was empty, except for a single table and four chairs smack dab in the middle of the room. Jackson was dragging Lisa past the table toward the exit. She was resisting as much as she could, making him work for it, but he was still making progress.

  Running as fast as I could, I caught up to them before they could make it outside. My left hand reached around his forehead and my right fist connected with his spine. His body went slack and he fell to the ground with a startled scream.

  Lisa snatched her arm from his grasp and shouldered through the door into the ascending, morning sun.

  Pivoting to face Jackson head on, I threw a short hammer fist to the side of his chin. He began snoring before I walked out of the door.

  Chapter 11

  Lisa was in her car, firing up the engine, when I stepped into the morning sun. Her gray Honda was sandwiched between Mahoney's truck and a police cruiser. I climbed into the passenger seat, buckled my seatbelt.

  As she put the gear selector into reverse, the bar's door opened and Mahoney emerged, walking with a slight limp.

  He said, "Hold up, Swoll Up! Now where do you think you're going?"

  His hand came up, holding a Glock 17, and he opened fire as Lisa stomped on the gas, backing out of the parking space. The front windshield spiderwebbed as a round struck it, but the car was moving and we were lucky. Neither of us got hit.

  The car whipped around, then she threw the selector into drive and floored the pedal. The tires offered a brief squeal as the car shot out of the bar's parking lot.

  Mahoney's truck appeared in the rearview as we sped down the street. I turned in my seat to keep an eye on him, saw that he was gaining on us.

  "Let me drive," I said to Lisa.

  "We can't pull over now. He's right behind us."

  "Let me take the wheel. Lean your seat all the way back and climb into the back seat. I got it from there."

  My left hand took control of the wheel and I maneuvered my leg over the gear shift as she levered her seat back. Once I had my foot on the gas, Lisa crab crawled into the backseat. After shifting my body into the driver's seat, I adjusted it and buckled my seatbelt. Once Lisa had done the same in my former position, I gunned the engine.

  All six cylinders came to life, but in all honesty, they were no match for Mahoney's big V8. Power wouldn't win this match. At least not for us. Being a police officer, Mahoney would have extensive tactical driving training, so I wouldn't have an advantage there. But, the fact that he was chasing me, meant that he'd always be playing catch up.

  We continued down the two lane road until we reached a main thoroughfare. I knew where I was, now. Still on the east side of Duncanville, near the outskirts of the city. I turned south into the flow of traffic. The added traffic would make it difficult for Mahoney to ride our bumper, reducing the threat.

  We cruised in our relative safety until traffic started to thin out. The black truck was right behind us, so I turned into a residential neighborhood. The turn allowed me to see the vehicle behind Mahoney. The police cruiser. We had a two car tail. I made a left and floored it, homes flashing by in a blur. Reminding myself to be extra vigilant due to the possibility of pedestrian collateral damage, I kept my eyes as far down the road as possible.

  The sound of a gunshot reached my ears, but I wasn't too worried. Shooting while trying to drive entailed more calculations than the brain could accurately handle, and the shot went wide. Not an ideal situation for bystanders, though. Mahoney wasn't making good decisions, so I needed to make some for him.

  His truck tapped our rear bumper in a common maneuver used by law enforcement. I kept Lisa's Honda in control after the bump, but I didn't want him trying that again in his big truck.

  An intersection was fast approaching. I hit the emergency brake, the gas pedal, and cut the wheel, throwing our car into a 180°, then I threw the shifter into reverse. Mahoney and I were door to door, speeding down the street, his black truck moving forward and our Honda driving backward. I performed the maneuver again, throwing the front end of our car into the rear tire of the truck.

  Lisa released a loud scream. Mahoney's truck rolled over, roof to wheels. Roof to wheels. Roof to wheels.

  I followed the tumbling truck's progress until enough room cleared for me to drive past.

  Now, the cruiser was the only vehicle on my tail.

  To Lisa, I said, "I'll get you a new car. Any kind you want."

  I risked a glance in her direction. She looked like she was ready to give up every meal she'd eaten in the past month.

  "The way you took them out back at the bar… The way you're driving… What did you say you do again?" she inquired.

  "I didn't," was my response. Then, I asked, "Do you have your phone?"

  "No. Mahoney has it. We got lucky that my keys were still in the car."

  A traffic light was ahead. Red. I wasn't too keen on the idea of trying to blow through it. Cars, and trucks, and other vehicles were moving across my limited field of vision. No way to time it. We'd either be lucky…

  Or not.

  As we approached, I let off the gas, then floored it as I cut the wheel to the left. The Honda skidded into the left turn, and, as it happens, we were lu
cky.

  Not so, for our pursuer. As he came into the intersection and attempted the turn, a car slammed into the rear drivers side of the cruiser, spinning him out. Other vehicles stopped to avoid the collision, further blocking him in. I smiled. He'd have some explaining to do.

  Fortune favored us today.

  "We're gonna have to get rid of this car," I told Lisa.

  "I need my car," she said softly.

  "I know. But, you need your life more, and you still have it. Blessings. I said I'd get you a new car, and I will. Anything you want. Until then, you can drive one of mine."

  She didn't look convinced, but she didn't argue, either.

  My line of business brings me into contact with all kinds of 'shady' characters. One of whom happens to own a junkyard, and, from time to time, destroys vehicles for me. When I need him to. For a fee.

  His name was Dog. A big, burly man with a pasty complexion, Dog owned a junkyard by day, and a chop shop by night. He'd make this car disappear, and fast.

  We pulled into Dog's place of business, a sprawling five acres of, well, junk, surrounded by a barbed wire topped, chain link fence. A trailer sat at the front of the property, with a large shop behind it. We parked in front of the trailer.

  Dog came out and met us before we had a chance to get out of the car. When he saw it was me, his face lit up.

  "Jon Fucking Dough! As I live and breathe! Good to see you man!" He walked up to me and pulled me into a bear hug.

  Why are all of the big, scary looking guys so damn affectionate?

  "What's up, Dog," I said, once he released me from his embrace. "How you been?"

  "Been good, man. Just had me a grand baby."

  I offered congratulations, then introduced Lisa.

  "Man," I said. "I need to get rid of this car yesterday."

  "Say no more, man. I got you."

  "I also need to use your phone."

  Lisa gathered a few things from the car while I went inside the trailer to use the phone.

  CG answered, "What's up?"

  "I need you to come pick me up. I'm at Dog's."

  "On my way," was his response, and the phone disconnected.

  Chapter 12