The Fever Dream

by Sam Jones

  Black’s eyes wandered toward the bar area to find that the bartender was gone. A glance to his left verified the same for the waitress. All he saw was the DO NOT ENTER sign swaying on the chain – back and forth, back and forth.

  His training took over. He went from laid back and swollen to his preferred gear of calculated and cool. He sat up and rested his right hand on his thigh, palm flat, one swift motion away from being able to draw the Beretta.

  Okay. Shift gears with her.

  “Ask you something?” Black said as he pulled his hand closer…

  “Shoot…” said Cassie.

  His stomach cramped for a moment. He made a razzing sound with his lips and produced a frustrated, puffing exhale.

  “Are you supposed to kill me?” he asked Cassie. “If you are, I would have preferred something other than this piss in a glass you call beer.”

  Cassie curved her pinky and begin picking something out from one of her back molars, all sense of grace tossed out the window, her own lethal gears being cranked into motion.

  “I’m not sure yet. How are you feeling?” she asked.

  “I’m feeling alright. Thought you’d be passed out by now.”

  “Worried I can’t hold my liquor?”

  “No. I just thought that whatever shit you slipped in that drink would’ve kicked in by now.”

  Cassie eyeballed her beer.

  “You swap our drinks?” she asked as she nodded toward her glass.

  Black nodded in reply.

  “Should’ve picked a better bartender,” he said.

  Cassie gave a tight-lipped smile.

  She leaned in.

  “Did it occur to you I planned on you switching the glasses… bud?”

  Black rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand as he felt an unbearable amount of sweat gathering around every crevice in his body.

  He looked down at his half-drunken beer…

  OH.

  SHIT.

  I poisoned myself for her.

  Black, in a knee-jerk reaction, knocked his glass off the table and watched it shatter against a wall.

  Cassie gave a ‘sorry you lost’ smile.

  “I’m decent at what I do,” she said. “Don’t beat yourself up. Too much.”

  “What did you slip me?” Black said as he felt a tingle in his stomach.

  “You’re not going to die. You’re just going to take a nap. He needs you alive for now. He’ll only have to kill you if you don’t make the smart choice.”

  “Define smart.”

  She reached into her pocket and produced her cell phone, holding it up first to show it wasn’t a gun or knife or something that could be used to turn him into a corpse. She pressed a number, dialed, and slid the rectangle across the table.

  “Spooky,” said Black as he picked the thing up and held it to his ear.

  A voice spoke—

  Roenick’s.

  “Mister Black,” he said.

  “To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” Black said as the cramps and sweats got worse.

  “It’s of no consequence. I only need you to listen to me.”

  “I am.”

  “Good… I’m providing you with two choices.”

  “What’s choice one?”

  “You allow Ms. Palizzi here to take you into custody.”

  Black covered his hand over the phone, lowered his voice, and said to Cassie—

  “Your last name is Palizzi?”

  “And?”

  “Nothing. Cool name.”

  “Mister Black…” Roenick said.

  Black removed his hand from the speaker. “Can I hear the second choice, bud?”

  “She takes you into custody.”

  “How Liam Neeson of you. Tell me: do you get all your bad one-liners from B-movies, or just your accent? What is it, by the way? German? Austrian? Some trashy, Euro-village I can’t guess? What?

  “It’s German.”

  “Cher-man, you say?” Black said with his best caricature of the accent.

  Even Cassie couldn’t help but snicker.

  “I’m marveling, Mister Black,” Roenick said with a sigh. “But I’d suggest you listen to me. You must be on the verge of passing out by now. Based on the dosage you imbibed, I’d say you only have a few minutes until things start to go dark.”

  Black saw that Cassie had her left arm folded and resting behind her back.

  What’re you packing there, boo?

  Her head was held straight; chin out. Muscles around her throat were tensing. Black could feel the oxygen around him getting chewed up from the amount of carbon dioxide she was emitting in anticipation of a fight.

  “I’m assuming you have Amanda,” Black said to Roenick.

  “You seem awfully drawn to protecting the fairer sex,” Roenick said. Marveling.

  “It’s not like that. She’s a client. I need her to pay the tab. By the way, did you blow the place up that strip club? Bit over the top, no?”

  Roenick said nothing.

  Maybe it was someone else…

  “Alright, boss. Cut the bullshit and tell me where Amanda is,” Black said, no longer fucking around.

  “I’m getting off the line, Mister Black. I’ll see you in Sin City by the time you awaken.”

  The line went dead.

  “Take it easy, Marty,” said Cassie. “Just relax and let it happen.”

  Shit.

  This is BAD.

  “How many minutes do I have left?” Black asked Cassie.

  “Maybe three,” she replied.

  Black thought it over.

  Fight or flight, bud.

  “Three?” he asked again as he held up three fingers.

  Cassie also held up three fingers.

  Black sighed.

  “Okay,” he said.

  Black threw the cell phone at Cassie. With impeccable timing, she dodged left and shoved the table forward with her left hand into Black’s chest, right as he reached for his gun, Cassie’s glass of beer toppling and covering them with piss-colored liquid.

  The impact of the table to his sternum caused Black to smack face down just as he pulled out his Beretta. He was taken over by a half-second blackout. He began to see stars, and a high-pitched piercing throbbed his eardrums as his weapon skipped across the floor and to the left.

  Cassie kicked her chair back and dove towards the Beretta. Black corrected his body as her fingers made contact with the metal.

  Use those long limbs!

  He kicked his right foot out and knocked the gun away from Cassie. It skidded five feet and came to rest underneath one of the booths.

  Not shot, ace.

  Cassie spun around on the floor like a break-dancer. Her left leg shot out, mid-spin, took out Black’s knees, and threw him on his back.

  Two seconds. Flat.

  Second time that’s happened. I’m getting my ass kicked.

  Cassie then reached into her back pocket and produced a switchblade.

  There it is.

  She came down in a high and mighty stabbing motion, knife gripped into her right hand. Just as the blade was about to bury itself into the crown of Black’s skull, he cocked his head left, the stainless steel grazed his left ear, and dug into the wooden floor with a hard thunk.

  Cassie attempted to pull out the knife, right hand still gripped onto the handle. Black snagged her fingers with his left hand and twisted, hyperextending them at an unnatural angle. Just as they were about to break, Cassie flipped over, mounted Black, and sat on his chest. Choked him with her left hand. Black shot his free hand out, his left still gripped onto her right, their palms cusped and fingers rigidly intertwined like a bitter couple forced to hold hands.

  Black began choking her throat.

  Cassie straddled his ribcage with her thighs; her knees applied pressure on both sides and slowly pushed the air out of his lungs.

  “Prick…” Cassie said through muffled breaths.

  “Psycho!” Black belt
ed out.

  Cassie laughed, despite that fact that it caused her to expend more energy.

  She tensed her neck muscles. Their faces both turned shades of red while they waiting to see who would choke the other out first.

  Cassie seemed to be winning.

  Black started making a puttering noise as the hue of his color slowly changed to blue.

  “Should have walked away, buddy…” Cassie said, genuinely disappointed.

  This is it… I’m seeing those stars again…

  Fuck that… I’m not going out like this…

  Whatever it was inside Black, be it his training, inner-strength, or that inherent, human, unceasing will to live – it all channeled into his right arm and amplified the pressure he was applying on Cassie’s throat. The veins in her head bulged and eyes widened at the shock of the tables turning. Right as she was about to go to sleep, she relaxed.

  Their grips loosened.

  Cassie rolled off of Black, spun around, shot up, and landed on her feet.

  She’s a cat.

  Black pushed-up off the ground, sprang to, and turned at an angle. He was about to get his guard up when Cassie charged towards him, full force. The ferocity, strength, and swiftness of a cheetah must have been her spirit animal because she slammed into him in less than a second.

  Black absorbed the momentum by planting his feet. He stumbled as she made impact but balanced himself quickly.

  Cassie’s shoulder was pressed into his chest, pushing. Her left arm gripped the back of his neck, nails scratching and digging into the skin. Her right hand rolled into a fist and her elbow cocked at an angle, ready to throw an uppercut.

  Black caught the balled up fury with his left hand, cupped her wrist, and turned it out. The series of movements ended up exposing Cassie’s face.

  He spotted something near the edge of his feet, off to the right.

  Get it.

  He jerked the top part of his head forward and made contact with Cassie’s nose.

  “Fuck!” she exclaimed as she stumbled back, a white, flashy fever overtaking her senses.

  There was now three feet of distance between the two of them. Cassie reached a hand to her nose where a nice, neat break was now being showcased. Her fingers dabbed at the cut. Eyes twitched at the tenderness. She could taste the copper in her mouth. She squeezed her nose with two fingers and broke it back into place.

  Without flinching.

  “You prick,” she said in a sitcom, one-liner delivery.

  Black touched his left ear. A sharp pain. A warm sensation. He looked at his hand now coated in red. He held it out in front of Cassie – ‘see what you did?’

  Cassie spit on the ground. “Come on, mopey boy,” she taunted. “Let’s see what you got.” She threw up her guard, ready to go another round.

  “Yeah… About that…”

  Black, mischievous twinkle in his eye, reached down and to his right, underneath a booth, and produced the Beretta. He aimed it casually at Cassie, who lowered her guard and began to frown.

  “God damn it…” she said.

  Black sat in the booth with a relieved thud. He let out a thick exhale, sights of the gun still trained on Cassie.

  His stomach cramped. He rested his hand over the top of it.

  “Don’t beat yourself up,” he said. “I’m decent at what I do.”

  “That’s hilarious… I forgot about the gun for like one second,” she said as she held up a single digit to represent the foul-up. A tally on her almost perfect record.

  “I’m not so much pissed at myself,” she said. “I’m not as self-loathing as you. That was just a really anti-climactic ending, wasn’t it?”

  “Not everything requires it, Palizzers.”

  Black was winded, a little irritated. The adrenaline slowly started to wear off, and he felt a radiating sting from his now-chaffed neck. He rested a palm on it. Sharp pain seared like it was being cut up a second time.

  “Eesh,” he said. “Cut your nails.”

  Cassie clenched her fists, looking for an opening, hoping for a last minute reprieve to put her back on top. It was fruitless and she damn well knew it. Any move she made right now would not end in her favor.

  Black clocked his surroundings: the bartender and the waitress were still nowhere to be found.

  You two hiding? Planning to jump me when I’m not looking?

  “Where are they?” Black inquired, his eyes still darting around, every angle and unseen section in the layout now a potential threat.

  “Who?” Cassie asked with a flimsy attempt at sounding genuinely unsure.

  BAM!

  Black shot a round just past the left her head and into the wall behind her.

  Cassie didn’t budge an inch.

  “I’m not going to ask again…” said Black. “Where are they?”

  Cool and calculated.

  “Upstairs. Probably hiding. They don’t work for him. They’re just a couple of people who happen to be here.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “I’m positive.”

  Liar.

  “Who are you?”

  She stayed silent.

  Black’s gripped the Beretta tighter.

  “Lady…” he said, the tone in his trailing off filled with nothing but ominous outcomes.

  “You’re going to pass out soon,” she said.

  “What was—”

  Before Black was able to pop off his question, the bartender and the waitress re-entered the room, both of them standing parallel to each other behind the bar.

  Both of them strapped with firearms.

  The bartender toted a shotgun, the butt of the weapon planted firmly into his bony shoulder. The waitress sported a silver revolver that she clutched in both hands while planting her feet about a foot apart from one another in a pose that some gun range instructor had probably taught her. It looked awkward, but it was deadly, nonetheless.

  The bartender fired the first shot. Black ducked down into his booth as it was torn to shreds, wood splinters showering him and collecting in his hair. The cannon-like reverb from the blast echoed in his ears.

  Cassie crouched and moved behind the bar as the waitress fired off three shots about a second apart from one another—

  BAM! BAM! BAM! The rounds tore into the ground by Black’s feet as he dove toward a booth on the opposite side of the room, overturning tables and chairs to absorb the gunfire that followed him like an unlucky shadow.

  Black rolled to safety, just out of Cassie, the bartender, and the waitress’s line of sight. He looked around—

  Rear entrance. Where are you?

  He saw the door to the back exit, ten feet to the left, right in the middle of the shotgun’s path.

  “Martyyyyy!” Cassie called out from behind the bar.

  Black fired eight rounds over his shoulder and pressed the trio into cover. As soon as their heads ducked down, he sprinted towards the exit. Right as he pushed the door open, Cassie snatched the shotgun from the bartender, stood, and fired in Black’s direction.

  KA-BOOM!

  Black was jolted forward just as he ducked out of the door and dodged right. He nearly stumbled to the pavement but quickly balanced himself as he exited through the alleyway and spilled onto the street.

  Did she get me?

  It was too late to check as a car passed in front of him, a white Mercedes Benz with a white leather interior.

  Don’t think. TAKE IT.

  Black fired a round through the window, making sure it was well out of the way of hitting the driver, but enough to shatter both of the front windows, and causing the driver to slam on the breaks.

  “Shit! Shit! Shit!” the driver screamed, waving his hands like a swarm of bees were in front of his face.

  “Outta the fuckin’ car!” Black yelled to him, gun aimed at his temple.

  The man obliged and stumbled out, crawling on all fours. He was tan to the point that he looked like the color of a penny. Salt-and-pepper hai
r plugs stood out on his thinning scalp.

  Black piled into the car.

  Cassie emerged from the alleyway.

  She pumped a round in the chamber of the shotgun as Black slammed his foot down on the gas pedal.

  BAM! The wide-range blast tore Swiss cheese-style holes in the right passenger side door but slowed nothing down.

  Smoke from the tires was accompanied by the high-pitched scream of burning rubber as Black hauled ass from the scene and left Cassie in a thicket of smoke. She fired another round that tore through the back windshield. Glass exploded and scattered around the interior like a piñata whose guts were just busted open.

  Black stooped to steering wheel level as he cranked the wheel hard over with his left hand. The Benz turned right and linked up with a main road leading towards the freeway on-ramps, now out of the shotgun’s range.

  Cassie came to a stop and let the shotgun droop to her side; the sounds of the Benz peeling away became a faint echo. She sighed, caught her breath, and, once again, checked the damage to her broken nose – she’d need a stitch or two.

  Then she looked down, a dot of dark liquid on the pavement by her feet. She crouched, dabbed her index finger on it, and held it up to the light—

  Nailed ‘em.

  Cassie wiped it off on her jean shorts; the hue of the denim was dark enough that the blood would probably blend in with the fabric. She stood up and looked at the now dissipating smoke cloud from the Benz’s tires, some unconscious projection of Black’s face in the gray vapor, staring right back at her.

  “Don’t die on me, Marty…”

  Martin Black felt like death. He pulled up his shirt and ran a hand across his back. It fell upon a tender area that was now sporting what felt like two, pea-sized holes that were draining fluids like an oil leak on a car.

  He looked in the rear-view mirror; the left side of his face was painted burgundy. He squinted as the adrenaline in his system wound down and Cassie’s laced drink began to catch up—

  Stomach cramps are getting worse.

  Shit…

  I’m going to pass out…

  He pressed a hand to his stomach as a sharp, stabbing pain began to take hold.

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  He could feel fatigue creeping up on him. It was only a matter of time before he would start to pass out. He quickly scanned the road in front of him and saw a green sign with white lettering that read ‘134.’