He ejected the spent magazine without so much as a glance at us, and pulled a fresh one from his back pocket. He slapped it into place and brought it to bear.
Tripp stood up along the wall near the window as the onslaught of gunfire ebbed. He stepped out, and rested the barrel on the windowsill.
A large-white flame flashed from the muzzle of the AK. Spent casings ejected from the side of the rifle like tokens from a slot machine. They bounced off the floor near his feet.
Tripp took cover behind the wall once more. He pulled the depleted magazine, and tossed it to the side.
“Ant, I need another magazine,” he yelled. “Young Bloods aren’t going to take us over, dog.”
We slipped into the kitchen, and scavenged for the truck keys. The counters were a cluttered mess of dirty dishes and boxes of food.
Anna searched the wall and counter by the back door. “I’m not finding any keys here.”
I sifted through the mounds of empty food boxes that were in my way. “Keep looking.”
Tripp yelled at his men, barking orders as more gunfire plagued the house.
Come on. Where the hell are they?
I cleared the counters, then moved to the drawers, ripping each open and digging through. More junk littered the tight spaces.
Shit.
“Got ’em, I think,” Anna said.
I peered over my shoulder, and found her holding a pair of keys in her hand.
Another of Tripp’s men went down as he rushed into the living room. Raging Bull spun out from the cover of the kitchen cabinets with his Glock trained at the window. He was met with a spread of bullets that slammed into his chest and exited through his back. A fine-red mist trailed the rounds as he stumbled back into the wall near the table.
The back door crashed open. It slammed against the wall with a dense thud. Anna screamed. I pulled the Glock from my waistband.
Two armed assailants barreled in with Uzis drawn. Their faces were shielded with black, skull, tactical masks. Dreadlocks hung past their shoulders like long spider legs.
I opened fire on the assailant rushing headlong at me. Two slugs to the chest and he went down.
Anna slammed into the other, knocking him off balance. She pushed his arms into the air as his Uzi opened fire.
The popcorn ceiling above was sprayed with hot lead. Chunks of the texture rained down like snow as they fought for control of the weapon. I tried to get a clear shot, but couldn’t.
He pushed her away, giving him space to turn and train the Uzi on her. I chambered off two more rounds, hitting him center mass. The impact knocked him into the door. His body sagged against the dirty-white wood grain as he slumped to the tile floor. A mural of blood washed over the painted surface.
I rushed up to Anna. “Are you okay?”
She panted and stared at the dead gunman. She nodded, then blew the stray hairs aside that dangled in front of her face.
We need to go, now.
I took point and moved through the back door. I swept the backyard for any Young Bloods. It was clear, for now. We dashed across the yard in a dead sprint. The hammering of automatic gunfire ebbed.
We pushed our way through the bushes and out into the alley. I kept the Glock clutched in my hand as I surveyed the area. There were no vehicles parked in the alley close to Tripp’s place or armed men skulking about near his property.
Our feet pounded the pavement as we raced for the street. My head was on a swivel, searching not only for more Young Bloods, but for the hit men as well.
I slowed our pace as we approached the desolate street with the Glock trained ahead of us. I craned my neck, and peered around the wooden privacy fence next to me.
The street was void of anyone lurking around the vehicles next to the curb. I peered down the opposite way, finding it to be more of the same.
The pavement was riddled with cracks that spiderwebbed out in every direction. Some were small, while others were larger. A number of houses had sustained considerable damage with portions of the dwellings lying in ruins.
I spotted Tripp’s ride parked next to the curb. “There.”
We moved from the alley to the sidewalk, and ran for the cherry red truck. Tripp wasn’t kidding about it being a lowrider. The base of the vehicle was a scant inch away from the ground. The windows were blacked out, and the tires were outfitted with solid gold rims. It stood out like a sore thumb, but it was better than walking.
Anna tossed me the keys.
I caught them mid-air and raced around the bed of the four-door truck. I thumbed the worn buttons on the key fob. The alarm disengaged, followed by the locks clicking.
I tossed open the driver’s side door, slid the pack off my shoulders, and stored it on the floorboard.
The grumbling of an engine grabbed my ear. I spun away from the truck, and scanned over the streets, trying to pinpoint its location. I couldn’t see it yet, but it was close.
Anna slammed her door shut. She pounded her fist against the black-leather driver’s seat.
I slipped inside, and settled into the bucket style seat. The Glock was placed in my lap as I closed my door.
Anna’s nose crinkled as if she’d caught a bad whiff of something. I had the same sentiment. It smelt bad, mostly from the overpowering scent of weed and other smells that I couldn’t place.
The truck fired up on a dime. Hip hop music played from the speakers. Anna secured her seat belt, then switched off the radio.
I fastened my seat belt and glanced at the rearview mirror, spotting a large Hummer baring down on our position. It swerved around the abandoned cars and other debris that cluttered the road.
Great. More company?
It was hard to tell, and I didn’t want to take the risk.
The road ahead of us was clear of any gunfire for the moment, giving us a window of escape while we could.
I put the truck into gear and punched the gas. The tires squealed as we sped away from the curb. I kept a keen eye out for any cavernous pits that may have opened in the road.
We flew past Tripp’s house. The front looked like a war zone. The siding was splintered and full of holes. A black sedan was parked on the sidewalk with its doors wide open. I counted three dead bodies lying face first in his front yard.
Smoke plumed from the engine of a red sedan that had crashed into a light pole. The windows were shattered. The blaring from the horn was dying. Inside were two young, black males who had been shot to death.
The Hummer closed in fast on the home. I kept my foot mashed to the floorboard as they pulled up next to the curb in front of Tripp’s house.
For his sake, I hoped it was his reinforcements, and not more trouble.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SCARFACE
A day late and a dollar short. That would be our luck.
A red Chevy lowrider bolted from the house, and sped toward the intersection. Brake lights flashed. The small truck skirted the corner of the sidewalk, and vanished down the street.
Jackal peered at the war-torn house that had been shredded by heavy gunfire. He killed the engine, then looked at me. “Seems like we missed the party.”
“We do like to arrive fashionably late,” I said. “Hopefully, it doesn’t bite us in the ass, and our mark is inside. I’d like to wrap this up and get paid. I’m kind of over LA.”
“What? You mean you aren’t having a blast?” Jackal asked with a smirk.
“I’d be enjoying myself a hell of a lot more if Mother Nature would calm down. She’s messing with our job, and our money. Two things I don’t care for,” I answered. “You good to go?”
Jackal retrieved the Glock from the nook in the center console, and stuffed it into his waistband next to the other piece that was already there. He grabbed the door handle, then gave me a nod. “Always.”
We tossed open our doors, and jumped to the ground. Jackal retrieved his AR from the floorboard of the driver’s side, then slammed his driver’s side door shut.
I
skimmed over the battered house for any threats. The front door was wide open. The bay window to the side was gone. Curtains swayed with the cool breeze that blew through.
The black and red sedans parked on the curb had their doors flung open. Smoke plumed from the red vehicle’s crumpled up hood. Windows were shattered and busted out, carpeting the concrete and grass with tiny shards of glass.
Jackal slipped around the front of the Hummer with the AR shouldered. His finger kissed the trigger as he closed in on the cars. He peered over the buttstock of the rifle at me and paused.
I pointed at the red sedan.
He acknowledged with a tilt of his head.
A bloody arm dangled from the passenger side of the black, four-door sedan on the curb. I made a wide arch while training the Glock at the motionless body.
The man was dead–punished from the swarm of hellfire that had punched through the windshield. The driver was toast as well. Both gang members were riddled with bullet holes that stained their white tank tops a dark red. The backseat was clear.
The yard had more deceased gangbangers lying face first in the grass. We checked each, ensuring they were dead. I hated surprises.
Jackal took point, and cautiously approached the front door. I covered our backs. He stepped to the side of the door, then pressed his shoulder to the exterior of the house. He craned his neck, and peered inside the home.
It was dead silent.
He traversed the two concrete steps, and slipped inside the house.
I flanked him, then shifted to the side with the Glock sweeping the dark living room.
More bodies covered the floor. The smell of sulfur and weed tainted the air. Glass, from the blown-out window, crunched under my shoes.
“Do you see Lawson?” I asked while nudging the shoulder of one gangbanger near me on the floor.
Jackal checked the hallway for any threats, then moved on to the kitchen. “Not yet. No white meat mixed in with all of this dark.”
Shit.
I checked the bedrooms in the back of the house for Lawson or any clues, but found neither in the dim spaces.
“Haze,” Jackal said from the living room. “I got a survivor in here.”
I left the bedrooms and made for the hall.
Jackal stood just outside of the kitchen, waving his hand for me to come to him. “Back here.”
I lowered the Glock to my side, and stepped over one of the dead bodies on the floor. “It isn’t Lawson by chance, is it?”
Jackal guffawed. “That’s wishful thinking, there.” He moved out of my way with the AR pressed to his chest.
On the floor, with his back and head resting against the blood-smeared kitchen cabinets, sat another gangbanger with a gunshot wound to his side. His breathing was labored and shallow. A wheeze fled his blood-stained lips.
“Looks like those two came in through the back,” Jackal said while pointing to the two dead bodies near the open door. “They got the drop on Gold Chain here. Pop–pop. He shots them. They shot him. Bob’s your uncle.”
I stooped down, and grabbed Gold Chain’s chin.
His eyes crack open. Each lid struggled to lift. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he stared at me.
“Cory Lawson. Was he here?” I asked.
Gold Chain’s head bobbed about as if fixed on a spring. He struggled to keep his eyes open.
He swallowed, then asked, “Who–are–you?”
“It doesn’t matter who I am. Just answer the question,” I replied, my tone raising an octave. “You don’t have much time left, and I need to know if Cory Lawson was here.”
Gold Chain lifted his weary arm, then gave me the finger. “Eat–shit, cracker.”
“He’s got balls. I’ll give him that,” Jackal said from across the kitchen.
I grabbed Gold Chain’s finger and wrenched it to the side. The bone cracked. Gold Chain yelled out in pain. He gnashed his teeth while cradling his injured hand.
“WAS CORY LAWSON HERE?” My voice rose an octave, and made the whimpering man flinch.
He nodded as tears flowed down his cheeks.
“Where is he heading?” I asked.
Jackal left the kitchen and made for the living room.
Gold Chain struggled to gather himself. His body shook. Spit spewed from his lips. Snot oozed from his nose. “Glenwood, then airport. That’s all I know.”
Squealing tires sounded from the street. Loud, thumping music drifted into the silent house.
“Haze,” Jackal called from the living room.
I ignored the noise, and focused on the task at hand. “Did they leave on foot?”
Gold Chain shook his head. “Bastard took–my truck.”
The red Chevy lowrider.
Shit.
Jackal rushed into the kitchen with his AR shouldered.
“I know where Lawson is going,” I said.
“We’ve got company,” Jackal replied.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SCARFACE
The hits just kept coming.
“I’ve got two sedans out front.” Jackal adjusted the AR against his shoulder and gripped the handguard. “Shit. We’ve got more guys coming toward us through the backyard. Looks like we’re about to have a pretty good gunfight. You want the front or back?”
I withdrew the United Cutlery Push Dagger from my trousers. “I’ll take back.”
“Copy that.” Jackal moved to the living room, leaving me with Gold Chain.
I sat the Glock on the floor, then grabbed the back of the dying man’s skull. “I release you from this world.”
The dagger plunged into his gut with ease. I flicked my wrist, then jerked it to the side. A gurgling noise sounded from Gold Chain’s mouth as his eyes went wide with shock. His head slumped toward the floor, and thick strands of spit and blood clung to his mouth.
I pulled the dagger from his gut. Blood dripped from the blade. I wiped the sanguine fluid off on his jeans as footfalls played from the open door.
A shadow was cast along the faded paint of the white door, wielding what appeared to be an Uzi. He paused. Two men spoke in a low tone. I couldn’t make it out.
“Tripp. You okay, dog?” a voice asked.
I retrieved the Glock from the floor, then turned to face the open door. The shadow stayed put. I watched his every move–waiting for them to enter the lion’s den.
“Damn Young Bloods. Those bastards are going to pay for this,” another angry voice said. It sounded Jamaican.
The strawberry gum rolled about in my mouth. It was my last piece. I had to make it last until I could get some more.
The AR barked from the other room in short, controlled bursts. The men out back rushed inside, one at a time. Their heavy footsteps clomped up the steps as they entered the house.
The point man had his Uzi drawn.
The black Raiders hat he wore was flipped backward. A thin-gold chain bounced off his red shirt as he stepped over the dead. His jeans were just past his hips, revealing a portion of his striped boxers.
A lanky man with long dreadlocks and a thick, black beard kept close behind.
“Yo, bro–”
I squeezed the trigger.
Fire spat from the muzzle, followed by a flash of white.
The single round punched through his chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. Red Shirt stumbled backward into Dreadlock, knocking the armed gunman off balance.
I popped off another round, then slung the dagger at his partner. The bullet hit Red Shirt, center mass as he fought to stay upright. The dagger slammed into Dreadlock’s forehead.
The back of his skull bounced off the window molded inside the frame of the door. The glass cracked, then spiderwebbed outward.
Red Shirt crumpled to the floor, adding to the pile of dead bodies already in the kitchen.
I sprung from my crouched position and charged the gangbangers.
Dreadlock lingered against the door for a hot second before drifting toward the opening with hi
s mouth open. I grabbed the handle of the dagger, yanking it from his skull. I shoved him outside, and spotted two more armed thugs charging the house.
They opened fire while on the run. White flashes breathed from the barrels of their Uzi and Glock.
I tried to slam the door shut, but the mound of dead bodies kept it from moving. I turned, and opened fire as I sought cover.
Bullets tore through the windows and walls of the back portion of the house. I kept low, and crept toward the living room. Glass rained down on my back. The sharp ends probed my palms.
Beams of light shone through the numerous holes in the walls like lasers.
Jackal was planted just to the side of the front door. A barrage of gunfire pounded the house nonstop. Round after round hammered its way through the siding. Dry wall fluttered in the air as large portions broke free and fell to the hardwood floor.
He was calm and collected. There wasn’t a hint of worry on his focused face.
The gunfire ebbed.
Two deep breaths and he was back to work.
He spun away from the wall and returned fire. More controlled bursts rang out from the AR.
I watched the back door with the Glock trained at the opening, waiting for the gangbangers to give me a clean shot. They were wise and didn’t charge in haphazardly.
An arm materialized from around the corner of the cabinet, holding a Glock. He opened fire, squeezing the trigger until the magazine ran dry and clicked empty.
We needed to move. Our payday was gaining ground with every second we stayed here.
“The AR is out. I’ve got the Glocks left,” Jackal hollered. “What’s the plan?”
I didn’t have any additional ammo on me. All I had was stuffed in the Glock, and it would soon be extinguished. “I spotted some weapons in one of the rooms down the hall if we need them. How many targets you got left?”
The sharp report of the Glock firing echoed inside the house. I kept a keen eye on the door as the gangbangers held their ground.
“Two by my count. I clipped three, but the others are dug in behind the black sedan. Can’t get a clean shot. The longer we stay, the greater the risk of more showing up.”
Brink of Extinction | Book 1 | Sudden Impact Page 9
