Take the Money and Run

by Drew D'Amato

  The blond killer with clear, grey eyes and darkness in his soul smiled; he saw the look of disorder on Jericho’s face. The empty hands coming out of Jericho’s jacket said whatever was left to be said. He brought his Uzi up toward Jericho and howled a wide laugh. Jericho, the perfect solider, never took his eyes off his enemy to look for his weapons. That was why he was able to see a way out.

  Smythe had the audacity to get himself a silver—he hoped it was silver—bar piercing in his tongue. Jericho jumped at that possibility. He punched his hand into Smythe’s open, laughing mouth. Smythe fell over from the impact of the punch and Jericho fell on top of him. While on top of Smythe, Jericho ripped his tongue out. It felt like digging out a damp bunch of weeds. Dark, recycled blood sprayed out of his mouth. The quick pain did not freeze Smythe’s actions as much as seeing what Jericho was up to. At the last second he understood.

  Jericho, with his fist holding the pierced tongue, punched Smythe in the chest; crashing through his rib cage like it was made of wicker. The tongue-less Smythe disappeared with a disbelieving look on his face.

  “It fucking worked,” Jericho said with no longer anyone underneath him. Then a hand grabbed Jericho’s shoulder. From the feel of the grip, he knew the owner was on his side.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Michael said. “Everyone’s dead. All of them, and the rest of us.”

  They got up and looked into each other’s eyes like two friends finding each other for the first time after so many years. They looked to the entrance. Going against the wave of hysterical people trying to escape, came four London cops toward them. Jericho and Michael turned and ran through the large, stained-glass, second floor windows.

  Pieces of blue, white, and red glass shattered onto the cobblestone street below. The sharp glass appeared to roll right off them. Seconds later the cops got to the broken window. When they looked out, they saw no trace of them. It was a fifteen foot fall. No human could take that jump in stride and run out of sight that quickly.

  “What the hell happened here?” one of the cops asked.

  “I don’t know,” another one said. “Something unholy.”