by Alan Lee
“Yessir I think. What do I do?”
“What do you want to do?”
“Get him back.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“Maybe so. Kevin showed me once, said it was where they hung out.” Stevie placed his hand on the railing and tried not to cry. His hand trembled. Poor little guy, sometimes life was simply too hard. I knew the feeling.
“Who is Kevin?” I asked.
“My foster brother.”
My chest turned icy. Could it be? “Your brother a tall guy? Deep eyes? Get suspended from school recently?”
“Yessir that’s Kevin.”
I knew that Kevin. I shared a look with Manny. “Ah hah.”
“What?”
“First of all, what are the odds? Kevin’s the kid who tried to hit me in my first period. I’m surprised I’ve never seen him around the neighborhood.”
“He don’t go outside much,” Stevie said.
“And second, they’re going to make him kill Megan Rowe tonight. No way it’s a coincidence. They’re in the same class, my class, and he has to join the gang the day after she goes missing.”
Manny agreed. “Oh shit.”
“Stevie, could you get me there? To the place he showed you?”
“I think so, maybe, Mr. August. It’s near train tracks.”
“Of course it is. Manny, I’d like to borrow your car. Mean guys stole mine.”
* * *
Stevie got me close. Luck got me the remainder. We parked off Shenandoah on Baker, based on Stevie’s hazy memory, and followed the sounds of locomotives. A private drive used exclusively for rail purposes was gated but not locked. I went through, down into what looked like a train car graveyard mud pit. An ill-kept dumping grounds for the industry.
I grew tired of trains.
The time was nearly ten and the sky must’ve been overcast because I saw neither moon nor stars. All looked dark. I proceeded without a flashlight, gun drawn.
Soon I began to hear the notes of human voices. Laughter and shouting. The noises led out of the mud and into a gravel supply lot, and I moved slowly, careful not to make noise or slip. Between two mountains of crushed stone I found them.
A girl lay unmoving on a filthy mattress. Had to be Megan. Silva’s truck parked nearby, low beams illuminating the grisly party. Silva and Big Will each had a bottle in hand. Kevin stood nearby, awkwardly playing on his phone. Ugly Tiger Woods leaned against the grill of Silva’s truck. Another guy sat crisscross near the mattress but I couldn’t see him well.
“Waitin’ on you, Kev,” Silva said, putting the emphasis on “you.”
Megan wasn’t dead. And I’d arrived before Kevin did something he’d regret, but without time to spare. Could still salvage this nightmare.
Kevin mumbled something but didn’t look up from his phone.
“What? Speak up, boy.” Silva’s biceps bulged against his black shirt as he took a drink.
“I ain’t doing this.”
“Oh yes you are. You big ol’ dipshit, this is your party. Get on with it, I got work needs doing.”
Kevin didn’t speak.
“Put’cher phone away,” Silva snapped. His bald head reflected light like the moon. “Or I’ll break it.”
Kevin complied.
“Been a long day, Kev. I picked this girl out for you. Get on with it.”
I got mixed signals from Big Will. He was an accomplice but perhaps an unhappy one. He didn’t speak and his arms were crossed and his mouth twisted. At least he wasn’t holding a shotgun.
I wanted to shoot them all from my hiding spot in the dark. Two problems, though.
First, I could kill one and maybe wound another before they found cover. But I’d still be outnumbered, and they’d call for backup immediately.
Second, I didn’t shoot people in cold blood.
And also I was tired. So maybe three things.
I waited another couple minutes while Kevin stalled but he’d used up Silva’s patience and he knew it. Things weren’t getting better for him. Or for Megan. Or for me.
I thumbed the hammer back on the Kimber and left my hiding spot. If I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.
They didn’t see me until I stepped into their headlights. And the first thing they saw was light gleaming off my stainless steel gun, another reason to never buy blued metal.
“Hands where I can see them,” I said. “You’re nuts if you think I won’t shoot you.”
“Ho. Lee. Shee-yit,” Silva said. “I can’t even believe it. Look at this John Wayne pinche gabacho motherfucker.”
“John Wayne’s a little dated. How about…Jason Bourne? Or John Wick?”
By design, Kevin was closest to me. I took one big step and hit him with my open hand. A big ringing slap, like being hit with a frying pan. Kevin fell and didn’t get up. His friends yelped.
“Megan and I are leaving,” I said.
“The hell is Megan?” asked Ugly Tiger Woods.
“Megan is the only girl here. Maybe I should use smaller words?”
Silva was squatting, eyes narrowed, and he looked like a coiled viper. A vein in his neck pulsed. “You ain’t leaving with anyone.” My gun hadn’t left Silva but he seemed oblivious. Was I made of less stern stuff, I might have been concerned.
“Megan and I are leaving, Silva,” I said, “even if that means stepping over your corpse.”
Big Will was the true pro here. I knew it, he knew it, but maybe Silva didn’t. Big Will took casual steps away from Silva, so I couldn’t cover them both. There were too many guys here. My time ran short.
“Stop,” I told Big Will.
He did.
“Hand it to you,” Big Will said. “You stubborn, that’s sure as shit.”
Ugly Tiger Woods still had a busted nose from where I hit him earlier. He said, “Told you. Dead white man.”
Now that I took another look, I recognized the last guy. I’d hit him in the jaw earlier today, when he’d gone for his gun. Busted Jaw didn’t look happy to see me. In fact, very few of these guys did.
I had to shoot Silva. I needed their respect and their attention and Silva was the idiot in charge. Shoot Silva and get one of the guys to carry Megan out of here. No other way.
I took aim.
Big Will made a small motion. Small and innocuous. Not enough to startle me but enough to get my attention. He’d produced a gun from the pocket of his hoodie, a small .38 Special, and he pointed it at Megan.
“You decide, August. You fire, I fire,” Big Will said.
I waited for a gunshot. A sudden burst of noise which would signal war. But none came. Cooler heads prevailing. The pressure built and abated.
“A stalemate,” Silva said.
“Not for me,” Big Will said. “I walk away. Told you this was stupid, Silva, you dumb fuck.”
I said, “Fight you for her.”
“What?”
“Round two, Silva. Me and you. Winner walks away. I win, I keep the girl.”
He straightened and laughed. “You’re on, white man.” He tossed the bottle over his shoulder.
Big Will looked unsure. “Silva. August ain’t a little dude.”
“Fuck you, I got this.”
“August.” Big Will nodded to my gun. “I trust you?”
“You should trust me more than you trust Silva,” I said.
“I’ll kill you, you don’t keep your word. You get that?”
I pointed my gun at the ground and flicked the thumb safety. Slid the pistol back into its holster, and fastened it.
Big Will wanted to shoot me. Drill me now and be done with this. The debate crossed his face and stalled. Then, reluctantly, he put his pistol back into the hoodie pocket.
Silva took a knife from his ankle and came at me. He wasn’t wasting time. I knew the knife; it was a KA-BAR. Used commonly in the American military. Seven-inch steel blade.
What a cheater.
He was going to cut me. A lot. Slash and dash and wait
for blood loss to do its work. I’d been in a few back-alley knife fights in California, five hundred dollars to the winner. I knew how it worked. Open up enough veins and your opponent collapsed and you won. But usually both opponents had knives.
I knew a way to win the fight, and it wasn’t pretty. Had to get close.
He slashed across his body and I let it pass. I stepped into him and presented my left shoulder, a big meaty target too big for him to ignore. It happened so fast, he moved on instinct and stabbed into my side, just under my shoulder. The muscles parted and protested as a foreign object inserted itself into my body. The knife connected with rib bone.
But I was close enough and he was overly invested in his knife attack. Exposed. Vulnerable. I twisted, a short powerful rotation, and put an uppercut into his chin. Brutal impact. His jaw cracked. Teeth broke. Lights went out in his eyes.
He fell, pulling the knife out as he did, and didn’t move.
Thick hot blood poured freely down my left side. The cut was deep and wide, but I thought my lung was unscathed. I didn’t have long, however, before I’d become weak.
Ugly Tiger Woods and Busted Jaw shouted and laughed. Enjoying the humiliation. Big Will did not. “That was quick,” he said.
I took off my button-up shirt and clamped it as best I could under my arm, over the wound, an inefficient bandage. I had a T-shirt on, but even shirtless I’d be unable to inspect the wound without a mirror.
Big Will was making up his mind on what to do when a car crested the rise above us and drove into the gravel supply lot. The blinding headlights threw us into sharp relief and I could see nothing past them. Two car doors opened and Marcus Morgan stepped into sight. Jeriah’s father, tall and strong. His hands were on his hips and he glared at me, at Silva, at Kevin, both on the ground, at Big Will.
“The hell is going on?”
Ugly Tiger Woods had a pistol in his hands, twirling it on his finger like a gunslinger. “Better question is. Who you, old man?”
“Who’s the girl?” Marcus Morgan asked.
“Megan Rowe,” I answered. “Silva took her.”
“What happened to Kevin?”
“I hit him.” My side was starting to throb and my head felt fuzzy. And I was confused. Why was Marcus here?
“Why?”
“Best way to save his life.”
“And Silva?”
Big Will answered, “He stabbed August. So August popped him good.”
Much to my surprise, Sergeant Sanders stepped into the light. Pistol held loosely in his fist, coat pulled back to reveal the badge on his belt. “Everyone be nice and easy.”
Marcus Morgan said, “Did I tell you? What did I tell you, Sanders?” He held his hands out, gesturing at the weird scene.
“You told me Silva was dangerous.”
“I told you Silva was dangerous,” Marcus said.
“To be fair,” I said, “I told you that too. And also I’m confused.”
“You. With the gun,” Marcus Morgan said. Ugly Tiger Woods, the guy with the gun, paused. “Help Kevin into my car.”
“Fuck you, old man.”
Big Will took a deep breath and said, “Do it. Get the kid out of here.”
Ugly Tiger Woods glared at Big Will.
“Do it.”
Kevin was hauled to his feet and helped to shuffle across the gravel, past the lights, and into the back of Marcus’s car.
Sergeant Sanders, the big ugly Rottweiler, nodded at me. “You again. You’re everywhere.”
“Would you say I’m like Batman? Because I would.”
“You’re bleeding a lot, Batman.”
“If you prick Batman, does he not bleed? How’d you find us?”
“Following a lead. Marcus heard about tonight’s initiation. What a got’damn mess.” Sergeant Sanders walked to Silva and nudged him with a heavy boot. “You busted his face up bad, August.”
“I think it looks better now.”
“This idiot. Kept taking girls. Caused all our problems.” Sanders aimed his gun at Silva’s forehead and fired. The sound startled all of us. “Asshole caused enough trouble. More than he’s worth.”
Silva had been executed.
I was stunned. Only then did I notice the pistol Sanders held was a revolver. Not his police issue. Probably unregistered.
Whoa.
“You’re in on this,” I said. “On the whole cocaine operation.”
“Course I’m in on this, August. There’s fuckin’ millions to be made.”
“Stackhouse too?”
“Naw. Too schoolgirl. Goodie, goodie, a true believer, you know? About the only thing on her that ain’t fake. And you didn’t figure it, August, so maybe you ain’t such a hotshot after all,” Sergeant Sanders said.
“You got that right.”
“I got that right.”
“That’s how the drugs disappeared from the warehouse,” I said. “I called you and you didn’t radio for help. Not immediately. You took your time, gave them a chance to move the stuff.”
“Hell, I helped them move it. I got a share in that stash. I make a bust that big, I get my name in the papers. Maybe a promotion. But I lose. I’m this close to packing up and moving to Argentina, you understand?”
“You told everyone about me. I couldn’t figure out how my cover at school was blown so quickly. It was you.”
“You were fucked from the go, August.”
“Hah. Turns out I’m not a total screwup.”
“You’re looking a little pale.” Sanders grinned. “Feel like shit, I bet.”
“Let the girl go, Sanders.”
“No can do. This doesn’t end well for either of you.”
Marcus and Big Will and Ugly Tiger Woods and Busted Jaw had all been silent until now. Marcus stepped forward. “Wait. Sergeant, let’s be cool about this. Mack is trying to do the right thing.”
“Marcus. Don’t be fuckin’ stupid. He knows everything.”
“I like August. Strikes me as a reasonable man.”
“Reasonable as heck,” I agreed.
“He knows the big picture. Doesn’t mind breaking rules.”
“Oh yeah, tough guy? You won’t tell anyone?” Sanders asked.
“Oh, not that reasonable,” I said. “I’ll throw you straight in jail.”
Marcus grunted. I disappointed him.
“Let the girl go,” I said again.
“No.”
Marcus said, “Sergeant, girl’s done nothing.”
“She’s seen faces.”
“So? She can’t identify anyone. She was drugged, and her captors will all look the same.”
“All look the same?” Sanders said. “That like a racist comment ‘cause you guys are black? Hell, she’s black too.”
Marcus took a deep, patient breath. “Not because we’re black. Because it was dark and she’s been drugged.”
“Listen. Marcus. Appreciate the help. I do. But shut the fuck up. You’re over your head. Big Will, we’re going to move some gravel. Find us something to do it, eh? And you two. I don’t know your fucking names…”
“I call them Ugly Tiger Woods and Busted Jaw,” I offered.
“Whatever. Ace August here and move the bodies to that gravel pile. At least he’ll stop running his mouth.”
Marcus shook his head, a little movement Sanders didn’t see. The men hesitated.
Big Will cocked an eyebrow, looking between the two. He hadn’t moved for the gravel mover.
This was going downhill. Fast. I still had a gun in my holster, but I was feeling woozy. Fingertips numb. Blood had reached my shoes.
Big Will wouldn’t do it. But Ugly Tiger Woods and Busted Jaw decided they would. Apparently they respected Sergeant Sanders more than Marcus Morgan. And it was time for me to be shot.
“Dead white man.” Ugly Tiger raised his pistol and began squeezing.
Marcus said, “Put down the damn gun.”
I slid to the right and grabbed Tiger’s hand. I bent the gun b
ackwards until he yowled. The gun fired and missed, making my head ring. Busted Jaw tried for a shot but I pivoted away. Tiger couldn’t shake loose, his wrist about to break. I elbowed him in the nose and the gun released. Into my hands. I was weak, muscles moving without much conviction. Like operating from a distance. I got the gun barrel under his chin and I pulled the trigger. A sick muffled crack, and his face went slack and he slumped against me.
Busted Jaw maneuvered for a shot and he fired. And missed, shooting Tiger’s shoulder instead. I slid from under Tiger and shot Busted Jaw in the forehead. His head kicked back and he collapsed.
So weak. Hard to move.
Big Will smacked my hand and the gun clattered among the stones.
There was blood on both my hands. Couldn’t get enough breath.
Marcus Morgan threw back his head and laughed, standing a little taller. “Damn boy! Here I was, thinking you’re a christian.”
“I am. Just not good at it yet.”
“Some badass christian.”
“You see this, Marcus?” Sergeant Sanders had his gun on me. “Look at this mess. This is why we do things my way. Get it? Now we got two more dead bodies. Got’damn it.”
A radio squawked underneath Sander’s overcoat. Something about reports of shots fired off Shenandoah.
He spoke into it. “This is Sergeant Sanders. I’m already over here. Looks like kids playing pranks with fireworks. Disregard.”
Marcus clasped his hands behind his back and said, “Mackenzie didn’t call the police. I respect that about him. A lot about this man I respect.”
“In hindsight,” I said, “probably would have been wise to call. But I wanted to clean up my own mess.”
“Christ, why are we talking?” Sanders said. “I’ll shoot the fucker myself.” He raised his revolver again.
Marcus Morgan brought his hands around. His right hand now held a Glock. He fired into the back of Sergeant Sanders’s head. I flinched at the noise. Sanders slumped onto the ground awkwardly and Marcus shot him twice more. The sounds and flashes froze the moment in time. Indelibly burnt into my eyes.
Marcus said, “You outlived your usefulness, Sanders.”
“Lucky he called off the radio,” Big Will grunted. “Gives us time.”
Marcus and Big Will and I looked at each other. The last men standing. Surrounded by four dead bodies, and Megan Rowe.
