Chemical Burn

by Quincy J. Allen

  “We heard you the first time, redneck,” the man behind me said. “You’re in the wrong fuckin’ house.”

  “Is everything okay?” we heard from a walkie-talkie. A goombah appeared in the front hallway. He held a silenced pistol in one hand and a walkie-talkie in the other.

  “We got this,” the new man said into the walkie-talkie as he pointed his gun at me.

  “What’s going on?” the radio voice said. I recognized it as the goombah who had given me the thumbs up in the first alley. He must have taken the walkie-talkie away from the driver.

  “Just a couple of drunk hicks. Stay where you are.”

  “Want me to call Joey in the other car?” the man on the other end of the radio said.

  “NO! I said we got this,” the goombah barked.

  I cringed at hearing about the other vehicle.

  “You want I should take ’em downstairs and get ’em outa’ the way?” the man from the sunroom asked.

  “Yeah, Guido, do that,” the man with the radio confirmed. Guido took two steps towards me.

  I released the bottle of beer and the orange ball simultaneously, and I snapped my fingers before they made it to my chest. “Shit, I dropped it!” I yelped.

  The man with the walkie-talkie depressed the talk button, “We’re gonna …”

  Natalia and I closed our eyes while the three Italians naturally stared at both the bottle and the ball dropping to the floor. The beer hit first and shattered with a foamy crash. The ball, an instant behind the bottle, hit and went off like a gunshot, blinding all three gunmen with a brilliant flash of light. The Italians yelled in pain and covered their eyes with their hands.

  Natalia and I leapt into action. She crouched and rolled forward along the floor. The silenced pistol of the Italian in the hallway thumped, and a blind shot hit the wall where Natalia had been. Faster than any human, I sidestepped and crouched down, reaching under the back of my coat in a single, fluid motion as I spun to my left.

  The gun that had been pointing at my head thumped. The round harmlessly embedding itself in the wall behind Guido. The vlain gave off its high-pitched whine as my hand closed around it.

  The weapon came out easily. I extended my arm, swinging the blade in a tight arc. The curved blade passed through the fat man’s mid-section, slicing through skin, muscle, fat, and intestine. He grunted as his belly flopped open like a bloody, toothless mouth.

  Natalia came up from her roll into a low crouch, the Glock in her hands. My backswing passed through the fat man’s neck with a sickly-wet squelch, like a cleaver hitting a side of beef. Blood sprayed across the counters and sink as the blade opened his throat. His eyes went wide in surprised horror.

  “What the fuck!” someone yelled from upstairs.

  “Vincent, what happened?!” burst through the radio.

  Natalia let off two fast shots, chest then head, which sent the man with the radio reeling backwards as he fell.

  Guido shot blindly into the kitchen from the sunroom. I ducked down into a low crouch, taking two steps towards him as bullets sailed above me to the left and right. I came up as hard as I could, burying the stiletto blade up under his chin and angling it back into his brain. His head snapped back, and his arms swung down lifelessly at his sides. As I yanked the blade out, I heard the splat-spattering of the fat man’s intestines spilling onto the kitchen floor behind me.

  Without pausing, I leapt towards the hallway as both dead Italians thudded to the floor with loud thuds.

  Footsteps hammered down the hall upstairs.

  I reached into a pocket, pulled out another flash-bang and clicked the buttons on either side. I flashed past Natalia, leapt over Vincent’s body, and ran down the hall, zigzagging left and right, pushing my weight off the baseboards.

  A silenced thud sounded from above, and wood splintered near my foot. Without looking up, I hurled the flash-bang at the vaulted ceiling above and behind me as I kept running. It hit the ceiling and detonated, filling the hallway with light. I heard a yelp from above as the shooter was blinded. Shots rained down randomly into the hallway.

  I grabbed the stair rail, let my momentum swing me around the post, and leapt from the bottom landing to the middle stair. Another leap propelled me to the top. The last gunman came into view, standing in the middle of the sitting room, holding his eyes with one hand and firing the gun with the other. My last leap, the vlain held high in the air, carried me the last six feet to the gunman. I brought the blade down across his elbow, with a thick CHUCK! as it passed through flesh and bone. Before he could scream, my back swing took his head almost completely off. The arm hit the floor with a squishy thud, and he crumpled in a heap, blood squirting across the hardwood floor. His head, attached only by a thin flap of skin and muscle, flopped backwards with the top of his head now resting between his shoulder blades.

  “C’mon!” I yelled. “More are coming!” I ran to the back door and looked outside.

  I heard Natalia get up, sprint down the hall and race up the stairs. She grimaced at the body lying on the floor and, leaping over the pool of blood, came back to the bedroom. I stepped up to the glass and looked out the glass doors onto the patio.

  “Get it! Fast!” I ordered. I could see the upper half of my truck beyond the deck.

  Natalia slipped the Glock into her belt and flipped the nightstand next to her bed onto its side. She then stepped up to a print of Munch’s The Scream, pulled the painting off the wall, and threw it on the bed. She exposed a wall-safe with a combination dial, a handle, two small red lights, and a thumb-reader. She slid her finger over the reader, and one of two small red lights turned green. She quickly dialed in a combination, and the other light went green. With a twist of the lever, she swung the door open.

  Within lay a silver briefcase, a large Ziploc bag, a Glock .40, and four clips. She pulled out the briefcase, put it on the bed and worked the combination for both latches. They flipped open and she opened the briefcase, exposing a military-grade, heavy-duty laptop. She pulled the Ziploc out of the safe, and I could see it contained a stack of passports, six wrapped bundles of hundred dollar bills and three bundles of Euros. She threw the bag in the case, following it quickly with the Glock and three of the clips. She pulled the Glock she had been using out of her belt, ejected the partially used clip into the case and slid the fourth, fresh clip from the safe into the weapon.

  “Let’s go!” she said, gasping for breath as she closed the safe.

  We both heard the sound of a big-block motor roaring down the alley and then tires squealing as a vehicle came to an abrupt halt behind my truck.

  “Nice work, but we’re not done yet,” I said casually as I went over and locked the bedroom door. I wasn’t even breathing hard.

  ***

  Long Drive, Short Pier

  I heard the man who had given me the thumbs-up yell, “Stay with the car, I’ll check inside!” as he got out of the SUV. “Bennie’s on the way!” he added and ran towards the house.

  “Be careful, Dino,” the driver cautioned, getting out and standing in the door.

  Spattered with blood, I peeked through the glass patio doors from behind the wall. I thought I saw a MAC-11 in Dino’s hand as he stepped out of the SUV.

  That could be a problem.

  The MAC-11 is basically a bullet hose. They’re not very accurate past about thirty feet, and only good for short bursts, but you try standing in the middle of a hailstorm without getting hit. Everything in the house and yard would pretty much be within thirty feet, which made me quite worried about Natalia. I took a deep breath and looked at her. The plan I’d come up with for getting out in one piece was straightforward.

  “When I go, you wait till I hit the end of the porch, then you run, jump onto the truck and get in the far side. If I buy it, drive off.”

  We both heard Dino yelling in a panicked voice from downstairs. “Holy mother of god!—Vincent!—Guido!—Frankie!—JESUS! What the fuck happened in here?” He paused, I’m sure when
he saw the carnage I’d made of his buddies. “Vinny? YOU UP THERE?” I waited another ten seconds for Dino to make his way to the base of the stairs.

  “Hurry, Dino! I’m hurt bad,” I yelled in my best Brooklyn accent. I flipped the vlain around in my hand so the straight blade now pointed down. I smiled at Natalia, slid open the door, and leapt through it. It took me two strides to cross the fifteen-foot patio, and Natalia was moving the instant my foot hit the railing.

  The man standing next to the SUV raised a MAC-11 through the open car window as my foot hit the railing of the patio. The Italian had good reflexes, I’ll give him that, but he still wasn’t fast enough. The barrel tracked me as I leapt into the air. A stream of gunfire filled the space behind me as I sailed over him. I flipped completely in a half-twist as the barrel banged into the window frame and stopped short. The burst continued harmlessly behind me.

  The poor guy watched in terror as I came down hard on the roof of the SUV and drove the four-inch stiletto blade into his forehead. The hilt split his head open, and the impact drove his body down off the knife. He crumpled in a twitching heap on the ground just outside the open door. I heard Natalia’s footsteps hammering across the patio. I turned to watch her hit the railing and jump.

  She crossed the eight feet of open space easily just as the patio door erupted with bullets and flying glass. She came down hard on the roof, continued her stride, and dropped to the far side of the truck. I heard Dino kick the doorframe open. I realized immediately that I had to do something or he would hose the truck and kill Natalia.

  I dropped to the ground and grabbed the MAC-11 at my feet. Dino crossed the fifteen feet of the porch quickly and raised his weapon.

  “I got you now, bitch!” he hissed. Focused completely on Natalia, he didn’t see me stand up and raise the machine gun. I hated to use the thing, but there weren’t any options.

  “Excuse me,” I said as pleasantly as I could. Dino snapped a surprised look in my direction as I pulled the trigger. A quick, efficient burst caught him square in the chest, and he flipped onto his back, motionless. I dropped the gun on the ground and walked over to the open door of my still-running truck. I looked back down the alley and watched another SUV squeal around the corner, three men inside.

  I spotted Bennie DiMarco in the passenger seat and sighed as I slid the vlain back in its sheath. I really hated that stupid, fat bastard. All I could think about was when we’d crossed paths the previous year. Bennie had put one in my lung with that damn, gold-plated Colt .45 of his. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, which is why I never went looking for him. Checking the truck, I noticed Natalia wincing and holding her right shoulder.

  “How bad is it?” I asked, calm but very concerned.

  “Not bad. No bone. It went in and out.”

  “Okay. Buckle up. Now it gets exciting!” I yelled, the old me truly enjoying myself, and the rest of me feeling guilty for it.

  “You’re out of your mind, Case,” she said, clearly appalled by my giddiness.

  I yanked the back of my coat out of the way and pulled the vlain in its sheath off my belt. I normally would never take it off, but my plan called for a situation where I didn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands.

  I jumped in the truck and slid the sheathed vlain under the seat. Putting the truck in gear, I drove quickly but calmly down the alley. I looked behind me and saw the SUV still sitting there, waiting to see which way we went. Without hesitation, I turned left on Harbor back the way we came. The moment I turned, I caught a glimpse of the SUV backing up and turning the same way. I hammered the gas and flew down Harbor. Fortunately, there were no cars in the way. I reached Wilson in a matter of seconds and swerved around the corner to the right, heading back towards Washington. The SUV burst out onto Wilson three blocks behind us and careened off a red Volvo that swerved with the impact and drove into the bushes of someone’s yard.

  “I thought you hated guns,” Natalia said calmly.

  “I do. They’re not any fun,” I replied in all seriousness. She gave me a look that bordered on fear mixed with amazement, convinced of my insanity. “Would you have preferred I let him shoot his again?”

  “Definitely not,” she admitted quietly.

  I saw a gap in the westbound traffic on Washington and bounced over the curb, turning hard to the right. The driver I cut off stood on the horn and stuck his hand out the window, giving me the universal suggestion for intercourse in the imperative. I waved pleasantly at the extended middle finger and stepped on the gas, heading straight down Washington towards the pier. I swerved left and right, weaving between slower cars and trucks while keeping an eye on the SUV swerving behind us.

  “You were Spetsnaz, right?” I asked. She hesitated for a moment, still not certain how much she could trust me. “Come on. No games!”

  “Close enough,” she admitted.

  “Good. Slide your hand under the seat.” She did. “You feel that cylinder?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Slide your hand towards the door.… Do you feel that?”

  She felt an oddly shaped piece of rubber. “Yes,” she looked at me, understanding instantly.

  “Use it.” She looked towards the rapidly approaching Venice Fishing Pier and then back at me with wide eyes. “Trust me,” I added confidently.

  I floored the gas, the motor roared, and we accelerated hard down Washington. I had to slow a few times to keep from getting nailed by cross-traffic, and Bennie was gaining ground. I crashed through the wood barrier blocking the entrance to the pier and honked my horn to get people out of the way. I swerved around a hot-dog stand and a burrito vendor as we quickly started running out of pier.

  “I have to try and find out what these assholes want, okay?” I said, motioning to our pursuers.

  “Yes.”

  “Au revoir,” I said. I opened the door and rolled out.

  “Justin!” she yelled after me.

  I came to a rolling stop just as the truck smashed through the railing at the end of the pier. The truck hopped up a couple of feet when it hit the lip and went sailing into the surf. I stood up and ran to the edge of the pier to see Natalia’s body sagging limply towards the middle of the truck, hanging unconscious in the seat belt. Seawater poured through the open windows, and her body swayed with the water filling the cab. I watched the truck, with Natalia still limp inside, sinking quickly.

  “Natalia!” I shouted in horror.

  Wheels screeched behind me, and I could hear sirens in the far-off distance—lots of them. I heard car doors open and heavy footsteps running up behind me. An iron grip clamped around my arm, and I winced at the strength of it.

  “Get in the fucking car, Case.” Someone jammed a gun into my ribs to emphasize the request. I turned around and saw the wide grimace of Bennie’s biggest brute, Tommy at the other end of the vice-like grip. Antonio held the gun.

  “Tommy … Antonio,” I said sadly. “Long time no see.” Bennie stepped up beside them both and looked out on the water where the truck had disappeared.

  “She come up?” Bennie asked.

  “No sir,” Antonio said. “Nothing. It looked like she was unconscious when it went under.”

  “She must have hit her head,” I said with a tinge of despair. People were starting to gather at the end of the pier.

  “Good riddance, ya fuckin bitch!” Bennie said more loudly than he should have. He spat out into the ocean. Most of the gawkers turned and shot Bennie dirty looks. “Put him in the car, boys.”

  “Yes sir, Mister DiMarco.”

  Tommy turned and headed for the car, with me in tow. Tommy was so strong I might as well have been cuffed to a bull-dozer. Bennie watched for another thirty seconds to see if Natalia came up. Tommy threw me in behind the passenger seat and closed the door. Antonio, now sitting in the driver’s seat, turned around and pointed his gun at my chest. We waited until Bennie was satisfied and then watched him walk back to the SUV, get in to the front seat, and turn arou
nd to face me.

  “You’re a real pain in the ass, Case,” Bennie said as he opened the glove box. “You know that?” He pulled out something, but I couldn’t see what it was.

  “Yes, I know. You’re not the first to say so, Bennie. Probably won’t be the last.”

  “Don’t count on that, asshole,” he said, pointing a taser at my chest. “You’re gonna love this. We have these made custom. Got ’em from the fucking Russians. They have … a bit more juice than your average taser. I just hope it doesn’t kill you. I got something special planned for you.”

  “Oh shit,” I said, meaning it. I don’t handle electricity very well.

  “Goodnight,” Bennie said and pulled the trigger. I went stiff as Bennie let the current flow … and flow.… Thankfully, I only remember the first few seconds of it, and then the lights went out.

  O O O

  I woke to the sound of turbo-props spinning up and the realization that my hands were cuffed behind me. My shoulders were sore from leaning on them against the fuselage. My jaw ached, and there was the all-too-familiar taste of blood in my mouth. Someone must have hit me while I was unconscious. Assholes. It took me a minute to fully regain my senses.

  “How we feeling, princess?” Bennie asked from across the aisle. The plane accelerated hard, and we shot down the runway. I ran my tongue over the side of my mouth to find a thick lump. I spat out some blood on the floor of the plane, not necessarily at Bennie, but not away from him either. “You made a real mess back at Natalia’s. Most of those guys were friends of ours.” The plane lifted off the ground, and we quickly gained altitude.

  “Well, they started it,” I said, sounding as petulant as I could.

  “Tommy, when we level off, show him what I think of that.”

  “You got it,” Tommy said cracking the massive knuckles of both fists. When the plane’s ascent settled, the giant Italian stood up and stepped in front of me. “This is for Guido and Vincent,” Tommy said and hit me in the ribs—left-right—with two heavy punches. I grunted and coughed as the air rushed out of my lungs.