Cole Shoot

by Micheal Maxwell

  “Gun!” Carlos yelled, dropping his bat and pulling his own gun.

  Pockmark looked Carlos right in the eyes as he raised his gun to fire. Carlos stood calm and unwavering as he recalled Luis’ order not to kill. He smiled at Pockmark and fired twice, hitting him once in the knee and once in the opposite thigh. Pockmark dropped his gun and collapsed on the floor.

  Ricky Chou, in a moment of panic, dove under the table. In complete terror, he watched between the legs of a chair as his comrades fell one by one. His hands trembled as pulled his handgun from his waistband and held it for a long moment. His mind raced, he knew he must do something, but he was paralyzed in fear. He did not want to die.

  Trick Zhuó had been dozing on the couch when the door exploded inward. He was still shaking his head and blinking his eyes, trying his best of clear the cobwebs. As he stood, drugs and alcohol still swirling through is system, he found it difficult to steady himself.

  Luis turned and rushed down the hall. At the far end was a door. Without breaking stride he hit the door shattering the casing and breaking the two top hinges. As the door dangled by one twisted bottom hinge, light flooded the darkened room. Luis saw his old friend. He knew it was Whisper, by his eyes, but so much else had changed that he hardly knew him.

  “You’re a long way from home Ese.” Anthony smiled.

  “Only because I have to save your sorry ass.”

  Luis moved quickly and used his box cutter to free Anthony from the duct tape binds holding him to the chair. He took his friend by the arm and tried to help him stand.

  “Can you walk?”

  “I think so,” Anthony replied.

  “You hurt?’

  “Huh uh, they just slapped me around a bit.

  With that, Luis threw his arms around his friend and gave Anthony a bear hug. “Damn, you scared the shit out of me. How’d you get in this mess?” he said, as he let go.

  “They saw my tat,” He said, holding out his hand.

  “We gotta get you outta here.” Luis moved for the open door.

  Anthony rubbed his wrist and jumped up and down several times trying to get his circulation and muscles back on line.

  As Luis entered the living room, he stomped the plug in the wall to the right of the door and the music stopped.

  Carlos and Juan both stood, guns drawn, and pointed at the three FCBZ still able to stand. The guy Luis had slashed was slumped against the wall holding his stomach and crying. Movement in the room stopped, but not Trick’s mouth.

  “I will track you down and I will kill all of you. You have disrespected my crew, my neighborhood, and the Chinese people!” Trick screamed. All pretense of the cool gangster chief was gone. He was out of his mind with anger.

  Ricky Chou watched breathlessly from under the table as Luis and Anthony entered the room. The heavy mahogany chair’s thick back and legs hid his crouched form. His shoulder pressed him hard against the floor, his gun rested on the cross bar between the chair’s back legs. This was his last chance to act. He aimed carefully between the vertical maze of wooden legs at Anthony’s chest.

  Ricky glanced around the room. His friends and comrades lie everywhere, unconscious, bleeding, groaning and he was hiding behind a chair. His shame and cowardice clung to him like a spider webs. This was his chance to redeem himself. He must fire. He would shoot the newspaper guy and then their leader. He would be a hero and Trick would see his real value at last. If Trick would just stop screaming!

  Ricky slowly pulled the trigger, it felt thick and heavy. He closed his eyes and fired. The report of the 9 mm was thunderous. He opened his eyes to take aim at Luis. In front of him stood Trick, a large, crimson spot growing larger and larger on the back of his snow white t-shirt.

  “Let’s go!” Luis shouted as he turned toward the door. “Come on!” he grabbed Anthony by the arm and pulled him toward the door.

  Ricky stood and watched as Trick fell in a twisted, contorted heap, face down on the carpet. Chuy followed Luis out the door, with Carlos close behind. As Juan turned for the door, Ricky raised his gun and fired again, hitting Juan’s left upper arm. Juan spun and fired as he backed out the door, missing Ricky with both shots.

  The apartment was still. The manic three minutes of violence was over. The only sound was the groaning and whimpering of the wounded. Ricky ran to where Trick lay motionless.

  “Trick!” Ricky called as he rolled his friend over. Trick Zhuó stared at the ceiling, his face without expression. A large red stain on his chest left no doubt he was dead. Ricky shook Trick’s shoulders and cried.

  It was nearly fifteen minutes later when Ricky stood up. As he took in the carnage in the apartment, his eyes caught a familiar reflection in the window behind the table. His t-shirt was still white. His arms were straight. His face looked just like always. He wasn’t shot or beaten, he had no broken bones. He wasn’t harmed in any way.

  Yet, three broken bodies lay where they fell. Calvin Tao passed out from loss of blood. The wounds were still seeping from the slashes inflicted by Luis. He leaned against the wall, his chin on his chest. There were groans coming from the side of the table near the window, but Ricky couldn’t look.

  His gun lay on the floor next to Trick. By rights, Ricky was now the leader of the Fire Cracker Boys. He had to get away. He couldn’t stand the smell of the stale marijuana smoke and spilled beer in the apartment. The sounds of his injured friends roared in his head.

  “I will make them pay,” Ricky said to no one. “They will pay for this.” He reached down and picked up his gun.

  Gun in hand, he ran from the apartment. He didn’t stop running until he reached his car. The chirp-chirp of the alarm seemed to bounce from every wall along the street. One old bent man pushed a walker with the evening shopping on the seat in a small yellow bag. Ricky got in his car and pulled onto the empty street.

  * * *

  The Corolla was winding its way toward the Chronicle Building. Juan’s wound was wrapped tight in a torn towel Chuy found in the trunk. Not the most sanitary dressing, but it appeared to be relatively clean. Juan was sure the bullet hadn’t hit bone, but there were holes on both sides of his arm.

  The back seat was a bit crowded but no one seemed to mind.

  “Sage, Luis. Somebody wants to talk to you.”

  “Cole?” Anthony said, sounding more hoarse than usual.

  “Oh, thank God! Are you OK, buddy?” Cole felt tears well up.

  “I’m good. I’m good.” Tears streamed down Anthony’s cheeks with the realization he was going to be alright. He handed the phone back to Luis.

  “Sage, we got a problem, man. Juan took a bullet. He’s not dyin’ or nothin’. He got shot in the arm. He needs sewed up pretty bad.” Luis paused. “Know anybody?”

  “Yeah, where are you?”

  “About five or ten minutes from you.”

  “I’ll make a call. See you out front.”

  “Good.”

  Cole picked up the land line and hit speed dial button number one.

  “Erin, I need some help. Is Ben home?”

  “No, what’s the matter.”

  “Will he be home soon?”

  “No, he’s taking another doctor’s shift tonight. Dad, you’re scaring me. Are you OK?”

  “Yeah, sweetie I’m fine. But, a friend of mine needs a look at. Do you have a medical kit?”

  “Of course. What’s going on?”

  “If I tell you, you could get in trouble. So let’s just say he had an accident and doesn’t have Obamacare yet.”

  “And so...”

  “So, I’ll see you in a half hour, I hope.”

  Cole grabbed his jacket and ran to get his car from the garage. Five minutes later he was parked illegally at the curb in front of the Chronicle. Two minutes after that, the Corolla pulled up behind.

  Anthony got out and approached Cole’s car. Cole spotted them in the side mirror and jumped out.

  “I’m sorry, Cole,” were Anthony’s first words.
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  “Nothing to be sorry for,” Cole replied. “Hell of a way to get a story, though.”

  The two men high-fived and laughed with relief.

  “You take school boy and we’ll follow,” Luis said and the Corolla pulled up to Cole’s car.

  Traffic was light and the trip to Erin’s took a little less than thirty minutes. Cole and Anthony mostly sat in silence on the way. Cole didn’t want to just fill the air with idle chatter. The two men shared a bond, but it was one of mutual respect. Cole hadn’t given Anthony a hug because it just was out of character.

  Anthony wanted to say something. The problem was he couldn’t find the words. He felt like a deep sea diver who had risen to the surface too quickly. So many sounds and visions flashed through his mind as he looked out into the night. He was alive. His old life was swirling together with his new life. He felt afraid. The old life rose to save the new. His new life was like a new-born colt trying to steady itself for the first time on fragile, shaking legs. As car lights shone into the windows, he wondered who he really was. Anthony had become so completely submerged into the world of college, writing, and people the likes of which he had never known. His old life seemed long ago and far away. As they moved through the dark, Anthony let his old life slip into the dark San Francisco night.

  Erin stood in the opened door as Cole pulled into the far side of the driveway. Chuy backed in the Corolla next to Cole. As the men moved toward the door, Anthony stayed several steps behind.

  “Hi, Sweetie,” Cole said approaching the door.

  Father and daughter gave each other a quick embrace. The group behind Cole stood quietly as he made the introductions and Erin welcomed them into her home. Anthony stood back and waited for his friends to go inside. He approached the porch and gave Erin a sheepish smile.

  “So this is my adopted bother, huh?”

  “That is an honor I am unworthy of,” Anthony said, a bit taken aback by Erin’s remark.

  Erin stepped down from the porch and gave Anthony a hug. “My dad thinks the world of you. You must be pretty special,” She said softly.

  “Thank you. And thank you for helping my friend.”

  “What have we got here?” Erin asked Cole.

  “Juan seems to have a hole in his arm. Have you ever stitched anybody up?”

  “A gunshot wound? Dad, that must be reported.”

  “I said ‘a hole’. Nothing about a gunshot wound. This is neither a hospital nor a doctor’s office and there is no doctor around that I can see. So, I don’t think a private home qualifies for a report agency, if in fact there were a gunshot wound, which, as I said, no one has mentioned except you.”

  “He could sell snowballs to Eskimos!” Erin said, shaking her head. “Let’s go see what we have here.”

  “She’s got your temper.” Anthony laughed.

  “I don’t have a temper,” Cole said to himself.

  Luis had led the group to the kitchen. Juan sat at the kitchen table and the others stood in front of the sliding glass door leading to the patio. As Erin came into the room, Luis stepped forward and gave her a nod and half bow of respect.

  “We are grateful for your help. We are strangers around here and your father was kind enough to offer help.”

  “I’m Erin and my dad has never met a rule he wasn’t willing to bend a bit.” She extended her hand to Luis and then to Carlos and Chuy. “So, you must be the one with the owie.”

  “Yeah, kinda,” Juan offered.

  “I usually work with children. I didn’t mean to make fun of your injury.”

  “That’s cool. I just figure it ran in your family.” Juan turned and grinned at Cole.

  “I didn’t tell you they are all part of a traveling comedy troupe,” Cole said.

  Erin gently unwrapped the dirty orange towel from Juan’s arm. “This is pretty grungy but it seems to have done the trick. There is no significant bleeding.”

  The kitchen table was covered in a pale green cloth. There were several sterile dressing packs lying on the table. Two plastic bottles, one clear and one green, were at the ready, as were packs of sterile suture strips and butterfly tape stitches. Erin was prepared, calm, and in control.

  “So, the unidentified flying object entered here and exited here. A nice clean wound. I’m going to flush it out with an antibacterial rinse. It will have a cool, tingly effect. Then I’m going to give you three or four stiches on the exit side of the wound. The entry point I will dress and leave open to allow draining. If any puss or strange, colored fluid is visible when you change the dressing in a couple of days, run, don’t walk, to the nearest hospital. That is, unless you want to lose that nicely illustrated arm of yours. Got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Juan said softly.

  “Let’s get started.” Erin smiled and patted Juan’s hand reassuringly.

  She picked up the green bottle printed with a long medical name. She inserted the pointed tip of the bottle about an inch into the wound. Juan’s eye’s involuntarily winced closed.

  “You OK?”

  Juan nodded.

  A slightly foamy, burgundy fluid ran from the exit point of the wound. Erin gently squeezed the bottle again and a pinkish fluid drained from the wound.

  “That look’s good,” Erin said. “Ok, this is going to hurt a bit. Erin tore open the pack with a sterile needle and fine black thread.

  “It hurts already, I problee won’t notice.” Juan gave a nervous chuckle.

  Erin’s experience and confidence was evident as she worked quickly and professionally, closing up the quarter-sized hole in Juan’s arm. The entire procedure took about five minutes. Juan was stitched, packed, and bandaged.

  “This is used, but clean,” Erin said, as she fitted Juan with a navy blue sling. “Take a couple of these every six hours and you should be OK. Don’t forget, any yellow or white fluid from your wound, straight to the hospital. Got it?”

  “Yes. Thank you for your help. What do I owe you?”

  “My dad’s got this one.”

  Juan stood and looked at Luis and the others.

  “Time for us to go home,” Luis said, moving toward Erin. “Your old man is a pretty righteous guy. He did a good job on you, too,” Luis nodded and gave Erin a smile. “Thank you for your help. We appreciate it. Take care of these two. I have a feeling they are going to get into a lot of trouble.” Luis jerked his head toward where Cole and Anthony stood.

  As Cole stayed behind, the five old friends made their way to the front door. Chuy went to the car and started the engine. Carlos got the rear door for Juan and went around the car and got in.

  Anthony and Luis stood on the lawn half way to the car.

  “This is the last time I save your ass, hermano. We live in different worlds now. You will always be my homeboy, but that will fade away too. If you listen to the old man, you’ll end up a famous writer. You were always too smart to be stuck in the barrio anyways.”

  “Luis, I...”

  “We’re cool. No need for words,” Luis interrupted.

  The two embraced and they parted. Luis tasseled Anthony’s strange, new haircut.

  “Stay out of trouble, homie,” Luis said, turning for the car.

  “Whisper” was dead. Anthony Perez was free to be a new person. Free of the past, the cord cut, all debts paid. As he watched the tail lights disappear up the street, he felt oddly relieved. There was no sadness or remorse, just a weight lifted. There was nothing to go back to.

  Erin and Cole stood on the porch looking at Anthony’s back.

  “We need to have a talk.”

  “Where’s Jenny?”

  “Next door having pizza and a movie with Karina. Don’t change the subject.”

  “Anthony there was kidnapped by a gang of Chinese thugs called the Fire Cracker Boyz. I sent him on the assignment that put him in their way. Luis and the boys came to get him back. Juan got hurt in the process. The best daughter in the world fixed him up without questions. And he just said good-bye to his
past and embraced his future. I’m proud of him. And I love you very much. That’s ‘bout it.”

  “No police?”

  “Street justice.”

  “You have a very strange sense of justice.”

  “Sometimes the rules need to be adjusted to fit the game.”

  “It’s the game I worry about. Or, how many seasons you’re going to be able to play.”

  “I’m not sure, but I think I’m looking at my replacement,” Cole said, putting his arm around Erin’s shoulder.

  FOURTEEN

  Cal shoved the last bite of bagel and pineapple cream cheese into the little brown sack on the passenger seat. Her mind was a distracted jumble of her plan for the day, the conversation with Mr. Chou the night before, and his demands for the immediate return of his daughter. Her assurances that she was closing in were of little consequence. The threats of payment refusal, and not-so-veiled threats of her disappearance if anything happened to Mei, left Cal with indigestion and a fitful night’s sleep.

  At straight up eight o’clock, Cal turned the corner onto McClarren. The sidewalks were still crowded, and the street was bumper to bumper with cars waiting to get into parking garages. Cal repeatedly pushed the radio pre-set radio stations. All the pre-sets were news and news talk radio stations. The nervous habit was acquired years ago when she used to jump from station to station looking for a song she liked. She rarely landed on a news story she listened to, so the station jumping continued.

  A bumper sticker in front of her that spelled out “coexist” held Cal’s attention as she tried to identify the various religious symbols making up the word. Muslim crescent and star, peace sign, Om symbol in Devanagari script; Cal was quite proud she knew the name of that one. The Star of David came next, but she was stuck on the “i”. The dot on the “i” was a ships wheel. As she pondered the possible meanings and tried to determine the religions it could possibly represent, Cal was startled by a knock at her window.

  “Hey, Wells Fargo!”