Double Shot

by Chris Bostic

  At zero we sprang to our feet. We sprinted the rest of the way up the ramp.

  While Lee looped around the hood of the truck, I rounded the corner sharply to go between the vehicle and the railing.

  “Hands up!” Lee yelled as he closed on the bottling hall. “Don’t move!”

  I advanced slowly along my side of the truck, weapon pointed out in front of me.

  No one immediately came into my sight since it turned out the active bottling line fell closer to Lee’s side. Straight ahead I got a good look at piping and tables, as well as a giant stack of boxes waiting to be filled.

  Through the back window of the truck, I caught a glimpse of a large, round figure hurrying toward us.

  “I said don’t fucking move!” Lee shouted.

  I stopped right in front of the rearview mirror and leveled my pistol at Bowling Ball as he tried to slip around the bed of the truck to get to my side.

  “You heard the man.” I aimed at his torso. “Back the fuck away.”

  He stared at me, hesitating, and I got my first glimpse of what could be big trouble for us.

  I had to be willing to take a shot at an unarmed man, or at least look that way. I knew I had to be convincing enough to pull it off.

  I wagged the gun. “Get back or I’ll shoot your dumb ass.”

  He didn’t move.

  Oh, great.

  I narrowed my eyes to a squint and drew a bead on his chest. It was an easy enough target given his bulk.

  “Goddammit. You better fucking move.” My voice cracked at the absolute wrong time.

  Thankfully, Lee was all the way down to the tailgate by then, close enough that he could lunge across at the man if necessary. Hopefully not.

  While Lee also kept an eye on Little Willie, who was still inside the bottling hall by the filling machine, he told Bowling Ball, “Sit down and shut the fuck up.”

  “Bill?” the shorter brute said, looking back over his shoulder at his accomplice.

  Lee fired a shot into the back tire, making me jump. The blast set my ears ringing instantly.

  Damn, pistols are loud, I thought and fought the urge to pull at my ears even though I wanted to.

  The trunk leaned sharply to the back passenger side, putting a weird angle into the bed to where my side sat up taller.

  “You better listen to rent-a-cop,” Little Willie replied far too calm for the situation. “Reckon he’s more liable than that bitch to pull the trigger.”

  “Reckon he can shoot a truck tire,” Bowling Ball said with a sneer. “That’s about it.”

  “Don’t try me. I can do a helluva lot worse than that.” Lee gestured with his weapon toward the back bumper of the truck. “Now turn away from us and sit your ass right there by the trailer hitch.”

  The robber moved slowly, looking over at me before turning back to face Lee. “You cain’t shoot me. I ain’t done nothin’.”

  “Oh I can shoot a thief,” Lee said.

  “That’s murder, man,” Bowling Ball whined.

  I let my eyes flit to Little Willie, who remained standing at the bottling table like a statue. A huge, muscular, Atlas-sized statue.

  So far, so good.

  I tightened up my stomach and stood firm, happy to let my man take the lead, especially now that he had their full attention.

  I took another step forward, putting the edge of the truck cab between me and the others, and leaned up against the cab so I could steady my aim. No need to let them see me shaking.

  “Get on your ass,” Lee yelled when I looked back to the closer man. He’d leaned back against the open tailgate, facing away from us. “I want you on the ground. Legs crossed.”

  So he’d have a harder time running away, I assumed. That seemed like solid police work.

  Bowling Ball looked to Little Willie again. I followed his gaze and saw something flash in the ringleader’s eyes. Dark. Menacing.

  A snarl formed on his lips.

  His hand snaked slowly across the counter, subtly reaching for something out of my line of sight.

  “Lee, watch out,” I said.

  My intuition told me something was about to get ugly. I tightened my grip on the pistol, index finger slipping inside the guard to touch the trigger.

  “He’s reaching for something.” I pointed my pistol toward Little Willie.

  In the blink of an eye, Bowling Ball whirled with surprising speed. I’d been so intent on Little Willie that it came as more of a rush of dark color in the corner of my eye.

  He ducked his head below the tailgate of the truck, keeping away from Lee. Then he appeared around the side, flying at me.

  I jerked my gun away from Little Willie and pulled the trigger. My adrenaline ran so high the recoil didn’t even register in my hand.

  The thug gave a guttural shout and kept on coming like a steamroller. I tried to get off another shot but he was already on me. With a shoulder lowered, the tank of a man hit me in the abdomen like a freight train.

  I doubled over and staggered back, hitting the back of my head on the rearview mirror. With a sudden double shot of pain, the gun slipped from my grasp. As I fell back, I watched through fuzzy eyes as my weapon clanked off the railing and landed with a clatter on the concrete below.

  I couldn’t catch my breath.

  My head felt like it had split in half.

  A commotion rose from the other side of the truck, but I was powerless—and crushed underneath the man.

  Wetness seeped through my dress, dampening my left shoulder and down my neck.

  I pushed at the thug weakly. He groaned. It got him moving, but not in a good way.

  He rolled his bulk off me and worked his way up to crouch, just long enough to press his knees into my stomach.

  Any air I’d sucked in rushed back out of me again.

  He reached for me, putting his paws around my neck to squeeze.

  Something moved from around the front of the truck, behind me, but I could barely tell through the stars in my eyes.

  A pistol cracked, multiple times. Bowling Ball fell off me in a heap.

  Lee slid in next to me, trying to lift me up.

  “You okay? Hope?”

  I tried to suck in a breath, but couldn’t accomplish more than a weak nod and a grimace. Still I caught a strong whiff of bourbon.

  Lee grunted as he flipped the motionless thug away from me like a log and turned back to me. “Let me see.”

  “What?” I managed.

  I tried to sit up, but my chest ached. Despite that, the pounding in my head was what really immobilized me.

  “Did he hurt you?” Lee scrubbed a hand across my shoulder, pulling at the strap of my dress.

  My muddled mind didn’t remember the wet skin feeling at first. I had no idea why Lee was pressing around on me when all I wanted to do was get a decent breath and try to clear my head.

  Then I remembered the wetness. It made no sense. My shoulder didn’t hurt more than anywhere else. Probably less.

  The guy hadn’t shot me. I’d been doing the shooting—before Lee had finished him off.

  With Lee not relenting, I brushed his hand out of the way to hold my palm to the side of my neck.

  Definitely still wet.

  I pulled my hand away, and it came back dripping with blood.

  CHAPTER 27

  “Oh, shit,” I muttered through gritted teeth.

  “Let me see,” Lee said, and started pressing around on my neck. Then he poked and prodded around my shoulder again.

  I tried to sit up and failed. With a second effort, I managed to at least scoot next to the truck door before my strength gave out.

  “What hurts?” Lee asked, still frantic, yet pulling his eyes away from me every other second to look back into the bottling hall.

  All I could manage was a quick, “Everything.”

  I wanted to ask about Little Willie, but I needed more air in my lungs first. I also needed to know why Lee’s shirt was soaked.

  “There’s
blood all over you.” Lee got up in my face again and the bourbon scent overpowered. Not in a bad way. It sort of worked like smelling salts.

  “My blood?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  I grimaced as I raised a hand toward my head, figuring that had to be the source. “Bastard banged my head…against the mirror. And my ribs hurt…like all hell.”

  Lee massaged my scalp before I could get there. It didn’t take him more than a second to find the source of my greatest pain.

  I winced. “Damn! Easy, bud.”

  “Sorry.” He kept after it, slightly gentler, but it still felt like an epic combination of sharp, stabbing pain and an overall ache. “There’s nothing there but a knot. No blood.”

  “Then what’s-” I stopped short when I looked past Lee to Bowling Ball’s body. “Gross.”

  Lee followed my gaze. “Don’t worry. He’s not gonna hurt you.”

  “He’s bled all over me.” I wiped at my neck with my hand again. “That’s so nasty.”

  “But you’re okay.”

  Lee looked around the ground, then he stood up and checked inside the truck—but not before another quick glance at our surroundings.

  He reached in through the truck window and jerked at something, rocking the whole vehicle.

  “Take this,” he said, dropping a cloth seat cover into my lap. “It’s all we’ve got to wipe up for now.”

  I turned up my nose, which also sent a spark of pain through my head. But I took it. Anything to get creeper blood off me. Too bad I couldn’t do anything about my dress. My poor dress. Bra too. At least they were red colored, though a small comfort at best.

  Once my neck was partway clean and my head cleared up somewhat, I asked, “What about Willie? Where’s he at?”

  “Don’t worry about him.”

  Lee’s eyes belied confidence. They kept flitting around, not as subtly as he’d probably intended.

  Next to me, I saw Lee’s pistol resting on the ground.

  At least he still has his.

  “I dropped the gun.” I struggled to lift my arm to point toward the railing. “It’s down there. The bastard knocked it away.”

  “Not before you got him.”

  “Say what?” Though he had been an easy target, I hadn’t necessarily expected that. Not by how hard he’d leveled me. “I really did hit him?”

  “Yeah, pretty solid. That was good work.”

  “You sure?” I would have shaken my head if it didn’t hurt so much.

  “Oh, yeah. Dude was bleeding like a stuck pig when I finished him. You got him right in the shoulder.”

  I looked at the wetness covering my dress from my left breast to halfway down my side. “Guess that makes sense. What about your shirt? You’re all wet too.”

  Lee ignored the question to reach out for me and ask, “Can you get up?”

  Before I would try, I said, “Can you tell me where Little Willie’s at?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I knew you didn’t shoot him…at least I didn’t think so.”

  “No. He made a break for it when I circled to help you.”

  Lee kept his hand extended, and I finally took it. Rather than try to get up, I pulled him closer to me.

  “At least you didn’t say save.” I exhaled, feeling my chest ache on the constriction. “I just hate that the real bastard got away. It’s my fault.”

  “Not really.” Lee shook his head. “When I looked at Bowling Ball rushing you, Willie threw a bottle at me…and it damn near took me out.”

  I looked at his shirt again, and it all made sense, all the way down to the smell. “Must’ve been close.”

  “He barely missed, but it busted on the truck and soaked me.”

  “I see that. You’re not cut?”

  “Nah.” He shook his head again. “Anyway, I guess you could say I pretty much let him go. I probably could’ve shot him too.”

  “Not hardly justified, though.”

  “He did try to hit me,” Lee shot back, but the intensity eased a bit. “But, yeah, it would’ve been in the back as he booked it outta there.”

  My head spun as I tried to stand. Lee let go of my hand to grab me under the arm to steady me. It helped the truck window was open. I hooked a hand onto that and pulled myself the rest of the way up.

  From there, I couldn’t help but examine the carnage. Besides our clothes, it mostly entailed a bloody lump of a man, balled up next to the railing at Lee’s feet.

  My guy ignored him to heft the silver pistol in his hand. He ejected the magazine to check ammo, then shoved it back in with a click.

  I shook my head and mumbled, “We’re gonna get in some trouble for this shit.”

  “How so? We did nothing wrong,” Lee insisted. “He charged you and you defended yourself.”

  “Yeah, but….”

  “But what?”

  “We shouldn’t have been in this situation. We should have let the, uh…professionals handle it.” I knew that might strike a nerve with Lee, so I looked at him to say, “Sorry. I know you can take care of yourself, but obviously I can’t.”

  “You did fine. The dude could have rushed me as easily as you.”

  “But he didn’t…‘cause I’m the weak chick, and that really pisses me off.”

  Lee’s eyebrows met in the middle. “That he rushed you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’d rather it was me?”

  “No. Well…I dunno.” I groaned. “No. I’m just mad he knew I was the weak link.”

  “Trust me, that’s just human nature. Everyone assumes the girl is the weak link, with or without a pistol. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

  “Whatever.” I stared at the thug in disgust. “You’re not wrong, but that’s what pisses me off.”

  “If it helps any, I’m pissed that he rushed anyone. The dumbass would still be alive.”

  “That is true.”

  “Yeah it is. And you, my dear, are tough as nails. No doubt about it.”

  “Speaking of which,” I looked at my fingertips, “I think I broke a couple.” A little smile followed. I couldn’t help it.

  “You can’t ever be serious.”

  Lee leaned in to hug me. Gently so as not to crush my ribs, which I definitely appreciated. The wet bourbon shirt was a little less pleasant, though under other circumstances I thought I might like to see him try out a milder bourbon-scented cologne.

  “I need you to be locked in. Okay?” Lee looked over the railing. “I’ve gotta go retrieve your pistol.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “Can you even walk?”

  “Yeah.” I demonstrated with a few steps and didn’t even feel my achy ankle anymore. I had much worse problems.

  I assumed my steps were straight and steady enough, though my head still swam. So I squinted as I went, trying to concentrate while my mind sailed on clouds. Loud, painful, thunderous clouds, with occasional lightning shooting behind my eyes.

  On top of that, my ears still felt like I was underwater, thanks to multiple gun blasts in close proximity.

  “We need to get you checked out.” Lee walked in front of me and gripped my cheeks softly to look into my stormy eyes. “You’ve probably got a concussion…or worse.”

  “Ain’t nobody got time for that,” I said, parroting an old meme.

  “You’re practically slurring your speech.”

  I wanted to argue, but Lee looked away suddenly. He kept an arm around me, but leaned away. He put his pistol in his pocket and cupped a hand to his ear.

  I couldn’t hear anything but buzzing louder than mosquitos in both ears.

  Lee looked back inside the truck, and said, “Get in.” He reached across me to grab the door handle.

  “Now?”

  It seemed a weird request seeing how the back tire was flatter than a pancake.

  “Yeah.” He pulled the door open. “Slide across and wait.”

  I said, “For wh
at?” to thin air, as Lee had taken off at a sprint. He circled around the wall, and disappeared below.

  In no time, he reappeared with my gun in his hand. He looked disappointed, or maybe more like mildly annoyed, when he saw me still behind the wheel.

  “Move over. I’m driving.”

  “I thought you just wanted me to sit,” I mumbled, having forgotten what exactly he’d said earlier.

  “That too. But hang on, it’s gonna be an awful bumpy ride.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Willie’s got our four-wheeler.”

  “Great.” I leaned my head back, turning to the side to keep the knot from contacting the headrest. I closed my eyes to try to stop the spinning.

  Lee had evidently checked at some point to make sure the key was still in the truck. He turned it and the engine grumbled to life.

  Then it sputtered and died, followed by a grinding of the starter.

  Lee pounded on the wheel, not helping my headache. Nor did his unnecessarily loud cursing.

  The starter cranked over and over, until the engine finally grumbled. Lee must have mashed the gas pedal that time, since the whole vehicle shuddered as it revved loudly.

  “Woo hoo!” he shouted, then quickly quieted. “Sorry, Hope. Hang on.”

  Gears ground as he shifted it out of park. The truck lurched, jarring my neck and head as we pulled away from the building.

  “Damned old truck,” Lee muttered. It revved again as he applied the gas.

  Any hopes of a merely rough ride were misplaced.

  We bounced and bucked like bull riders. I had to hold onto the top of the window frame to keep from hitting my head—and grab the dashboard at the same time to keep from pitching forward.

  “Oof.” My stomach roiled as we cut to the left to follow the gravel.

  I tried riding with my eyes closed and that was arguably worse. So I stared at the floorboard instead.

  The way the truck wobbled as the flat tire flopped around did me no favors. The only saving grace was a slight breeze that we generated at a whopping ten miles an hour.

  “Just go faster,” I said through gritted teeth. “This is torture.”

  Lee gave it a little more gas, and the ride smoothed out a little. Very little, but at least we were moving.

  “He’s going for the parking lot,” Lee said.