by Adam Smith
“Maybe the people don’t know there is any different,” Adán said. He gave up on the mug he was wiping and snatched up another to polish. By some miracle the first mug looked clean, but Max guessed that had more to do with persistence than with any expensive cleaning chemicals.
Max didn’t mind the state of his friend’s underfunded restaurant. Besides, Adán gave out a voucher for a free burrito to anyone who got food poisoning, and those saved up free meals had gotten Max through plenty of nights when his dwindling police salary ran short.
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Max said absentmindedly. “Hey, my burrito coming any time soon? Your cook aging the beef or what?”
“Kiss my ass,” Adán laughed. He turned and shouted some Spanish through the narrow opening into the kitchen.
Max watched the soccer match over Adán’s shoulder for another minute before a plate with a large aluminum-wrapped burrito popped up on the kitchen’s metal windowsill. Without any fuss, Adán tossed the plate in front of Max. “Eat up, my friend.”
Steam rose from the twisted ends of aluminum, and the succulent fragrance set Max’s mouth to watering. His fingertips burned as he unwrapped the top half of the foil and exposed the naked burrito within. From experience he knew the first bite would be filled with juicy beef and an explosion of spices. Max was so entranced that he didn’t even hear the jostling and stomping coming up the narrow aisle behind him as he hoisted the heavy burrito to take the biggest bite his jaw would allow.
Sharp pain exploded through Max’s right shoulder. A careless young bearded man in a black hoodie and jeans had slammed into Max. The youth had been looking back over his shoulder to spit a laughing insult at his rowdy friends when the two men collided.
His lips just inches from the burrito, Max frowned in confusion as the world twisted around him. His right side slammed into the bar as the blow shoved him against the wood, and the shock jostled Max’s arms. The steaming burrito twisted out of his suddenly slack fingers and plunged toward the ground.
Max watched in mute horror as his long-awaited burrito slammed against the dirty floor. The unwrapped end burst open, and the succulent juices he’d been dreaming about splattered across the sandy floorboards.
Instead of apologizing, the bearded punk who’d hit him just brushed by and shoved the front door open. Max was too stunned to do anything but stare at his ruined lunch and think, Maybe the other half is still good…
As if to add further insult, one of the bearded man’s rowdy friends accidentally trampled the burrito with his long tactical boots. Beef, rice, and beans squirted from both ends.
“Oh yuck, damn. Watch it, man,” the bald kid spat at Max as he shook off his soiled boot. Chains hanging from the bald punk’s belt rattled as he shoved through the door on his way out.
In the sudden quiet, Max stared down at his ruined burrito. A dusty boot print was stamped into the length of the white tortilla. The delicious filling which his moistened taste buds were still anticipating seeped into the sand tracked across the dirty floor. Even the aluminum-wrapped side had burst open.
In the stillness of the quiet shop, Max whispered one word: “No.”
Adán leaned across the bar and frowned at the mess. “Stupid punks. I need to put up a sign: ‘No one under twenty-five allowed in without their parents.’ Sorry, Max. Want another one?”
“No,” Max said without emotion, his eyes still on the burrito. A blank expression covered his face, and Adán looked worried when he saw it.
“No? You sure? Come on, don’t worry about it. We’ll make it right.”
“Yeah,” Max said as his face slowly hardened into a look of anger. “We’re gonna make it right.” The ex-cop stood up from his barstool so fast the seat flipped over and crashed on the floor. His heavy boots thundered as Max stomped to the door.
“Hey, Max, don’t go looking for trouble, Brother. Come back here. Don’t you want another burrito?”
Max stopped with his hand against the plywood door. “No. I mean, yeah, I do. But right now, what I want is an apology.” He turned back to face his friend. “The way of this city is to just keep your head down and let the dirtbags walk off when they’re done with you. But that way leads to misery, and it’s time for a new way. I ain’t a cop anymore and I need a profession, so maybe I’ll be a teacher. I’ll drag that asshole back in here and make him buy me a new burrito. Get one cooking, Adán. I’ll be right back.”
With that, Max shoved through the door and out into the choking, dirty air of the San Pajita streets.
Chapter 4
Lesson Plan
Lunch hour traffic swarmed through the streets as Max stepped out onto the cracked sidewalk. Pedestrians were few and far between as most citizens didn’t want to brave the polluted air filled with smog and bullets. Across the street, HD Avenue, Max spotted the three punks slouching into an alley.
Max dodged through traffic to cross HD Avenue. A flurry of screeching brakes echoed off the surrounding buildings as a taxi almost ran him down. The swarthy driver leaned out his window to shout at Max in a language Max didn’t know.
“Yeah? Well, same to you, pal!” Max shouted back. He rushed to the other sidewalk and leaped up on the curb as the taxi peeled out.
Max made a beeline for the alley and took a peek around the corner. All three punks stood in a circle about thirty feet in. Muddy puddles and heaps of trash scattered around a metal dumpster filled the alley with a reek familiar to Max from years of countless patrols. A shredded couch and splintered table with a stereo system setup nearby announced the three kids had claimed this alley as their territory. Wailing guitar poured from the speakers and echoed off stone walls stretching toward the sky.
The bald kid with the chains and the bearded youth stood facing the alley opening while their third companion, a kid with ripped jeans and a denim jacket covered in patches and stitched logos, sat flopped on the couch. Max mentally nicknamed them Beardy, Chains, and Patches. Beardy was puffing on a joint, Patches was playing with a folding knife, and Chains was sucking down a bottle of beer.
As car horns blared at each other along HD Avenue, Max stepped into the alleyway and strode toward the punks. Muddy puddles erupted in splashes as his tactical boots trampled through them.
Beardy coughed on smoke as soon as he saw Max coming and nudged Chains, who gagged in the middle of chugging. The bald kid spewed a fountain of beer through the air where it formed a tiny rainbow before splattering all over the muck of the alley floor. Chains turned to Beardy to demand an explanation but saw him gesturing toward the street, and when Chains turned and saw Max, he kicked Patches’ foot to turn his attention to the intruder.
All three punks locked their gazes on the ex-cop as he strode into the alley and stopped twenty feet from them.
Max hooked his hands into his pockets and slouched casually to one side as he eyed the thugs.
“Whatta ya want?” demanded Patches.
Max let his eyes roam from Beardy’s coughing face to Chain’s glaring eyes. “You owe me lunch and an apology. I’m here to collect.”
Beardy finally managed to stop coughing and straightened up. “Get out of here before we feed you lead, man.” He yanked up his black hoodie to show Max the handle of a large pistol tucked into the front of his jeans.
Max spread his hands wide in a peaceful gesture. “One more chance, kiddos. Crawl up out of the gutter and be civilized. Just buy me a new lunch and say you’re sorry.”
“You hear what my friend said?” Chains asked. The bald youth’s steel-toe boots splashed through beer and mud as he tromped up to Max and got in his face. “Get your ass out of here.”
“Wrong move, moron.” Max grabbed the thick metal links on Chains’ belt and yanked him forward into a headbutt. Max’s forehead hurt from the impact, but the blow shattered Chains’ nose. Blood fountained through the air and splashed across Max’s stubbly he
ad and the side of his face, but he wasn’t done.
Pulling with all his strength, Max snapped the leather clasps holding the chains onto the punk’s belt. With a flash of speed, he wrapped the metal links around Chains’ neck.
Chains gagged and choked as his eyes went wide in panic. He clawed at the chain that was strangling him, but Max had twisted the metal strands around his hands and yanked them tight.
Max spun Chains around to put the kid between him and the other two punks in the alley.
Thunder roared through the alleyway as Beardy unloaded half a clip at Max. Unfortunately, his friend’s body got in the way and absorbed the projectiles. Chains jiggled and danced in Max’s grip as the bullets ravaged his body.
Max let the dead weight drop, but not before he plucked a .357 revolver from the back of Chain’s belt. As the corpse fell, Max opened fire around the body. The thundering roar of his revolver echoed off the stone walls and set everyone’s ears to ringing. His bullet tore through the stereo and shot a cloud of sparks into the air. Wailing guitar was replaced with screeching feedback. The sparks and the screaming sound staggered Patches and Beardy long enough for Max to hurl himself behind the metal dumpster.
Thunder roared again. Vibrating thuds impacted against the side of the dumpster and jostled it as Max crouched down beside the wall.
Beardy was screaming as he emptied his heavy pistol. “Fucking bastard! You fucking killed him!”
Patches was being more deliberate. He’d kicked over the sofa and crouched behind it. His shots came close to blowing off Max’s head when the ex-cop tried to peek out of cover.
Bullets chewed up the stone wall behind Max, and stone shards rained down on his head. The dumpster rang like a gong as bullets ricocheted around the alley.
The sound of a pistol magazine dropping alerted Max to his chance. With a hard shove he sent the empty metal dumpster away from the wall and rolling toward Patches. The wall of steel bore down upon the punk and crashed into the couch, smashing Patches back against the stone wall.
Max exploded into motion. He darted around the other side of the dumpster and fired three shots into Beardy’s chest as the punk was reloading. Beardy was blown off his feet. His body jerked and spasmed through the air before slamming down on the wooden table. The flimsy wood shattered under his weight and collapsed to the floor of the alley. Blood poured from Beardy’s corpse, staining the rain puddles a dark crimson.
Without pausing, Max charged forward. He slammed his shoulder full-force into the dumpster and sent it smashing into the couch again. Patches screamed on the other side amid the audible crack of splintering bones.
Max dove around the dumpster. Patches lay slumped over the crumpled couch. Both of his legs were snapped, but he still held his gun in a death grip. As he saw Max coming, Patches twisted around to shoot him.
Max opened fire with his last two rounds. Both bullets tore through Patches and slammed him back against the stone wall. The dead punk slid to the ground, leaving a smear of blood down the cinderblocks.
As he blew out a heavy sigh of relief, Max tossed the empty revolver into a pile of trashbags and surveyed the battlefield. “Class dismissed.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to stride from the alley but halted when he saw a large bald man entering. The newcomer had a black goatee and was dressed in a blue silk shirt and white pants. Both men stopped short in surprise. The man with the goatee regarded the three dead criminals for a moment before looking back at Max.
“Since my employees are dead,” the bald man said slowly as his hand edged toward the back of his belt, “will you be paying me their monthly dues?”
Chapter 5
Goatees, Cars, and Other Complications
Max thrust out both hands with the palms showing. “Sure you don’t want to talk about this?”
“Not much to talk about,” the man in the blue silk shirt answered. Max decided to call him Goatee. Goatee grasped the handle of his holstered pistol but waited to draw. “Unless you’ve got my thirty thousand dollars?”
Max whistled. “Well,” he glanced around at the dead punks, “any chance they’ve got it on them?”
“Doubtful. They’re stupid, but they knew how to stash the cash in a safe place.”
“I figured as much.” Max’s sharp blue eyes narrowed as he stared down Goatee. “How you want to play this?”
“I’m out money,” Goatee said, “but you’ll serve just as well by sending a message to your boss. Before I blow you away, tell me who you’re working for.”
“No one,” Max said. “Freelance. These guys ruined my lunch.”
“Ruined your…” Goatee looked surprised for a moment, then his face hardened. “Won’t tell me, huh? Must be someone big if you won’t say. Blood Sparrows? The Uptown Boys?” The bald man smirked. “Doesn’t matter. Goodbye.”
Goatee drew a massive .50 caliber pistol from the back of his waistband. In the same moment, Max hurled himself behind the metal dumpster. Sunlight already shot through the dumpster wall from numerous bullet holes, but these were nothing compared to the gaping holes the hulking pistol blew in the dumpster all around Max. Thunder vibrated the stone walls and crashed into Max’s ears as each shot rang out. He reflexively covered his ears with his arms from the deafening roar of the gun before scanning the area for options.
Patches’ pistol was lying nearby. The smaller 9mm couldn’t compare to Goatee’s mighty hand cannon, but Max didn’t need to overpower the other man’s gun. He snatched up the 9mm and rolled across the ground with his arms extended toward the opening of the alley.
Before Max could squeeze off a shot, Goatee hurled himself around the side of the wall. Max’s shot shattered the stone just two inches shy of killing the gangster.
“Get in there,” Goatee roared. “Kill him!”
Max cursed. He pushed himself up and bolted toward a bend leading deeper into the alley.
Gunshots rang out from the mouth of the alley. Max glanced back and saw four men in white business shirts and black slacks firing at him with black 9mm pistols of their own. The four gangsters charged into the alley as Goatee shrieked orders and jabbed a stubby finger at Max.
Max skidded into the left turn as bullets peppered the stone wall ahead of him. His boots squelched in the wet mud, and he slid a few steps before getting traction again. More bullets splashed muddy water high into the air as he zipped around the corner.
Now in cover, Max had the four criminals at a disadvantage. He turned and fired back around the corner at them. One of the businessmen in the center fell, clutching at his bloody chest. Max finished him off with a headshot. The man’s head snapped backward, and he flopped into the mud.
Max nailed another gangster directly in the face. Brains and blood sprayed out the back of the man’s head, and he dropped like a ragdoll facedown into a deep puddle.
The other two attackers spread out as they rushed him, one running along the wall Max was hiding behind and the other moving far to the right to flank him.
Max backtracked down the alley and took cover behind another metal dumpster. His back was exposed to the street.
Another car squealed to a stop just outside the alley, and three more men in business shirts and black slacks hopped out. They drew iron as they exited the vehicle and began firing at Max. Meanwhile, the two surviving businessmen from the initial charge rounded the alley corner and bolted toward the dumpster where he was hiding.
“Well, it worked once before,” Max muttered as he put his shoulder to the dumpster. Bullets slammed into the walls and the dumpster around Max’s body as the men by the car unloaded on him. They were too far away to be accurate, but even one lucky shot could be deadly. With a roar, Max charged forward and shoved the rolling metal box at the two men by the corner.
One gangster was knocked completely off his feet and fell into the mud. The dumpster clipp
ed him in the chin with a loud clang as it rolled over top of him, and when Max trampled the fallen criminal he was already out cold.
The second businessman rolled to one side and came up firing around the side of the dumpster. Max poked his pistol around the side and blew the man away with a double shot.
The gangsters by the car rushed to the mouth of the alley and continued to pour fire into the stone hallway. Max dropped to his side while running and slid through the mud toward the corner of the alley. Bullets ripped up the watery mud all around him, but he made it around the corner. At the last moment he hooked the wall’s edge with one hand to stop his momentum. The effort sent pain lancing through his shoulder, but Max shoved the agony out of his mind, brought his weapon to bear, and fired back down the alley from the ground. His wild shots forced the three businessmen to retreat behind the edges of the alley for cover.
That was when Max’s gun clicked empty and the slide locked open.
He tossed the weapon aside and pushed himself up from the mud. His squishy footsteps echoed off the stone walls of the alley as he rushed back toward the corpses of the three punks. The two dead businessmen from before still lay sprawled in the mud, and as he passed them Max scooped up their pistols. Armed with a 9mm in each hand, he ran toward the metal dumpster at the other side of the alley.
Max rounded the dumpster as a black sedan barreled into the alley toward him. He had just enough time to leap and tuck himself in. The front edge of the car slammed into Max and rolled him over to sprawl across the hood. When he opened his eyes, the driver and passenger gaped at him in shock through the windshield.
The car smashed into the metal dumpster and tipped up on two wheels. Everyone inside and outside the car was flung around as the car crashed back onto all four tires and rushed at the approaching stone wall.
Max slid around on the hood but managed to keep himself from flying off. Fortunately, he recovered faster than the men inside the vehicle. With a scream of fury, Max pumped both triggers again and again. Bullets ripped from the barrels of his pistols and lanced through the windshield, filling the speeding car with a cloud of death. The projectiles tore through the two businessmen as their bodies jittered against their leather seats.