by Andy Rausch
When Lefty got to the front door, he stepped inside. There was a large lobby area and a desk with a couple of fat women sitting behind it. He smiled at them, nodding, trying to look like he belonged here and knew exactly where he was going. It worked, and neither of them paid him any mind. Orlando was nowhere in sight. When Lefty walked around the corner into the larger, more fully-exposed part of the lobby, he saw the elevator doors closing with Orlando standing alone inside. Lefty bolted towards the closing doors. In the briefest of seconds, the two mens' eyes locked, and Lefty blurted, “Hold that door!” Just before the doors would have clapped shut, Orlando reached his arm through, causing them to reopen. Lefty lurched forward, now doing a brisk walk, and got in the elevator.
Christ, this was gonna be awkward.
Orlando smiled nonchalantly. “How's it going?”
“Not bad. You?”
“I suppose I could complain, but no one would listen,” said Orlando, grinning. He reached out, his hand hovering over the buttons. “What floor you going to?” Lefty saw that Orlando had hit the button for floor sixteen, so he answered, “Floor sixteen please.” Orlando pulled his hand back, lowering it beside him. Lefty was prepared to reach for his Glock if things went sideways. But Orlando was unaffected by his coincidentally going to the same floor. “Me too,” said Orlando.
“What?”
“Floor sixteen. We're going to the same floor.”
Lefty smiled and nodded, pretending to learn this for the first time. “I guess they're sticking all the black folks on the same floor.”
Orlando laughed. “There goes the neighborhood.”
As they rode without speaking, the elevator speakers gently played “The Girl from Ipanema.” Both men stared ahead, making a point of not looking at one another. When the elevator finally stopped on floor sixteen, the doors opened. Orlando looked at Lefty. “See you around.”
Lefty nodded. “Have a nice day.”
Orlando exited the elevator first, turning to the right. Lefty knew he had to turn and go left, but worried that Orlando might have figured out the score and would shoot him in the back. Lefty turned left anyway, walking a few steps, and then slowing, turning back to observe his mark. As Orlando was nearing the end of the hall, Lefty turned towards a random door and hovered there, pretending to unlock it. Orlando never looked back, even as he turned and opened a door. He walked through it, disappearing. Lefty turned back towards the door Orlando had gone through. When he reached it, he stood staring at the door for a moment. He pulled out the Glock and raised it, preparing to shoot the lock.
Zip! Zip!
Splinters flew as silenced bullets slammed through the door, missing Lefty's head by mere inches. Lefty moved away from the door, shooting two rounds into the lock. He grabbed the door handle, smashing his way into the room. He expected to dodge more shots, but none came. He looked up, his gun still raised, and saw Orlando crouched behind the bed, his silenced pistol trained on him. Orlando fired again, and Lefty felt a searing pain in his right shoulder. He dove forward, hiding behind this side of the bed, his pistol raised. He couldn't see Orlando and wondered what he was up to.
“I know who you are,” Orlando said.
This was news to Lefty. “Oh yeah?”
“You're Spook Collins' boy.”
Lefty was momentarily surprised. Before he could sort it out, something shot past the end of the bed in a blur. Lefty instinctively fired a round into it. When the bullet struck the pillow Orlando had thrown, the pillow changed course, flying back in the air like a shot can. Seemingly hundreds of floating white feathers now filled Lefty's vision. That's when Orlando bolted past him, concealed by the feathers, making his way back to the entrance. Lefty peered around the corner, but Orlando was nowhere to be seen. The door was nearly shut, resting there, open just the slightest crack. Lefty knew Orlando was standing in the hall, waiting for him to exit so he could fill him with bullets.
Lefty rocked his body, rolling onto his feet, his Glock raised. He moved around the corner, the gun trained on the door.
“Come on out!” shouted Orlando.
“Fuck you,” responded Lefty.
“I won't shoot.”
Lefty chuckled to himself. He stood there for the briefest of moments, contemplating his next move. Here goes nothing, he thought. He reached out with his left hand, wrapping his fingers around the door handle. The Glock was vertical, ready to come down firing. Lefty pulled the door back about a third of the way, peering out. As he'd expected, Orlando wasn't visible from his vantage point. Fuck it, Lefty thought. He leaped out into the hall, his Glock outstretched to his left. When Lefty landed, Orlando was gone.
“Damn,” Lefty muttered. He took off running towards the elevators. He couldn't see Orlando, who had obviously boarded one of them. When Lefty reached the two sets of doors, both closed, he saw that the elevator on the left—the one they'd come up in—was on the fifteenth floor, making its way down to the lobby. As Lefty hit the button to summon the other elevator, he saw that one was also on fifteen. Lefty slid his Glock into the shoulder holster. A moment later the doors opened. There was an old white woman wearing square black sunglasses inside. She was holding a small black dog, some sort of terrier that looked like a rat.
Lefty stepped into the elevator.
“You going down to the lobby?” the woman asked.
“Yes, ma'am.”
The doors shut, and the elevator came to life. Lefty hoped no one stopped them now. He was pretty sure he'd already lost Orlando, but if the elevator got stopped between here and the lobby, it would be a done deal.
“You're colored,” the woman said. “You must be from Detroit.”
This took Lefty back for a moment. Even after experiencing a lifetime of racism, he was still stunned by these occurrences, especially when it was done so nonchalantly. He decided to give the old hag a break since she obviously had no idea she was being offensive. “No, ma'am,” he said. “I'm from Chicago.”
“We're from Miami,” the old woman said. “Me and Marvin here.” She looked down at the tiny dog staring at Lefty. “Say hi to the colored man.” By this time the dog was baring its tiny teeth at him, and soon a growl came rolling up from its throat. The woman looked up at Lefty. “He doesn't normally act that way, but he's not used to coloreds. In our neighborhood, there aren't any. None of our friends even have colored help. They hire the wetbacks for that stuff. But mostly wetbacks are just good for gardening.”
Lefty watched the lights above the door that indicated which floor they were on. So far he'd been lucky; the elevator hadn't stopped. They were now passing the tenth floor. He just might see Orlando Williams again.
The old woman said, “My sister Ruthie is on the eighth floor. Maybe I should stop and get her before I take Marvin out to potty.” She reached for the button.
“Stop!” blurted Lefty.
The woman was stunned, a deer frozen in headlights. She looked at him, her hand hovering near the button. “What do you mean?”
“Don't hit that button.”
Her brow furrowed. “You're gonna rape me, aren't you? I've heard things about these elevators being steel rape traps.”
She started to go for the button again.
Lefty pulled out his pistol. “If you push that button, I swear to Jesus I'll blow your goddamn blue-haired head clean the fuck off.”
The old woman stared at the gun, shaking her head in disgust. She pulled her hand back.
Marvin growled at Lefty as if he understood what was happening.
“One more thing.”
“What?” asked the woman.
“Shut that damned dog up.”
“Or what? You'll shoot him?”
Lefty could feel the sweat on his forehead, a result of the hot temperature in the elevator, his fear they would be stopped before reaching the lobby, and his having just sprinted and traded volleys with Orlando.
“I swear to God I'll shoot Marvin in the face.”
The old woman m
ade a “hrrrumph” sound like something from a cartoon. Marvin growled again, trying his best to act vicious. Lefty aimed the Glock at the dog's tiny tennis ball head. “I'm serious,” he said. “Shut him up now.”
The old woman frowned, but reached down and smacked the dog across its nose. “Be quiet, Marvin,” she said. “Be a good boy and I'll give you a treat.”
Lefty looked up. The elevator was now approaching the fourth floor.
Marvin was no longer growling. Maybe it was the promise of a treat, but more likely it was the hard smack across its nose. It had always been Lefty's experience that everyone was prone to do the right thing when they got the shit smacked out of them.
“I knew Detroit was a dirty, violent place, but this is shit,” said the old woman. “Your people aren't very welcoming. This whole city, this whole filthy place is just a giant shithole.”
Lefty said nothing, letting the woman have her say. The elevator was now approaching the second floor. As they passed it, the woman said, “You know what You're no different from any other nigger I've ever met. Every one of you deserve to have your neck in a noose.”
Lefty looked down at her with pity. “Why'd you make me do this?” he asked. The woman's face started to twist into a look of confusion about half a second before Lefty's Glock came smashing down across the bridge of her nose. She fell to the floor unconscious, dropping Marvin as she did.
The elevator doors opened at that moment and Marvin bolted through them, scurrying off into the lobby, probably looking to piss somewhere. Lefty walked out. No one was around to see the unconscious old woman. Lefty stared towards the glass doors, seeing Orlando outside now, walking away in the opposite direction from where they'd come. Lefty followed.
When he got outside, Lefty turned to his right just in time to see Orlando turning around the corner of the building. Where the fuck was he going? Lefty broke into a sprint again. Damn, he thought. This was too much running for one day, and he was starting to feel the effects. Maybe he needed to lay off the sugar and carbs. When Lefty came to the corner, he pulled out the Glock and turned into the alley. He looked ahead, but couldn't see Orlando. He walked cautiously, gun out in front, wondering where Orlando had gone.
Lefty made it about a third of the way down the alley when a shot zipped past him from a backyard on his left. The bullet struck the hotel next to him, careening off down the alley. Lefty turned towards the yard, instinctively ducking down. He swiveled the pistol towards the yard. He saw nothing but an old boat, an aluminum shed, a yard swing—just the normal backyard crap. He moved cautiously towards the yard, wondering if Orlando had slipped between the houses. As he stepped onto the grass, Orlando emerged from behind the shed, firing. The bullet just missed Lefty. Lefty turned the gun towards Orlando, firing off two quick shots. They banged against the aluminum shed, and Orlando ducked behind it.
Lefty didn't hesitate. He just kept walking ahead like the goddamn Terminator. The Glock was aimed at the corner of the shed. As Lefty approached it, Orlando popped back into sight, now a ways back, and fired another shot. Lefty ducked again, as if that would somehow help. This movement made him momentarily disoriented and Orlando took advantage of the fact, sprinting past the gold fiberglass fishing boat towards the house. Lefty raised the Glock and squeezed off two shots in quick succession. The shots were wide, missing Orlando but striking the boat's hull. Orlando swerved, placing the boat between himself and Lefty, and made his way into the area between the houses. Once again he disappeared from sight.
This motherfucker, thought Lefty. He jogged towards the place where Orlando had been. He moved around the boat just in time to see Orlando turning to the right around the front of the next house. Lefty continued to chase Orlando, now making his way around the house. When he came around the corner, his eyes scanned the area ahead, but he didn't see Orlando. Shit. Lefty slowed a bit, his gun out ahead, surveying the area for the bastard. He made his way across a driveway. As he did, Orlando's head and gun popped up from behind the house's concrete steps. Orlando fired another round at Lefty, and Lefty could actually hear the bullet zip past his ear. Lefty kept moving towards Orlando, his gun aimed at him. He squeezed the trigger just as Orlando jumped out from behind the steps, taking off running again. Lefty started to fire, but remembered he needed to conserve his bullets. Orlando ran around a bush at the corner of the house, and disappeared from sight.
Lefty remembered that song about nobody saying there'd be days like these, and found that he agreed with its sentiment. Lefty slowed again as he approached the bush, making his way around the outside instead of the inside where Orlando had disappeared. Lefty came around the bush, but Orlando wasn't there. What the hell? Lefty continued around the bush, making sure Orlando wasn't hiding behind it. He wasn't. Just as Lefty started to look up, Orlando squeezed off another shot from between the houses. Lefty moved to his right, hesitating just long enough to consider ducking behind the bush. Instead he kept moving ahead. Orlando was doing this little sideways jog, just sideways enough so he could see what Lefty was doing. He raised his pistol, and Lefty instinctively ducked again. But Orlando didn't fire. He kept running, now in the backyard, and ducked behind a large tree. Lefty powered forward towards him. Orlando emerged, firing a shot, but missed. Lefty broke into a sprint, and Orlando took off away from the tree. He ran along a wooden privacy fence back by the alley. Lefty raised his pistol again, slowing, but realized his heavy panting was causing him to shake enough he wouldn't make the shot. Orlando was running back into the alley, his back now exposed.
Orlando turned to his left, heading towards the parking lot where the Escalade was parked. He disappeared behind the fence. Lefty was panting hard now, but somehow kept moving. He wanted desperately to stop and catch his breath, but there wasn't time.
Damn, he thought. This motherfucker's got great cardio.
Lefty powered on, trying to hold his gun out ahead, but it swayed like a branch in a strong wind, occasionally dropping and aiming itself towards the ground. He finally reached the alley, rounding the corner of the fence. He raised the Glock at Orlando just in time to see him turning around the corner of the hotel and back into the parking lot. Lefty gave chase as best he could, winded as he was. After coming around the corner, he saw Orlando approaching the Escalade, doing a half-run, fumbling for his keys with his gun in hand. Lefty slowed, wearing out. As he did, Orlando did too. He stood there in front of the Escalade, fishing out his keys. Just as he came up with them, Lefty fired another shot, this one striking Orlando in the side. Orlando staggered back towards the vehicle, red blood immediately appearing, a stark contrast to his white jacket. Despite having just been shot, Orlando staggered around the vehicle, opening the door and climbing inside. Lefty stood watching him.
As Orlando went to back out, another car pulled into the drive behind him. This left Orlando nowhere to go except back towards Lefty. Lefty could see what he was doing, so he walked over, standing in the middle of the area where Orlando would be driving. Orlando nosed the Escalade around in his direction, now lurching slowly towards Lefty. Lefty raised the Glock towards Orlando's head, and both men locked eyes. Before Lefty could squeeze the trigger, Orlando stomped on the gas and the Escalade came shooting towards Lefty. Lefty fired a shot, hitting the windshield, but missing Orlando. When the shot struck the windshield, the Escalade swerved to the right, scraping against a car. Orlando spun the steering wheel and the Escalade shot towards Lefty. Just as the vehicle was about to make contact, Lefty threw himself onto its hood. He was now looking down through the glass at his adversary.
Orlando swerved to his right, and then his left, scraping the Escalade along a number of vehicles in the hopes of shaking Lefty from the hood. But Lefty hung on for dear life. The Glock in his hand made it difficult to hold on, but somehow he managed. Once they were out of the parking lot and into the side street, Orlando stomped the brake, trying to lose his unwanted passenger. But Lefty held on, peering in at Orlando. Neither man was flustered the way most peop
le would be in this situation. Orlando, calm and cool, drove the Escalade up over the curb, but Lefty hung on. Although Lefty couldn't see what was happening behind him, the Escalade ran a stop sign and shot out into the busy street in front of the hotel. Orlando swerved, narrowly avoiding a pickup truck coming from the left.
Lefty now focused on the pistol in his hand. He looked at it, as if watching the movement of his hand would somehow help. At that moment, before Lefty could manage anything, Orlando turned on the windshield wipers, which slid into action, hitting Lefty's hand holding the gun. The other wiper came rumbling up from beneath Lefty's torso, scraping across his stomach. After having struck Lefty's body, both wipers were stuck there, continuously pushing against his body.
Lefty moved his right hand slightly, concentrating on bringing the gun around to fire through the windshield. He saw Orlando's eyes, watching his movements. Lefty slid the gun up the glass a bit, moving it over the spot where Orlando's head was. Lefty looked at Orlando, thinking he had him now, when he saw the hitman smile.
The fuck?
That was when the Escalade slammed into the back of a UPS truck that was stopped in the street, preparing to turn. The impact threw Lefty backwards against the top of the truck. Lefty crashed hard against its edge, injuring his ribs, and maybe breaking them. He fell to the street, dropping his Glock, just as Orlando backed up the Escalade. Lefty landed on his ass. He thought of grabbing the gun, even though is body hurt like hell. He looked up at the front of the Escalade, realizing that in the moment it would take to grab the pistol and try to level it towards Orlando, Orlando would smash him between the two vehicles.