Steady Trouble

by Mike McCrary

  Lizzy slaps me. “Focus. Eyes on me.”

  The impact of the slap hit like a flash of pain, then fades quickly, leaving a hint of sting. It’s more the shock of her action than any physical harm. Probably her intent. Turning to her I put my fists up, as if I had some stupid idea as how to fight this crazy woman. In a blur of hands and arms she has me on the mat. She simply pushed me over. Looking up from the mat I can only stare back at her.

  She extends a hand.

  “How’d I do?” I ask

  “Not well.”

  She helps me up to my feet. Without a hint of warning she fires a fist within an inch of my face. She holds it there and grabs my jaw with her other hand.

  “Look at you. You are not even trying to block this. Your shoulders are scrunched up and your face looks like you’re taking a dump. What is that?”

  I mumble something that’s supposed to sound like I don’t know.

  She shoves me back onto my heels. “I can teach you technique all day long. How to move your feet, how to watch the shoulders of your opponent, how to kill someone with only your thumbs, but none of it will mean a damn thing if you’re not tough enough to do what’s necessary to survive. Most of this is mental.”

  I think of the card game. I think of that little feeling that starts slowly then screams out until it ends. That feeling I got when those assholes put hands on Sandy. When Lady McCluskey came at me. The white globs I see sometimes.

  Lizzy punches me in the stomach.

  I fold over. It’s like I just threw up all the oxygen out from my body. Can’t find any air anywhere inside of me. My legs simply stop working, fall out from under the rest of me. I drop to my knees with a tiny bounce off the mat.

  “From here on out you have to assume you’re in danger. No matter where you are. No matter who you are with. No matter what time of day. They will not stop until you, or they, are dead. Gettin’ me?”

  I cough out a yes. Really just happy to find a breath.

  “Get up and let’s keep at this. This is good.”

  Feeling very Diego at the moment. At this particular moment I’d gladly masturbate in front of her if I could get out of this shit. I get up with my hands on my knees, and then manage to get upright.

  “I was told you were a tough girl. Was that all bullshit?” She starts to circle around me. She starts slowly, but quickens her moves in small bursts here and there.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  “How do you not know?” She slaps the back of my head.

  I grind my teeth.

  “How can you stand there and tell me you don’t know? I heard you took on an armed man three times your size at a card game.”

  This time she fakes a slap then punches me in the face with her left. I feel my lip plump up. Taste a hint of blood in my mouth.

  “You took down an angry, dangerous woman along with her son a little over an hour ago.”

  She throws another punch. This time I manage to swat it away. Lizzy keeps moving around me. Around and around. Doing her best to keep me off guard.

  “Oh, is that it? You have to get mad first? You have to tap into that anger that’s taking up real estate inside you? It’s deep that anger, right? A deep well of lava. A bottomless well of rage that will rip up and out like a geyser from hell. One problem…”

  A combination of punches come at me.

  I block the first two, but the third lands to my ribs with a crunch. I bend sideways, but keep my feet. She stops in front of me and lifts my chin with her finger and thumb, making sure our eyes lock.

  “When those beneficiaries come at you, they aren’t going to wait for you to warm up. You need to keep that anger at your fingertips. Locked and loaded constantly. You gotta have easy, constant access to it because when you need it, sister, you’ll need it—bad. That’s important, but the most important rule you need, the one thing that’ll keep you alive in nine out of ten situations is—”

  She rips her gun from her back pointing it toward the door. “Talk, motherfucker!” she screams.

  Diego spins around with his gun drawn.

  A young, skinny dude stands in the doorway. He’s scared out of his mind, hands up around his head, body curled up in a ball.

  It takes a second, but I realize I’ve seen this guy recently.

  Holy shit. This is the guy. The dude from the condo, from the elevator, from the same floor. From the place next to the one I used to have.

  “Shit. No. Wait. Please, I’m cool,” he squeals.

  Diego rushes over, twisting the dude’s arms behind his back and planting him on the floor in a fraction of second. The dude’s face is frozen, only allowing a yelp of pain to escape his clenched teeth. Diego pats him down, checking for weapons. When satisfied, he steps back and nods to Lizzy.

  She holds her gun on the young, skinny dude, who’s still planted on the floor. His back rises and falls. He’s shaking. Might be crying. My eyes bounce back and forth between her gun and this defenseless, guy on the ground.

  Who is he?

  “Who are you, buddy?” asks Lizzy.

  “I’m David, just David.”

  “Okay, Just David, why are you here?” Lizzy presses as she motions with her gun up and down letting Diego know to get David up.

  David. David. Why is David sticking to the inside of my head?

  Diego grabs the guy by the back of the neck and continues twisting his arm as he pulls him up to his feet. Standing there with his face contorted in a pretzel of pain and fear, I can’t help but feel sorry for him. He’s so breakable. Fragile. So terrified. He’s not pissing his pants, but he looks like he could any second now.

  “Are you Lizzy?” he asks.

  “Yup.”

  “I was told to come here.”

  David, David…

  “I was given your name and this address.”

  I think about the trust agreement I looked over right before coming out here. My brain ignites with one question starting up the fire.

  “What’s your last name?” I blurt out.

  “Drake. I’m David Drake.”

  The world presses pause. This guy was at the building, in a condo next door to the one I went into, and now he’s here saying the same crazy damn things I said only moments ago. I can feel my face heat up, my blood temperature rising quickly.

  “You had a condo next door to mine?”

  Lizzy lowers her gun. She flashes a glance to Diego, who lets go of David and takes a step back. She allows her face to relax. Her defenses stand down. She was expecting him. I can tell.

  The skinny, terrified dude now is able to get a good look at me. “Oh yeah, shit, sorry I didn’t recognize you. You were in the elevator. That’s weird, right?”

  “’Fucked up’ is the phrase you’re looking for.” I turn to Lizzy. “What’s happening here? What is all this?”

  Lizzy holsters her gun behind her back and pats my shoulder. “It’s a little complicated.”

  “I’m smart.” I turn to the new guest. “Skinny Drake, you a smart guy? Ya look fairly bright.”

  “I’m pretty bright, sure.”

  “See. We’re a couple of geniuses, and we’d love to hear all about it.”

  “We don’t have the time,” Lizzy says.

  Now I feel that anger coming on. My much discussed baseball bat anger well of lava is running ripshit through me, and it’s not only on my fingertips. It’s taking up every inch of me.

  I step closer to Lizzy. “I’ve got some time. How about start at the beginning and talk slow. Talk to me like I’m five, because I really need to know what in the sweet name of Christ is going on around here.”

  She shoves me back hard. I fall back a step or two, this woman is strong, but stop myself from falling down this time at least. I want to charge at her hard. I want to breathe fire and crap smoke.

  “Calm down,” she tells me.

  “Fuck calm.”

  “Not going to tell you again, Sugar Tits. I’ll just start beating the calm in
to you.”

  White globs are coming on fast. I take a deep breath, fighting to control my anger. It’s not easy. This pressure needs to find a release valve. Maybe this is what she was talking about. This. This feeling, controlling it, keeping it at the ready. Not sure I can do that. It’s burning and twisting inside of me, fighting to dig its way out into the world. A small brush fire looking for acres to burn to the ground.

  “I see it bubbling in there. It’s all right there, isn’t it? You can keep it down. You can do it,” she says. “Bring it down to a two, let it simmer, and turn it on full-blast when you need it. It’s a powerful weapon you’ve been given.”

  My teeth grind as I suck deep breaths in and out. The feeling is subsiding a bit, but it’s still right there.

  “What were you going to say to me? Before Skinny Drake showed up.”

  “Can we call me David?” Skinny Drake asks.

  I ignore Skinny Drake, staying on Lizzy. “What was the most important thing for me to stay alive?”

  “Oh, that. It’s really very simple—”

  There’s a clunk of metal behind me.

  A quick wisp of air whisper-zips past me.

  The center of Lizzy’s chest pops with quick rip of crimson spray. Before I can process, another zip rips. Her stomach pops this time.

  Lizzy’s body folds.

  Another clunk, another zip cuts the air.

  As I drop down with my face flat on the mat I watch Diego’s perfect, beautiful skull explode.

  Chapter 25

  Clunk.

  Another bullet punches a hole in the metal wall.

  A bullet zips over my head.

  “Get down,” I scream to Skinny Drake.

  He’s frozen, wrapped in fear. Face stuck. Feet stuck in the ground. Gotta push back my own fear. No time. I reach for Lizzy’s body, need to get her gun. A window by the door pops twice just before glass showers the floor. A bullet hits the mat with a thump an inch from my face. I reach as far as I can to grab at the handle of the gun tucked into the small of her back. Can’t get ahold of the damn thing. The tips of my fingers slip and fumble just off the gun’s grip.

  Another shot.

  Another fumble of the fingers.

  Last landed even closer to me. Could feel the air blast off the matt as lead ripped into it. A flap of canvas flips up, grazing my nose. Got to make a move. I roll over and over until I slip under the ropes closest to Skinny Drake. With a leap I tackle him down to the floor. Another pop. I hear what’s left of a window crashing down in a tinkling rain. The bullet hits the side of the ring where Skinny Drake was standing a fraction of a second ago.

  Scrambling while pulling him along, I move as fast and low as I can. Got to get the hell away from the windows and bust ass toward the back of the gym. Once we’re crouched down behind the backside of the ring for cover, I stop and think. Need to think if only for a flash of time. My bags are in the house, as are the money, keys to the car, the trust docs and, most importantly, the guns.

  “We got to get into the house,” I tell Skinny Drake.

  A bullet whizzes overhead.

  Clunk.

  Skinny Drake’s eyes dance. He’s looking at me, but not at me, at something he can only see. What’s behind his eyes is some fear-induced coma shutting him down. I slap the shit out of him. His eyes come back online briefly then blur.

  I slap him again.

  “We gotta get inside the house. No choice here. We don’t, we die.”

  Two more whisper-whizzes cut way too close to us.

  Soon they will come in here. I think they have to. Maybe they won’t. Maybe they’ll wait for us to leave and Butch and Sundance the shit out of us. I look around. There’s a door at the back, but that might be covered by more of them, too. There’s some windows that line the ceiling, a pretty skylight for the gym, but looking pretty useless for us. My head whips around, trying to find a way up there. There isn’t one, at least not that I can see.

  Bullets seem to have stopped.

  Are they waiting us out or coming in?

  Don’t think I can get to Lizzy’s or Diego’s gun without catching a bullet in my skull. Skinny Drake is useless. He just shakes and stares at me. He needs me to help keep him alive. Never asked to be a hero in this thing. Matter of fact, not sure I asked for any of this.

  Focus.

  Problem is, there’s nothing, nothing to use in the way of self-defense. Some barbells. No good to me. Free weights. A jump rope. Then, like a gift from above, I spot a baseball bat leaning against the far wall. Not the best defense against bullets, but it’s familiar and it’s all I’ve got.

  I grab Skinny Drake’s hand, take a deep breath and make sure we’ve got eye contact. I don’t have a speech or anything cool to say. All I’ve got is this look, whatever it is, and I hope like hell he gets it.

  He nods at me with his mouth wide open. He has no idea what he’s agreeing to.

  I pull him along while staying down, low as possible. As I fling open the rear exit, across the gym the front door flies open. I only get to steal a glance, but I see two of them. Armed with handguns, high-powered rifles with scopes flung over their shoulders. I shove Skinny Drake hard out the door, leaping out after him.

  Didn’t even have time to grab the damn bat.

  The guys at the front door don’t bother talking, they just start shooting. The metal clunks are loud as hell. We run with all we’ve got out of the gym toward the house. With my legs pumping piston-hard I pass Skinny Drake, blazing through the open sliding glass door at track star speed. Shots zip behind me. The glass doors shatter into bits around me, bouncing off the living room floor like spilled M&Ms.

  Spinning around, I see Skinny Drake made it through, but hit the floor as the glass doors went shithouse. He’s cut here and there, blood streaks his face and arms, but it doesn’t look serious.

  No time for the nurse’s office.

  I grab him by the shirt collar, pulling at him. I see the two armed men charging hard toward us and the house. Cutting down the hall, Skinny Drake and I bounce off the walls, taking pictures and knickknacks out with our shoulders and elbows. I hear the men enter the house, their feet crunching the broken glass. As I fly into the room with Skinny Drake skidding in behind me, I immediately rummage through the bag, pulling out the handgun.

  I hold it pointed with dead-eyed aim on the door. They have no idea about the bag and that I’ve got guns in it. I hope they have no idea about the bag. I hope they just come running on in here like dumbasses. Their steps rap fast down the hall. I hope I can shoot this thing. This time I know it’s loaded.

  I’m fairly sure it’s loaded.

  Their steps are almost on us.

  The first one comes through the door. I pull the trigger. A bullet catches him in the chest. His eyes go wide, complete disbelief. Me too. I hold my breath. He swings his gun around toward me.

  I fire again.

  I miss.

  He fires a wild shot that tags the bed, ripping up cotton and springs.

  Skinny Drake screams, drops to his knees.

  I fire again, landing a shot to his leg. As he falls clear the second guy flies in with his gun blazing. His blast whizzes past my ear like a supersonic mosquito. Firing back, I hit him in the shoulder.

  He keeps coming like a madman. Spit flying from his lips. Eyes wide as pies. He crashes into me, sending us both to the floor in a pile of meat and bone. He’s on top of me, fighting to get ahold of my gun hand. He’s strong as hell, but I swat away his gun just as he fires. A deafening blast explodes by my ear. The ringing is insane.

  I manage to get my gun around, jamming it into his red face. He swats my hand away then punches me hard with is free hand. My head bounces off the floor. My sight slams to fuzz, can only make out shapes and blobs. Another punch lands. I feel my loose grip on the here and now slipping away from me.

  Slipping away fast.

  A punch.

  White globs rush into my field of vision.

 
I hear a thunk.

  A now familiar sound of metal hitting a watermelon. Like I did with that M-son at the condo. I feel the body of the armed man fall away from me, slumping to the side. My sight is coming back online.

  Skinny Drake stands above me, my bat in his hand. Tears rolling down his cheeks.

  Behind him, the other man rockets upright with his gun raised.

  I fire a shot, landing it between his eyes. A poof of red jets from behind his head before his body wilts. My face is starting to swell. I can feel it growing and pulsing off the beating I just took. Hurts like a bitch when I spit some blood out.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Thank you,” Skinny Drake says back to me in a trembling voice.

  My legs wobble as I get up, but he catches me, helping me up. I still don’t know a damn thing about this dude I’ve named Skinny Drake, but I do know they were trying to kill him too. Not to mention, despite his paralyzing fear, he caved in the skull of one of them to save me.

  As far as trust goes, that’s about as good as it gets right now.

  Chapter 26

  We move fast as hell, cutting through the front yard of Lizzy’s house on our way to my car.

  I’ve got the bag that’s stuffed with the stuff from the condo over my shoulder and the boxes in my arms. I got Skinny Drake carrying the suitcases.

  “Where are we going?” he asks me.

  “Somewhere that’s not here.” I throw the boxes and the bag in the backseat then motion for him to do the same with suitcases. “Give me my bat.”

  He hands it over. There’s a tuft of bloody hair still on it, but there’s really no time to deal with cleanliness issues. I drop it onto the floorboard of the driver’s side. Skinny Drake stops, looking over the car with a sense of awe.

  “Wait. Did they give you this car?”

  “Yeah. Got the keys at the condo.”

  “I didn’t get a car. Why didn’t I get a car?”

  “I don’t fucking know. Maybe they like me better. Wait, how did you get here?”

  “After the cops questioned me I grabbed a ride out on the street.”