by T. C. Clover
had nowhere near as much influence over him as did his bowels. In two quick movements, Stoney ripped the pistol from the gang leader’s right hand and turned it upward against the man’s jaw.
“I have to s***! I have to s***!” The desperate police officer shouted at the crowd as he took the gang leader hostage. “We’re going to the men’s room, and if you try to stop me, I’ll do more than turn his mouth green.” Stoney wrenched Hector in a forceful manner toward the locker rooms, determined to relieve himself.
Over a dozen gang members immediately pointed their weapons at Stoney; a collection of AK-47 rifles, shotguns, and pistols. The gangsters watched in calm silence as the cop dragged their boss toward the men’s locker room.
CKB turned onto his side with one hand clutching his stomach to witness this spectacle, unaware that Stoney had followed him. His crazed co-star was now luring the gang into the locker room with their leader held hostage. There was a small army of men following his every step in a tight group. If Stoney were to so much as slip and fall, it would be the end of him.
The desperate police officer stared at the faces of every man that was threatening him with their weapons. He systematically let each of them know that he was serious about murdering their leader. Hector began to struggle under the grip of Stoney’s left arm across his abdomen, but the Japanese man shoved the barrel of the pistol harder into his lower jaw. Stoney blinked as they made their way into the locker room, moving out of the sunlight and into the darker, confined space. Something was haunting about the eyes of the men threatening him, and regardless of his accuracy or agility, he couldn’t escape the circle of death. This notion caused him to press the pistol deeper into Hector’s jaw, leaving red marks all over the man’s flesh.
Stoney was dripping sweat with a dire need to use the bathroom, and his body protested with every step. Each time Hector struggled, it was as if his guts were an overinflated animal balloon, and any movement would cause them to burst. He looked with exhaustion at the showers to his left and noticed that the privacy toilets were only a few yards behind him.
CKB remained outside near the pool. He had managed to stand up during the diversion, and his feet were shifting backward in a casual dance of retreat. There was a shotgun just seven feet behind him in a recessed portion of the wall, next to one of the portholes. Most of the people in the area were standing in a crowd around the locker rooms, appearing concerned for Hector’s wellbeing. The career criminal knew that there was no better opportunity to procure his freedom than this moment. He saw a white towel on a round patio table just four feet from the defense porthole. His feet shifted in a natural manner until he was able to pick up the towel and use it to dab the blood from his lips.
“What are you doing over there?” A macho guard inquired in an unusually deep voice. “If something happens to Hector, you’re going to be dragged behind a car, my friend.” The man promised with an aggressive stare as he made his way over to the table where CKB was standing.
“I don’t know why that cop followed me,” CKB answered in a flustered manner, continuing to wipe his face and arms with the towel. “I just wanted to bring you guys some weed as a gift from my boss Mitch Gentile.”
“Yeah, we know who Mitch is; he’s the guy that’s trying to embarrass all of the competition.” The Hispanic man relayed with a clever gaze, allowing his eyes to wander over CKB’s body. “Do you have a camera on you? Are you trying to make my boss look like an ass on the Internet?” He tightened his gaze, and his dark brown pupils reflected a person of high intelligence.
“Yep, I’ve got a hidden camera right here,” CKB responded in a bold tone, pointing with his left hand at his right shoulder.
The guard turned his head to take a closer look, and a white patio chair exploded up from the sandstone toward his face. When he lurched backward to dodge the chair, he found his eyes covered by a blood-stained white towel.
Cody had let out a muffled grunt when he raised his left leg to kick the chair at the guard, and his stomach muscles reported back in protest from the beating that he took earlier. The savvy criminal then tossed the towel over his foe’s face and twisted his body toward the outer wall. CKB took a few giant strides to the recessed shelf and snatched up the shotgun with both hands. His body then twisted around in an awkward manner as he lowered the shotgun to threaten the guard near him. This action was well-timed as the man had recovered already and was just three feet from pouncing on CKB. Despite this victory, the criminal felt something pop in his right ankle and sensed that he had twisted it too far.
CKB faced the guard with a demeanor of irreverent poise, attempting to conceal the pain that he was feeling. He then gestured with the shotgun toward the gate and jutted his chin out. The guard sneered at him with contempt and folded his arms, refusing to move. CKB dipped the barrel of the shotgun below the man’s waist and fired an earsplitting round at the cement between his feet. In a state of shock, the man began to inspect his lower legs and pelvis, feeling grateful that his stance was wide when the gun went off.
Most of the people in the crowd turned their heads and ducked simultaneously, glaring back at CKB like a herd of startled livestock. A few guards started advancing with their weapons but stopped when they saw their comrade in jeopardy.
“Hey, Hector, CKB is getting away. What do you want us to do?” A bearded guard shouted from the pool area to the locker rooms. “He’s got Miguel held hostage.”
“Hector, CKB is escaping, and he has Miguel as a hostage.” Another guard relayed from the entrance of the locker room to his boss.
“Let him go!” Stoney ordered as he kicked backward at an open bathroom stall, being careful not to strain himself.
“Let him go,” Hector conceded in a halfhearted tone, hanging his head in shame.
“Hector wants you to let him go!” The guard near the locker room shouted to his comrades and shrugged in a confused manner.
“Thank you, Stoney,” CKB whispered under his breath as he moved with his captive to the gate. “Keep your body between me and the guns, or next time it’ll be your kneecap.” He threatened the clever guard to maintain control of the situation.
CKB slid sideways on the sandstone with his twisted ankle, grimacing with each lateral movement. He was able to prop himself against the wall as the guard fiddled with the gate for a few seconds. After what seemed like five minutes of bumbling, the gate finally swung open.
“Get me to a car,” CKB ordered with the shotgun pressed against the guard’s head. “You’re going to drive me home.”
“Close the door,” Stoney threatened with a shaky right hand as he aimed the pistol at his adversary’s heart.
“Oh, dude, I’m not gonna’ be in here wit’ you while you do yo’ business!” Hector protested with a frown of disgust. “Hell no!”
Stoney unbuttoned his pants with his left hand and unzipped the zipper, feeling his bowels tighten in a way that caused him to grit his teeth. His legs trembled like a massive dog as he peeled off his boxer shorts and lowered himself onto the toilet.
“You have three seconds to close the door, or I’m going to empty this clip into you.” The desperate police officer warned with a gaze of pure psychosis. “One. Two.”
Hector closed the bathroom stall door, pretending not to notice the disappointed expressions on the faces of his men. He covered his eyes and turned his head to the right as the police officer unleashed his biological payload.
“What should we do?” The massive gatekeeper asked his colleague from their position immediately outside the bathroom stall.
“I’m not sure. We could jump up and shoot him in the head.” His senior colleague replied in a muffled voice, grabbing at his short black hair with wild confusion.
“I can hear what you’re saying!” Stoney growled in a hateful tone after the whispers echoed over the top of the bathroom stall.
“Don’t do anything stupid! You let me
handle this!” Hector announced to his men with overcompensated masculinity, trying to regain some dignity.
After several minutes of silence, Stoney felt the relief that he had sought with so much passion. However, the veteran police officer raised his head to recognize the conundrum that his passion had bought him. He sat in a bathroom stall with his pants on the floor, afraid to flush the toilet at the risk of inciting a gun battle.
“What do we do now?” Stoney submitted to Hector with reluctance, unable to figure out a way forward from the madness.
“Are you kidding me, bro?” Hector snapped at him like a bewildered child as he held his nose from the fumes. “Flush the damn toilet! I’m not talking to you with all that…”
Stoney moved the pistol to his left hand and used his right to flush the toilet as requested. There was an unmistakable whooshing sound as the area was cleared of all human waste. Hector raised his head high when this happened and stared at his enemy with discontent.
“Why did you come here?” Hector solicited with a wise stare, seeming noble despite the green residue that covered his mouth and jaw.
“I wanted to get payback on CKB,” the officer replied with total honesty, keeping the gun trained on the gang leader. “He’s been making a fool of me on our TV show, and I’m sick of looking