Shots Fired in the Melting Pot

by T. C. Clover

and looked at the concave shape that reinforced its structure. The literate woman knew better than to attempt to break something so durable, but wanted to put on a good show. She placed the bowl against the edge of the table and feigned a hard strike to its surface with her right fist. The television star screamed in agony and dropped the ceramic dish to the shag carpeting below her chair.

  “Do you think I’m stupid?” Aron asked with an indignant expression. “I’m not going to break my hand on that so you can escape. I knew it was going to hurt before you even tried.”

  “Why? Are you afraid of pain?” She challenged with a cocky stare. “I’ll bet I can handle more pain than you.”

  “Sure, why not,” he agreed with a satisfied shrug, “I’ll watch you hurt yourself. What did you have in mind?”

  “Let’s see who can put a flame closer to their eye,” Litz suggested with a determined gaze. “All you have to do is get it as close as you can handle.”

  Aron rolled his eyes and stepped over to a set of drawers next to his stove. He opened the top drawer and brought out a long burgundy lighter that one might use for lighting gas appliances or grills. Litz put up her hands to catch the device, but her captor shook his head in disagreement.

  “No, I think this is going to be fun,” he said with a face of stoic amusement, “I’ll do the honors.”

  Litz felt her insides shaking as the man flicked the lighter several times until it sparked to an eerie glow. He brought the flame close to her left eye and then waved it over her right. His excitement seemed to grow with anticipation as he switched sides again, and moved the fire closer to her left eye.

  The guarded woman detected that the warmth was drying out the surface of her left eye and her breathing started to intensify. Litz remained steady as he moved the fire back to her right eye and brought it closer to the surface. She sensed a high temperature on her eyebrows and a burning sensation at the front of her eyelid, but everything else was cold. Aron seemed amazed when he brought the flame within a half-inch of her pupil and held it there for almost five seconds.

  Litz let out a scream and protected her face, pretending to be in agony. The man laughed at her and shook his head again. He walked over to the kitchen sink with the other bowl and filled it with cold water.

  “You know, when I saw you at Mud Rituals the other night,” Aron began with a smile as he set the bowl down on the table near her, “you seemed special. But now that I’ve watched you cowering and whimpering, it just doesn’t have any appeal.”

  Litz took the bowl of water and used the fingers of her right hand to dab little droplets of cooling liquid onto her injured eyelid.

  “Do you actually think I’m stupid enough to do that?” The man inquired with contempt and sat down in a chair at her left with his arms folded. “Why would anyone hold a flame up to their own eye?”

  Litz started to laugh in a manner that was slow and humble, but built up to a cackle of mockery. She looked at Aron’s enormous muscles with their tattoos of knights from the middle ages and giggled harder.

  “You know, I have a few friends that are nurses, and they told me that guys with tattoos are always the ones who are afraid of needles.” The vigilant woman laughed in a hysterical manner and slapped her left hand down on the table.

  “Oh, you think a little fire next to your eye is a big deal?” He prompted with a stare of almighty hatred. “When I was in prison; the things they did to us… I’ll tell you what; you keep your hands up in the air, and I’ll do your little gypsy trick. If you so much as move, I’ll break your neck right here.”

  The television star gazed at the floor for a moment and then raised her hands above her head. She felt exhaustion and pain all over but managed to keep them up for her captor.

  Aron stared at Litz for a few seconds and then brought the lighter up close to his face. He flicked the igniter a few times until the flame danced back to life, and then gazed at his prisoner with distrust. The willful man inspected the small fire as though it were a meaningless gesture, and seemed like he was going to douse it in the water. But after some consideration, Aron moved the burning object a half-inch above the surface of his right eye.

  Litz counted to three before shoving her foot the rest of the way into the center of his crotch. She then scooped up the empty bowl with her right hand and jumped out of her chair.

  Aron screamed when the flame brushed across the surface of his right eye. He felt a terrible pain in his groin and scowled at the sneaky woman. The man raised his hands in defense as she struck him in the head with the bowl five times. With each blow, his skull was knocked back and forth by the durable ceramic object.

  Litz watched him drop to the floor and cover his head from the immense pain. The panicked blonde set the bowl on the table and grabbed one of the heavy wooden chairs, which she hefted down against his body several times.

  After confirming that the man was too injured to move, Litz set the chair down and ran to the entryway of the home. She walked up to the blue basement door, breathing heavy from exertion, and released the deadbolt lock before twisting the door handle to free her companions.

  “Kev, Will-“ she attempted to say when the door was flung open, but found herself too exhausted.

  There was a long moment of silence, and she heard a groan coming from the kitchen. Litz shuddered at the thought of having to battle the maniac again in her condition, but her fears subsided when both security guards emerged from the basement.

  “Oh my God, Litz; are you okay?” Kevin asked with an expression of shock after inspecting her face.

  “He’s in there,” Litz answered with a nod and an expression of pride. “Be careful.”

  XVI. Abortion Street

  “Do you know what could happen if people saw me having coffee with a cop?” CKB asked his companion with a reticent stare.

  “What would they think about coffee with a gay guy?” Stoney offered with a smirk as he took a sip from a large, tan, steaming cup.

  “I could have coffee with twenty gay guys, and nobody would flinch,” CKB said with a brief belly laugh. “They’d probably think that I was trying to pick up some new drug clients.”

  “Hector left me a warning yesterday,” Stoney began without being prompted. “Three cars were set on fire outside of our building in the middle of the day. I was gonna’ tell you about it, but after what happened to Litz, it slipped my mind.”

  “How is she?” CKB fished for details with a subtle recklessness that broke through his otherwise stoic gaze. “Was that the guy who was writing the death threats?” He thought aloud, and took a sip from a similar large coffee cup.

  “I don’t know; she gave him a concussion, and he might have a hematoma,” Stoney remarked with a cautious gaze. “After going up against her at Mud Rituals, I’m not surprised that she took him out. Look, I know you have a thing for Litz, like the rest of the country, but we need to talk about Hector,” the officer suggested with a raise of his eyebrows.

  “Oh, Stoney, don’t be a b**** just because you ain’t the pretty girl at the prom,” CKB lamented with a genuine smirk. “I have something planned for Hector, but my boss won’t let me get by without that video being uploaded. I’m in as much danger as you if I don’t cooperate with him: he already paid me to get it done and it’s been two weeks.”

  Stoney set down his coffee cup on the black, round steel table and folded his arms as he watched New Yorkers walking past a short iron fence that surrounded the seating area. He was wearing a navy blue muscle shirt and black jeans with matching walking shoes. The police officer exhaled with what sounded like strained lungs. His demeanor was getting darker as the moments passed, and he refused to look at his companion.

  CKB seemed like a preacher in his white turtleneck sweater with a golden crucifix necklace resting on his heart. His black cargo pants and red and white basketball shoes made him seem prepared for action.

  “
Hey, Stone, everybody has a boss,” CKB added in a more comforting tone. “I never said I was gonna’ hang you out for the crows. The last thing that I want is for The Templars to come crashing down on you and your boys – especially after you helped me with that creep in the park.”

  Stoney refused to speak and turned the bottom of his coffee cup counterclockwise with his right thumb and index finger. He ran his tongue over the front teeth on his upper jaw, enjoying the clean smoothness of their surface.

  “You do know that the guy I work for makes people disappear every day, right?” CKB fenced with his silent coffee buddy. “Okay, I’ll admit that this is a screwed-up situation, but you should've never followed me that day. What the hell were you thinkin’? Why didn’t you stop to take a crap?” He asked with a restrained chuckle.

  “I’ve been asking myself that for two weeks,” Stoney pondered aloud with a rich outburst of laughter. “I can’t believe I took him hostage.” He contemplated in embarrassment and covered his eyes somewhat with his left hand.

  “You should've seen the look on your face,” CKB reminisced with a hearty grin. “Your gun was in that dude’s chin like a goatee on a hipster. I think he had to s*** more than you.” The career criminal giggled with enjoyment and scratched the underside of his chin with his left hand.

  “What are we going to do about