Near To The Knuckle presents Rogue: The second anthology

by Keith Nixon

  The day he turned twenty two Danny realised that no chances were coming unless he took them himself. The little money he had saved from minimum wage jobs and selling skunk was enough to buy a Brocock air pistol converted to fire .22s. He packed a bag, stuck his passport in his pocket and threw a pair of cheap Aviator sunglasses over his eyes. He stood in front of the mirror with the pistol tucked in his waist band. Making his face as stony as an Easter Island monolith he practiced drawing the gun a few times and once satisfied he concealed it under his sweatshirt. Danny nodded at his other self in the mirror, left his house keys on the side and slammed the door for the last time.

  Danny knocked and waited. The door behind the steel cage opened. A small black man with protruding eyes looked out. On account of eyes that reminded them of a bug’s most people called him Bunny.

  “What’s happening, Danny?”

  “Easy, Bunny. Just looking to grip some weight.”

  “Nice.”

  Bunny unlocked the cage door and ushered Danny inside.

  “What you looking for?”

  “Half–ounce of chang.”

  “Not just green then?”

  “Nah trying to step it up.”

  “My man. Yeah, I can sort that. Grab a kotch on the sofa. There’re beers on the table if you want one.”

  “Thanks,” Danny replied as he stepped into the front room.

  Danny looked at the half–dozen bottles of Becks that sat on the coffee table. Taking the pistol out from under his sweatshirt he stepped to the door and peered through the crack. He could see Bunny crouched in the bathroom, the side off the bath from where the little man was retrieving a bag of white powder. Danny moved quietly across the carpeted floor. He stepped into the bathroom and jammed the barrel of the gun into Bunny’s neck.

  “Ah fuck,” said Bunny.

  “Sorry, man.”

  Danny liked Bunny — the little man never tried to rip him off and had always been fair.

  “Lie down, Bunny.”

  He acquiesced and Danny bound his hands up with his belt before tying a towel around his legs.

  “People I work for ain’t gwan take this shit. You know you’re dead now, Dan?”

  “Nah, you got it wrong. I’ve just started living.”

  Danny slammed the grip of the pistol across Bunny’s head. The lump began to swell up before Danny had even started tossing the ounce and half–ounce zip–lock bags of cocaine into his own bag — Danny knew the weight moved for a grand an ounce but he’d sell cheap and in bulk and be on a plane by the time the sun set over south London.

  ***

  The grave dirt fell from his clothes as he got to his feet. The broken egg shell that was his skull seemed to throb with each step. As he tried to find purchase in the earth to climb out of the ditch Danny knocked loose a pile of dirt and stared into a half–rotted face. He crawled over the corpse and closed his eyes so that he could not see what he disturbed beneath the ground as he climbed.

  The snow had begun in earnest now and spun around Danny as he stumbled through the trees. He placed one boot in front of the other and tried to put some distance between himself and the death pit. He walked parallel to the road that led towards the lights of the town. Danny smelt the deputy before he saw him, the scent of cigarette smoke. He slowed his movements. The deputy stood below watching the road; chequered hunters cap, flannel shirt with a star pinned on it. A pistol was belted at his waist and a rifle leaned against the car amidst half–a–dozen crushed cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

  The throb in Danny’s head slowed and his vision seemed to tighten as he picked up a small log and slid down the bank at the deputy’s back. The log hit the man’s head with a wet thud and he went down like a cheap hooker at the sight of a fifty. Danny hit him again. And again. And again. He kept slamming the log against the man’s head until all that was left was a bag of broken skull and pulped brain. Danny wiped his gore covered hands on the corpse’s flannel shirt and then took the revolver from his holster. He checked the load and then stood. The world swam as he stood and he grabbed onto the patrol car for support. The town wasn’t far now. Danny sucked in a deep breath of the cold night air. One foot in front of the other took him towards the lights.

  ***

  The money didn’t last long. The flight to New York, a week in a hotel off Times Square, new clothes and good living took its toll. Danny left the hotel and found a one room apartment for rent in Brooklyn. As the money ran down he had to find work, work for an illegal alien. He found a bar in Williamsburg owned by an Englishman who wasn’t choosey about checking work visas as long as the help could speak decent English.

  After a month Danny was sat in a bar in Red Hook, reading an Elmore Leonard western, when he saw Angie. He looked up from words of the desert, took a glance. Looked down and then took a second look. She was twenty nine and the years were starting to take their toll but, to Danny, her olive skin, big bum and long legs made him think of an Angel walking out of Spanish Harlem. He picked up his beer and grabbed the stool next to hers.

  “Buy you a drink?”

  “That accent ain’t from round here.”

  “Nah, London, baby.”

  An eyebrow raised, a blouse button popped.

  “You work round here?”

  She nodded.

  “At the diner on the corner. You here on vacation?”

  Danny smiled.

  “Not quite.”

  Four rounds later they kissed and Danny could taste the Vodka on her lips.

  “Been looking for someone like you my whole life,” he breathed into her ear.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Come back with me.”

  Danny smiled.

  After, when they lay atop the damp sheets she told him of her ex; a 1970 Pontiac GTO, a mean backhand, money from an illegal chop shop and a chrome .45 Ruger in his glove box. Danny took it in and smiled. He told her about wanting to see the country, every inch of it before settling down. She clung to his arm and watched his face as he spoke.

  “You need a co–pilot?”

  “Only if she’s you.”

  The kissed, fucked again, and planned.

  ***

  The town was quiet. Lights shone in a few windows and the snow closed in. Danny weaved across the street, pistol clutched in his fist. A door opened and man stepped onto his drive, black trash bag in his hand. Danny stopped and looked at him but the man seemed not to see him. The man put his bag into the garbage can. Threw another look at the street and then headed back inside.

  Danny allowed himself to breathe again. In the cold of the night he felt something warm running down his cheek. He raised his hand and it came back dark with blood. He struggled to focus and wanted to sit down but knew that if he did he wouldn’t get back up. He stuck to the backstreets and alleys and pushed on towards the Sherriff’s station in the centre of town.

  ***

  Danny and Angie rolled down the freeway in a black 1970 Pontiac GTO, Danny had a chrome .45 Ruger tucked under the driver’s seat. A bag in the foot well contained five grand in used bills. The countryside rushed past as they left New York behind.

  They moved through Pennsylvania and into Ohio. The money was gone by the time they reached the Indiana state line.

  “We sleeping in the car tonight, Danny?”

  Danny looked sideways and caught a look of disappointment in her eyes.

  “Nah, babes. Not a chance of that.”

  As he spoke he reached under the seat and brought the Ruger out.

  “You want to drive for a while?”

  Angie smiled and scooted herself over onto Danny’s lap, gripping the wheel with one hand and his cock with the other.

  “What you thinking, lover?”

  He liked the weight of her in his lap and enjoyed it for a moment.

  “Never been that good at anything my whole life,”

  “I don’t know, you nearly broke the head board in that last
motel.”

  Danny laughed.

  “Apart from that then. But it seems to me I’ve jacked up two people and both times it’s turned out good for me so…”

  The store was just outside the town of Angola and the sun was beginning to dip and colour the sky a bright pink. Danny tried not to overcomplicate it. He walked in and nodded to the clerk who nodded back. He grabbed up two bottles of soda and a sack of chips. The clerk rang up the items.

  “And two packs of Newports.”

  The clerk turned and Danny went over the counter. Using the pistol as a club he beat the man until he stopped struggling.

  “Just lay still and then I’ll be gone.”

  The man groaned a response and Danny placed a foot across his neck as he rifled through the till. He came up with about four hundred bucks which he stuffed in his pockets. Grabbing up a paper sack from below the counter Danny threw in handfuls of cigarette packets. He took his foot off the clerk’s neck and ran for the door.

  “Let’s go!”

  Angie drove. She didn’t speed but she didn’t amble. Danny looked at her.

  “Think you’re a natural at this.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, you’re driving next time as well.”

  “Look at us, just a regular Bonnie and Clyde.”

  They smiled at each other and sped into the dusk.

  ***

  Danny stopped and leaned against the wall of an alley. He took a deep breath and blinked his vision back into focus. He hurt inside, hurt bad. It took all his remaining strength to push off the wall and move further down the alley. He stepped through a wooden gate into a back yard. There was a small shed with the door unlocked. Danny stepped in and blew on his hands to warm them. He looked around the shed and in the corner found three Jerry cans. He unscrewed the cap and smelt the gasoline. He smiled.

  Danny held his pistol in one hand and one of the cans in the other. At the end of the alley he risked a glance out and could see the Sheriff’s station on the opposite side of the street, next door to the courthouse. A light burned at a window on the second floor. He checked the revolver again and satisfied moved off to circle around to the back of the station, the snow masking him like a swirling shroud.

  ***

  They stopped in a roadhouse outside Lenexa. A week before they had traded in the Pontiac for a beat–up Plymouth Road Runner covered in patches of grey primer. Even though the bar was packed Danny and Angie managed to find a booth and order up some drinks.

  “We need to be heading over the mountains. Snow gonna be here soon, said so on the weather.”

  Angie nodded.

  “Never liked it when it snowed in New York. Didn’t mind looking at it out the window, pretty and shit, but being out in it…”

  Danny took a bite out of his beer and thought on it.

  “Want to go somewhere where it doesn’t snow?”

  Angie nodded.

  “Somewhere warm.”

  Danny smiled

  “Where we don’t have to wear many clothes…”

  Angie laughed and Danny caught the waitress’ eyes for more drinks.

  After they decided to cross the mountains things went well — three liquor stores and a gas station. In and out, no problems. The brown paper grocery sack of money getting bigger in the trunk of the car with each job. They worked with purpose, minds on the job with thoughts of umbrella drinks and the sun kissing their bodies taking an edge off the coming cold. One more job was all they needed, a decent score.

  They rolled into the small town of Old Times, the concrete plant on the edge of town had drawn them to it. Danny and Angie headed parked up and stepped into a diner for a late lunch.

  Danny looked across the table at Angie.

  “Hey, you.”

  She smiled back.

  “Love you, baby.”

  Her smile remained.

  “Cheeseburgers?”

  “Think I best have the fries as well.”

  Danny inclined his head.

  “Think I might be eating for two…”

  It was Danny’s time to smile. He thought about his own life. That child would have love and two parents. He smiled to himself as he placed the order. One more job, just one more.

  ***

  In the alley behind the Sherriff’s Station Danny paused and leant himself against a dumpster, wiped the blood from the side of his head. As he headed towards the rear doors he sucked in a breath and thought of Angie.

  Danny tested the back door of the station and found it open. He stepped out of the snow and into the harsh light beyond. The rubber floor silenced his steps. The crackle of a radio sounded somewhere but Danny paid it no mind, he put one foot in front of the other and headed for the stairs.

  ***

  They left the motel as dawn broke. It was cold and grey, a rolled up balaclava sat on Danny’s head. They lit cigarettes and stood by the car. Angie pushed her hands into her sleeves, her nose reddened by the cold.

  “Last one,” she said.

  Danny nodded back at her.

  “Get our asses over the mountains. Already getting too cold for me.”

  Danny nodded agreement.

  “Fuckin’ brass monkeys out here. Let’s get this shit done.”

  “How much you think, baby, ten?”

  “Closer to twelve.”

  Danny tossed an extra ski mask to Angie.

  “You mask up too, this time. Don’t need either of us getting pinched.”

  Angie nodded and tucked the mask in her pocket.

  “You got your piece?”

  Angie nodded again and showed Danny the Beretta he had taken from a store clerk a state ago.

  ***

  The town was quiet as they moved along Main Street, not a soul stirred.

  “Take the car to the edge of town then come back for me. Take it slow, take it easy — get me?”

  Angie nodded.

  Danny pulled his leather jacket tight to him against the wind. He crossed the street towards the office of the concrete plant. The shooting started when he was in the middle of the road. The first bullet kicked up the blacktop as it skidded past him. Danny dragged the Ruger from his waistband and ran towards a post box. A shotgun blast boomed and pellets peppered the wall in front of him.

  Danny ducked behind the post box. It gave him a moment to scan the roof tops. He saw perhaps a half–dozen rifleman moving before a bullet clattered off the box forcing him to duck back. He triggered the pistol over the top of the box and then looked for Angie. The Roadrunner was in the middle of the street and had stopped. A bullet shattered the windscreen. The Beretta returned fire through the spider–webbed glass. Danny stood and threw lead towards the roof tops. He waited till the gun clicked empty and then ran towards the car.

  Bullets seemed to fall like rain when Danny reached the car. He dropped to one knee and reloaded, then he stood, aimed and fired and watched as a man fell back from the roof top grasping his arm. There was a noise that sounded like an animal Danny turned and saw Angie screeching. She aimed and pulled the trigger on the empty Beretta.

  “Baby…”

  Another bullet smashed into the roof of the car. Danny pointed up and fired.

  The bullets continued to pour down, Danny hidden behind the door and Angie ducked down across the seats. Danny looked at Angie and then threw out the Ruger.

  “We’re done!”

  “You surely are!” came back a response.

  ***

  They’d been tied to the bars, no hand cuffs just a rough rope that chaffed and cut the wrists even before pressure was applied. Danny turned his head and cast a look sideways — Angie was tied to the bars a few feet away, they had stripped her down to her bra and panties.

  “Baby…”

  As soon as the words left his mouth pain exploded across his kidneys and a man stepped to the side holding a short club.

  “Cunt,” spat Danny.

  One of the men behind him leaned in close enough for Danny
to smell the whisky on his breath.

  “Yeah, boy we’re gonna fuck that brown cunt good.”

  Danny struggled at his bonds and spat at the man. The club hit him in the spine.

  “Now you rest easy, boy. Sheriff’ll be down soon.”

  There was a click of a lock and the men fell silent. Danny listened to each footfall as it descended the stairs. He appeared to the side of Danny; old, iron gray hair under a Stetson, khaki shirt with a badge pinned to it, jeans, boots and mirrored Aviators.

  The man did not speak.

  He moved around behind them, out of where Danny could see him until he came to rest behind Angie. The man let his hand rest on the curve of her arse. Angie tried to pull away but the man pinched down hard.

  “I’m Sheriff Limbaugh.”

  As he spoke his hand moved and slipped between Angie’s legs.

  “Get your fucking hands off her!”

  Mirrored eyes turned toward him and Danny found himself staring into his own eyes. Then the Sherriff inclined his head, pain exploded between Danny’s legs like he’d been hit by a cannon ball. The Sheriff moved himself behind Angie and began moving his hips against her.

  “Leave her alone.”

  The mirrored eyes turned.

  “Now why would I bother with her? This greaser’s been done fucked by what twenty, thirty men. She wouldn’t even feel me inside her — whereas you…”

  Danny tried to move away as the Sheriff moved in close and grabbed him by the hips.

  “Best you try and hang loose, son.”

  ***

  Danny reached the top of the stairs and walked towards the frosted glass door marked Chief Limbaugh. With the gun held low Danny pushed the door open. There was a squeak as the desk chair turned towards the door. Danny put down the Jerry can and stared at the man behind the desk.

  “Been a Limbaugh in these offices since the eighteen fifties. People like us, like the way of things. Old Times, we make sure it’s always that way here and not like whatever shit hole place you crawled out of, boy.”