by Gary Jonas
“Time to die, Mr. Masters,” he said, and pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
If you’ve never been to Texas, there are some myths people believe about the state that should probably be set right.
First, not everything is bigger in Texas.
Second, not everyone loves country music.
Third, not all Texas women have big hair, though I’ve certainly been with a few who did.
About now you’re asking yourself why I’m telling you all this when some asshole just took a shot at me.
Well, obviously, the son of a bitch didn’t kill me or I wouldn’t be telling the story to you. I mean, duh.
At the risk of being anticlimactic, Michael jumped in front of me and took the bullet. Yeah, you probably saw that coming. Vampires can’t be killed by bullets unless they’re made of wood, but who would go through the hassle of making a wooden bullet?
Getting back to my point about myths of Texas, one myth is closer to the truth than most.
That myth is that everyone in Texas owns a gun. That’s not true. Some people don’t. But a metric fuckton of the people in Texas definitely own guns and whenever they go out, they’re packing. It’s one of the reasons so many Texans are so friendly. The whole, an armed society is a polite society adage holds true. You’re less likely to get shot if you’re being nice.
And if you pull a gun in any business establishment, you need to realize that most of the people around you are armed.
The dipshit in white didn’t think of that, so after he took his shot and Michael intercepted, the would-be assassin looked around to see fifteen handguns aimed at his head. If not for the danger of crossfire taking out other patrons, he’d have been riddled with bullets, and that’s no joke.
He wisely raised his hands and let his pistol dangle. Someone snatched it away from him. The bouncer took the man in white off the floor and threw him down in the back office while the bartender called the cops.
Gregor sat at the end of the bar and gave me a slight nod.
I looked around. Chuck and Teddy peeked up from behind the drum kit. Sabrina had jumped behind the speakers, and looked hesitant to come out, but torn because Michael was down.
Michael lay on the stage. I crouched to check on him.
“You okay, dude?”
“Give me a minute,” he said. He reached up, plucked the bullet from his forehead and tossed it aside. It clattered on the stage. His wound sealed itself in less time than it takes to tell you about it, and he sat up.
“Thanks for saving my ass,” I said.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” He wiped blood from his forehead.
“So many things do.”
“Yeah, you were supposed to move closer to me to make it easier to protect you.”
“I was singing.”
“Right. Well, I gotta hand it to you. Under the circumstances, you did okay on the songs.”
“I cheated.”
“End result is what matters for the show.”
It took a good ten minutes to get things calmed down after the shooting. Sabrina went to the restroom to throw up. Gregor disappeared. Teddy and Chuck approached the front of the stage.
“Did you get shot?” Teddy asked Michael.
“The guy missed,” I said.
Michael got to his feet and gave them a smile. “All good,” he said. “I just slipped on some spilled beer.”
“You guys okay?” I asked.
“I need to change my shorts,” Teddy said. “And my heart is still racing. This shit only happens on TV. It shouldn’t happen to me.”
“No one hurt,” I said. “Nothing to worry about.”
“You’re awfully calm.”
“It’s over,” I said.
“Okay. Are we gonna finish the show?” Teddy asked.
“I think we’re done,” Chuck said.
“Thank God. I don’t think I could play right now.” He held up a shaking hand. He tried to steady it, but it didn’t work.
“Cops will have questions,” Chuck said.
“True, but I was serious about the shorts.”
Chuck raised an eyebrow. “With all the confusion, we can slip out the back.”
He was right. Michael and I stayed in the bar to keep an eye on our equipment. Some people were freaked out, others thought it was exciting. I needed a drink.
Two cops came in to take the bad guy into custody. The bartender pointed them to the office where the bouncer had the asshole pinned down.
More officers came in to ask questions of the audience. They tried to get things done in an orderly fashion, but it was like herding cats.
The two cops brought the shooter out of the office in handcuffs. He was grinning.
The man in white looked over at me.
“Your time is nigh,” he said.
“Keep moving,” one of the cops said, and shoved him.
As soon as the cop’s hand touched the man’s back, the man burst into a puff of smoke. The handcuffs dropped to the floor.
“What the hell?” the cop asked.
Michael looked at me. “You might want to watch your back when we get out of here.”
“No shit.”
Then Michael made a big deal out of looking around the bar. “Hmm,” he said. “No sign of Gideon. Imagine that.”
I was trying to think of a witty comeback when the cops pulled me aside for an interview.
I didn’t tell them anything useful. Michael talked to another officer. Eventually, they cut us loose. I checked my phone and saw two text messages waiting. One was from Gideon saying he was running late, but would be here soon. The other was from Sabrina saying she was waiting for us out back.
Michael and I packed up our equipment and lugged it out the back exit. Sabrina was sitting in the open doors of Chuck’s van. She looked up at us when we came out.
“I’m still shaking,” she said, holding her hand out to show us she was telling the truth.
I thought about telling her Teddy had the same reaction, but went for the joke instead.
“Want me to sing a Jerry Lee Lewis tune?”
“Big Maybelle recorded ‘Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On’ before him,” Michael said.
“But if I’d said Big Maybelle, Sabrina wouldn’t have gotten the joke.”
“What joke?” she asked.
“Never mind,” I said.
“You two are the music geeks,” she said. “Use a song from within my lifetime and maybe I’ll get it.”
“If it’s a pop song,” I said.
“Yeah, so?”
“I’ll try to go with Destiny’s Child or Ed Sheeran next time.”
“And if I hadn’t just been traumatized, I might even laugh,” she said.
“The guy wasn’t shooting at you,” I said.
“This won’t even make the news,” Michael said.
“Can you get up so we can load the van?” I asked.
“You have no empathy,” Sabrina said.
“Again, the guy wasn’t shooting at you. And you’ve been through worse. What about Sinclair freezing you and damn near killing you? What about the junkyard in Houston?”
“Magical attacks I can handle. Guns freak me out.”
“Then you’re living in the wrong country.”
“Show a little sympathy, Brett,” Michael said. He stepped up to Sabrina and put a hand on her shoulder. “You’re safe, Bri. No worries.”
She rose and fell into his arms. He held her and rocked her back and forth.
“I’ve got you,” he said as they swayed. “I’m not going to let anything hurt you.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
I sighed. “If you two can soothe each other three feet to the left, I can start loading our shit.”
Sabrina flipped me off.
Michael shook his head, but he slowly moved her to the left three feet.
I loaded the van.
And just as I put the last case
into the van, Gideon stepped out the exit into the alley.
“Did I miss the show?” he asked.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“That’s the best you’ve got?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” Gideon asked.
Car headlights speared him, and he stepped closer to the van to get out of the way. Gravel crunched beneath tires, and a black Nissan slowly rolled by.
“Are you testing me?” I asked.
“I repeat my earlier inquiry. What do you mean?”
“Someone tried to kill me tonight.”
“Well, you knew that was going to happen.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because I was hired to guard you.”
“And you were conveniently absent when some clown makes an attempt on my life?”
“An actual clown or are you being facetious?”
“Some wizard dude dressed like Tom Wolfe.”
“I don’t know who that is,” Gideon said.
“You’re a movie reviewer, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you see Bonfire of the Vanities?”
“A long time ago.”
“How about The Right Stuff?”
“About the astronauts?”
“Yeah. Those movies were based on books written by Tom Wolfe. The guy always wears a white suit like a southern gentleman.”
“And because I’ve seen movies, I should know about the author of the books?”
“My father was at a party with him once,” I said.
“Did your father know who he was?”
“He must have. He told me about it.”
“How exciting for him.”
“Guys,” Michael said, “that car is coming back.”
“What car?” Sabrina asked.
“Listen.”
We fell silent. Gravel slowly crunched under tires.
“Get behind the van,” Gideon said, and pushed me.
“Hey,” I said.
He kept pushing me until I was behind the van. When he stepped up beside me, I moved to the left to give him some space.
He grabbed me and pulled me toward him. “We need to stand here. We’ll crouch in a moment, but we need to be behind the engine block.”
“Why?”
“Because bullets will punch through the rest of the vehicle. Crouch!”
I crouched.
Sabrina said, “Bullets? Forget that,” and tried to go back into the bar. The door was locked. She worked a quick spell, and opened the door. “You guys coming?”
Michael shook his head. “I’ll stay out here in case they need me.”
“That’s stupid,” Sabrina said. “There’s still time for everyone to get inside.”
The Nissan crept into view. “Not anymore.” Michael closed the door and moved behind us.
“What are you doing?” Gideon asked. “Vampires can’t be killed by bullets.”
“I don’t want holes in my clothes.”
The Nissan slowly rolled past, but nobody opened fire.
“It’s a set up,” Gideon said, looking up at the rooftops. “Shield us.”
“What?”
As soon as I spoke, the crack of gunfire sounded.
Bullets rained down on us. Michael took three shots to the shoulders. “Goddammit, I like this shirt.”
He shoved me under the van.
Gideon raced around to the other side. He wasn’t the target. I was. I kept myself positioned under the engine.
Bullets sparked the pavement.
“I didn’t sign up for this shit,” I said. “Wizards are supposed to attack with magic, not guns!”
“Use your magic to stop them,” Gideon said, hiding behind the front wheel on the driver’s side. For such a tall guy, he sure managed to hunker down well.
“I don’t want to get shot!” My voice cracked, but in my defense, someone was shooting at me.
“All the more reason to stop them.”
“Someone must have called the cops.”
“By the time the cops get here again, we’ll be dead.”
“Except for Michael,” I said. “Where is he? I can’t see him.” I hoped I didn’t sound as scared as I felt.
“He’s pressed into the doorway to the bar.”
“Michael?” I called. “Can you tell me where these assholes are firing from?”
“The roof.”
“No shit. Where on the roof?”
Michael sighed. “I can’t tell that without stepping into the line of fire.”
“If you get shot, you’ll heal fast. If I get shot, I could die.”
“Getting shot still hurts.”
“Dying is worse.”
He sighed. “You’re going to have to buy me new clothes, Brett.”
“Fine.”
He stepped away from the door and bullets pounded into him. He winced and fell to the ground. Bullets slammed into his chest, sending splats of blood into the air. Some of it landed on me.
“Two guys,” Michael said between clenched teeth. “One on the rooftop next door, and one right above the bar.” He pointed. As he moved to point, a bullet obliterated his middle finger. “Fuck! I hope that will grow back.” He shook his hand, sending blood splattering on the concrete, then pointed to the bad guys.
I bit the inside of my cheek, tasted my blood, and called up my magic. I pushed upward with all the energy I could grab and sent the van sailing into the air. It flew toward the rooftop Michael had pointed to. I didn’t expect the van to hit either of the shooters. It was merely a distraction.
I focused my magic on the top of the bar’s roof as well as the next building. I shattered the upper stories of both buildings, throwing all the bricks and concrete hurtling into the air along with the assholes shooting at us.
What goes up, must come down, so I pushed an energy dome over me, Michael, and Gideon so the falling debris bounced off and hit the ground around us, but not on us.
The two shooters hit the ground headfirst. I’ll spare you the sound of their necks breaking.
When the dust settled, I let the dome fade away.
Michael stared at me. “I thought you were the Brett I knew from before.”
“I am,” I said, brushing myself off.
“That’s some seriously powerful magic you just used, and you’re not passing out.”
“And?”
He shrugged. “I’m wondering if you’re the real Brett Masters.”
“Of course I’m the real Brett Masters.”
“Then why didn’t you use that magic to shield us all from the goddamn bullets from the start?”
“Because I didn’t think of it.”
“Figures.” He stared at his stump of a finger. “It’s not growing back.”
“Maybe it takes time.”
“Maybe I need to reattach my finger. Do you see it around here?”
A circle of debris surrounded us. Bricks, dust, bodies, chunks of concrete, shards of glass. Sirens sounded in the distance growing nearer, but nobody came outside to check on us.
“We’re not going to find your finger in this mess.”
“Fuck.”
“You already said that.”
“And I’ll say it again. How will I flip people off without it?”
“Use your other hand?”
He frowned. “Where’s the van?”
I pointed at what remained of the rooftops. The van, bashed and dented, stood upside down buried under a chimney.
Gideon shrugged. “The real Brett Masters could get that van down here and restore it before it floated gently to the ground.”
“I’ll try,” I said. I reopened my wound, and channeled my energy. The van shifted and more bricks poured in a mini-avalanche toward us. They rained on the ground, breaking apart and sending up a wave of dust and smoke.
“Oops,” I said. “I’ll try that again.”
But before I could refocus, the van slid out from its precarious perch and tumbled toward us.
> “Shit!” I said and jumped backward. Gideon was right behind me, so I smacked into him and we both went over.
The van crashed on the ground, a few feet from Michael, rolled over, and settled on its side, metal crunching and bending, glass shattering.
Michael sat up and stared at me. “That went well,” he said.
“At least we’re alive.”
“The real Brett Masters could have done it properly,” Gideon said.
“Who asked you?” I said.
“Can you right the van?” Michael asked.
“It’s not drivable,” I said.
“Even with your magic?”
“The real Brett Masters could fix it,” Gideon said.
“Could you shut up?” I asked.
“The real Brett Masters could make me shut up.”
I smiled at him, pointed, and sealed his mouth closed with a simple gesture.
“Mmmmm mmmmm,” he said, eyes wide.
I kept the smile going. “You don’t have your golden ring.”
The sirens were almost on us now. I pointed at an exit door to the building next to the bar. If anyone else was after us, I didn’t want to lead them to Sabrina or any of the people in the bar. The buildings might not have an upper story right now, but the lower levels were intact. We raced over. The door opened at my magical insistence, and we slipped inside, closing the door right before the authorities screeched to a halt in the alley.
One thing I didn’t want to do was explain any of this shit to cops or paramedics.
“I want my finger,” Michael said.
“Mmmm mmm mmm,” Gideon said.
“I think Gideon wants you to finger him,” I said.
They both looked at me like I was a total asshole. But I was just a part-time asshole. Being a full-time asshole would take too much work.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We found ourselves in the back room of a gift shop. A pallet of boxes wrapped with clear plastic stood slightly illuminated by a soft light from an open office door.
“Is someone in here?” Michael asked.
“Mmm,” Gideon said.
I released the magic and his mouth returned to normal.
“Thanks, asshole,” Gideon said. “As for someone being in here. At this hour? Unlikely.”
I felt a bit dizzy and braced myself on the pallet. I peeked around the side. I could see a desk and chair in the office. The desk was covered with stacks of paper, a tape gun, and some pens. An adrenaline crash hit me hard, and I needed to sit down. I went into the office and plopped into the chair.