by John Avery
Aaron held the gun steady. "That's bullshit! " he shouted. "They won't get over it! One of them is dead because of you! You murdered him!" He quickly wiped his eyes with the arm of his jumpsuit, knocking his ski mask slightly askew. "Do you know what I think? I think you're nothing but a big bully! You act tough all the time to cover up the fact that inside you're a coward — a blood-thirsty psycho who kills people because he can't think of a better way to get things done!"
Souther took a slow, deep breath, removed his hat, and held out his hand. "Hand over the gun, kid," he said.
"No! I won't!" Aaron cried. "Give it back! Give all the money back!" He tried to kick his trash bag away, but it was too heavy and his shoe simply crunched into the contents.
A crackle over the radios made him jump.
" Time to rock, motherfuckers! " Beeks said in a distorted walkie-talkie voice.
"Copy that," Needles replied, keeping his rifle on the hostages.
"Come on, kid," Souther said. "The cops will be — "
"Give it back!" Aaron cried. He took aim at Souther's forehead with a deadly two-handed grip. "ALL OF IT!"
"Okay, kid… take it easy," Souther said. "I'm giving it back." He slowly lowered his duffel bags to the floor. "Look… Here's the money… I'm giving it back." One of the bags fell open and a few stacks of $100 bills spilled out onto the carpet.
"You, too, Needles!" Aaron said with a wave of his pistol.
Needles eased the bags off of his shoulder.
"Okay, now get the hell out of here!" Aaron said.
"No problem, kid," Souther said. "You can put away the gun. We're leaving…" He took a couple of steps back, then turned to leave. "Let's go," he said to Needles.
Needles gave Aaron a look that said, I hope you know, kid, you're digging a hole you can't easily un-dig, here. Then he stepped over the empty smoke canisters and followed Souther across the trashed lobby toward the door.
– Aaron lowered his weapon and looked at the hostages. His ski mask was soaked with tears. They looked at him like he had just descended from heaven.
He found himself oddly amused by the hellish absurdity of his situation and nearly laughed out loud. Then a morbid chill ran through him and he thought, Is this what it feels like to go insane?
Suddenly the little timer bell went DING!
Souther swung around in the doorway and fired a single shot.
Aaron staggered back, dropped the gun, and gripped his chest. He looked at Souther, at Needles, at the hostages, blinking through his eye holes like a World War I recruit who's discovered that his gas mask has a leak. He looked down and sucked a quick breath in through his teeth. A heavy flow of dark red blood oozed from between his black-leather knuckles and dripped on the rolled-up cuffs of his white jumpsuit. Oh, god, he thought; then his eyesight flooded red, then black, and he lost consciousness before hitting the floor.
Needles ran and knelt at Aaron's side, screaming at Souther. "You fucking son-of-bitch! You shot him! You shot the goddamn kid!"
The hostages were hysterical.
Souther fired a quick burst over their heads. "Anyone else want to be part of the show?" he shouted, trying to maintain control.
Needles laid down his rifle and checked Aaron's pulse.
Souther shouldered the duffel bags and rifles. "Let's get the fuck out of here, man!" he yelled. Panic teased at him and the walls of the bank started to close in on him.
Needles unzipped his white jumpsuit, stripped to his undershirt, and packed Aaron's wound with his shirt. He lifted Aaron enough to see that the bullet had passed cleanly through the shoulder. Then he packed the exit wound as well. Finally he yanked off his undershirt and wrapped it tightly around Aaron's chest, completing the makeshift bandage.
BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! Jim Walden had triggered the bank's alarm.
"Leave the kid, damn it!" Souther shouted over the din. "We gotta fucking bounce, man!"
Needles looked up at Souther. "Aaron is right. You are a fucking coward." He gathered the boy up in his arms. "And we aren't leavin' him…"
– Thunder and drenching rain pounded the robbers as they exited the bank — Souther with the money bags and assault rifles, Needles naked to the waist with the dying boy in his arms. Beeks was ready with the engine running; he spotted them and sped forward to pick them up. Everyone loaded into the van and Beeks spun the tires on the wet pavement as they swerved off down the street.
In the distance, sirens…
Chapter 38
Doctor in the House
Beeks drove hard, heading south, in the direction of the cannery. His worried eyes filled the rear view mirror.
"What's goin' down, bro?" he asked Needles.
"The kid got shot," Needles replied from the back of the van.
"You're shittin' me… What kinda piece-of-shit son-of-a-bitch asshole would shoot a damn — "
"Shut up and drive," Souther said.
Needles carefully removed Aaron's ski mask and stroked the boy's matted hair back from his face. He tucked a folded duffel bag under Aaron's head and sprinkled a few drops of water onto his dry lips.
– The black van pulled into the cannery and skidded to a stop. Beeks jumped out and ran around to open the rear doors. Needles helped him take Aaron into his arms.
Souther dragged a leather briefcase out of the van and started for the door. "You should have left him," he said. "He's dead either way."
"Bring him into the break room," Needles told Beeks, ignoring Souther. "We have to move fast."
Beeks cradled the boy in his huge arms and followed Needles. "What're you gonna do with him in there? " he asked.
"I'm a doctor. What do you think I'm going to do with him?"
"What the hell you talkin' 'bout? You ain't no damn doctor."
Souther stepped out onto the sidewalk and rolled the big steel door closed behind him.
Chapter 39
The Blue Door
Souther walked four blocks east along the waterfront before turning two blocks north. He arrived at a small, gray, two-story building with no windows and a single royal blue entry door. Above the door was a small black sign with white lettering that read BLACK EAGLE STUDIOS. The door was secured with a hasp and heavy padlock. Souther removed a small brass key from his briefcase and unlocked the lock. Then he stepped inside, leaving the door ajar.
A pair of shiny black sedans were parked nearby. From the first car emerged four beautiful teenage girls dressed in provocative attire; from the second stepped a striking redhead in her middle twenties. She tossed her long flaming hair back from her face and checked the street. Then together the ladies followed Johnny Souther inside and closed the blue door behind them.
Avery, John
Three Days To Die
Chapter 40
The E.R.
The thugs slammed through the door into the cannery break room.
"Over here," Needles said, clearing the large wooden table with one long sweep of his arm.
Beeks laid Aaron gently down on the makeshift operating table. Needles lit a gasoline lantern, placed it for optimum light, then checked the unconscious boy's pulse.
"I think he's dyin'," Beeks said.
"I'll be the one that says who's dying," Needles said. "Boil some water."
"What? How much?"
"A pot full, you idiot. Don't you watch any movies?"
"More than you, motherfucker," Beeks said. He found a pot and set some water to boil. Needles positioned two more lamps.
"Where the hell did Souther go?" Beeks asked.
"How should I know… home to Brandy Fine, I suppose." He paused. He hadn't seen Souther's girlfriend in over a year and was curious as to why she suddenly came to mind. "Who gives a damn, anyway?" he said at last.
"Well, excuse me for makin' conversation," Beeks said.
Needles yanked open a cupboard and slid out a large shoebox. He spread out a clean towel, removed the lid from the shoebox, and dumped the contents. Out spilled an array of s
urgical equipment: scalpels, scissors, forceps, clamps, suturing materials, sponges, masks, miscellaneous bottles, bandages and hypodermic needles.
He sorted through the items. "Did anyone ever tell you you talk too much?"
"No… maybe you, I guess," Beeks said.
"Well, you do."
"Fuck you."
– Needles unwrapped the blood-soaked bandages, unzipped Aaron's jumpsuit, and tore open his sweatshirt and shirt. It was an upper-chest wound, the bullet having passed through Aaron's body just under his left collar bone. Fresh blood pooled on the wooden tabletop and dripped onto the white porcelain floor tiles.
Needles carefully rolled Aaron up onto his side then grabbed some clean paper towels and applied pressure to the wounds.
He saw Beeks's stomach lurch. "What's the matter, Beeks?" he goaded. "You've seen blood before."
"I seen plenty of blood," Beeks said. "More than you, I'll wager." He paused. "Well… maybe not more than you… but I seen a lot."
"So, what's your problem?"
"What's your problem?"
"I'm not the one with the problem."
"Fuck you."
– Needles got Aaron's bleeding under control and was encouraged to see that the bullet had entered and exited his body relatively cleanly, with little apparent damage to the underlying tissue. He splashed antibiotic solution over the wounds and covered them with sterile gauze.
He checked his watch. 11:30 a.m. Then he looked at Beeks impatiently. "Well?"
Beeks looked back at him… puzzled.
"My water…?"
"Oh…" Beeks said. He checked the pot. There were small bubbles forming in the bottom. "It's comin'."
"Well, hurry it up."
"How the fuck do you hurry water?"
"How should I know," Needles said. "Figure it out." He scrubbed up in the sink. "Wash up. I'm gonna need your help."
"No way, bro," Beeks said, raising his big hands in the air in protest. "You know I don't know nothin' about no medical shit."
"Do you see anyone else in this room that hasn't been shot?"
"Kiss my ass."
– Beeks washed up, then checked his pot of boiling water. "I think we're good here," he said, and Needles came over and plunged his tools into the bubbling liquid.
He spread some clean towels out on the table next to Aaron then selected two surgical masks from the shoebox pile.
"Put this on," he said, handing one to Beeks, "and if Aaron wakes up… hold him. You got that? You hold him good!"
Beeks pulled on his mask and adjusted the undersized nose piece. It made him sound like he had a cold. "If he does wake up I hope he don't see you first."
"And why is that?"
"'Cause you're so damn ugly… you'd probably scare the poor son-of-a-bitch to death."
Needles had to laugh. "Good one, friend," he said.
He found some surgical gloves in a Ziploc bag and looked doubtfully at his assistant's enormous hands; still Beeks somehow managed to pull on a pair without ripping them to pieces.
The big black man walked over and stood next to the mutilated boy; the kid seemed so small lying there on that big table. "I gotta bad feelin', bro," he said.
"Let's just get on with it," Needles said. He prepared a shot of morphine and set it aside.
"You got morphine? Shit, man… boot him up!"
"Thanks for the expert advice," Needles said, "but I want him to be as awake as possible — too much morphine at this stage could kill him." He reached for a pair of forceps. "Now, shut your yap and give me a sponge."
He infiltrated the area with an anesthetic solution, then clamped the sponge into the forceps and began to clean the wounds.
Aaron was beginning to regain consciousness and he jerked violently after a particularly deep probe.
"Hold him…" Needles said.
Beeks leaned in and put his weight into it. "Bang the son-of-a-bitch, man…"
"Not yet," Needles said, redoubling his efforts. "Just another minute…"
Another deep probe and Aaron screamed. Beeks looked at Needles like he was some sort of sadistic Nazi.
"I know, okay?" Needles said, reaching for the prepared syringe. He injected the morphine directly into a vein on the inside of Aaron's arm and monitored the boy's pulse as he drifted back into semi-consciousness.
– Needles finished with antibiotic ointment and clean, dry-gauze bandages. Then he stepped back and pulled off his gloves, exhausted by the effort.
"Is he gonna live?" Beeks asked doubtfully.
"It's hard to say," Needles replied. "The bullet passed through cleanly and missed his lung — and no bones or large vessels were hit… but he lost a lot of blood. We'll have to see."
Beeks gathered Aaron up in his arms and carried him to the sofa and laid him down. Needles wiped down the operating table with soapy rags and dropped them into a trash bag along with the blood soaked towels. He walked over to where Beeks was sitting on the sofa with the boy. Beeks had covered Aaron with a blanket. Needles tucked it up under the boy's chin.
"Why do you care so much 'bout this boy, anyways?" Beeks asked, genuinely curious.
Needless looked at Beeks, then at Aaron, and thought for a moment. "I'm not quite sure…"
"I knows the feelin'," Beeks said.
"Maybe it's because that's what doctors do," Needles said. "Or maybe it's because in today's world, good people are in short supply."
He checked his watch. 1 p.m. Then he laid his hand on Aaron's head and said, "Sleep well my young friend."
Chapter 41
Morphine Sulphate
The sun was slowly melting in the west, and the huge steel-sided cannery glowed, as if it had been heated to a high temperature. Willy rode up and skidded to a stop out front. He peeked in through the secret entrance and listened for a moment… then ducked inside, pulling his bike in after him.
As he had hoped, his sweatshirt still lay over Aaron's bike seat where he left it. He grabbed it, and as he turned to leave he heard a faint moaning sound that sent a chill through him. He stopped and listened… but as quickly as it had come, it was gone. His best guess was that the sound had come from the break room, so he stepped quietly over to investigate.
He peered into the room, straining to see in the limited light. It appeared to be vacant. But as he turned to go he saw something that made the hair on his arms stand on end. Shoved up against one wall was the familiar old maroon-velvet sofa, but lying prone along its length he saw a shadowy figure. Panic leaped in him, accelerating his heartbeat, and he breathed in deeply, fighting off a strong urge to turn and run.
He took a step closer to the mysterious form and refocused his eyes. To his astonishment he saw that the ominous death figure on the couch was none other than his best friend, Aaron Quinn.
– Willy lit a lantern and set it on the table. Aaron appeared to be asleep, and, in the lamplight, looked even more frightening than he had in the dark. Willy knelt at his side and spoke to him in a low, cautious voice.
"Aaron?" he said. "Aaron, it's me… it's Willy. Are you okay?"
Aaron didn't budge. Willy put his ear to Aaron's lips and detected a wisp of breath. He gently stirred him with his finger. Aaron slowly opened his eyes, and at that moment there was no one on earth he would have rather seen. He reached out his hand to his friend and spoke just above a whisper.
"Willy…"
Willy squeezed Aaron's hand and said, "You're one butt-ugly bugger, you know."
Aaron wanted to laugh, but only smiled. He was in agony. "It hurts bad, Willy."
Willy noticed Aaron's bandaged shoulder peeking out from under the blanket. He eased the blanket down a few inches and the extent of the damage came into view.
"What in bleeding hell happened to you?" he asked.
Embarrassed, Aaron hesitated then replied bluntly, "I got shot."
Willy hesitated. " Shot…?" he cried. "Damn it, Aaron… I saw you escape from that guy. What happened? Did he come after you?"
At last he said, "We were robbing a bank, and I — "
"Wait a second… Did you say you were robbing a bank? "
"Yes," Aaron replied sheepishly.
Willy wanted to scream. " What? "
Aaron fought back tears as his shameful confession poured out. "I joined up with them, Willy. They kidnapped me… a-and I tried to escape… then my mom called… and I joined their gang and made masks… a-and we drank whiskey and robbed Community Plaza Bank in jumpsuits — and they shot me."
This was too much for Willy. He forgot all about Aaron's weakened condition and laid into him. "You stupid sod," he said. "I heard about that robbery… someone died during that!"
Aaron knew this, of course. "I know," he admitted sadly.
"I can't believe this is happening," Willy said looking around. "You've done some barmy-ass shit before, Aaron. But this — this takes the bloody freakin' cake."
He turned and took a few steps away… then returned. "You know what? If you don't die from being shot, I'll kill you myself." He went to the sink for a glass of water. He was totally knackered.
Aaron wanted desperately for Willy to understand and forgive him. "I don't know how I got mixed up in all this," he said. "But it happened, okay?… and I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."
"You should be," Willy said gruffly, his back to Aaron. "Shit…"
Aaron glanced at the clock over the stove. 5:30 p.m. He tried to sit up, but it hurt too much and he flopped back down clenching his teeth.
"I have to go to Sally's Diner tonight," he said, sweating, now.
"Yeah, right," Willy said, uninterested. "You can't even sit up."
Aaron felt himself entering the early stages of panic. He made two fists, struggling to keep his head clear. "I have to do something," he said, "or he'll kill her."
Willy turned and looked at him. "What the bloody hell are you talking about? Kill who?"