by Mark Tufo
“What are you going to do?”
“Something I’ll probably regret in the morning. Oh...so this is the feeling those women get when I take them home for the night.”
“No room in that big conscience of yours for feelings of empathy or pity for the women right now, I suppose. What are you thinking?” Tynes asked.
“I’m thinking I’m going to save his ass.”
Tynes came up next to Mike nearly crowding him out of the area. “That’s fifty yards. Can you make that shot?”
“A lot easier than you can with that thing,” Mike said, pointing to the pistol Tynes had raised up. “Open the window, please.” They both clenched their teeth as the window squealed in protest. At fifty yards, and with the roar of over a dozen motorcycle engines, there was no chance it was going to be heard. It didn’t matter to the duo though; it sounded as loud as the bells of Notre Dame had to Quasimodo.
“Things are getting bad fast,” Mike said as they heard shouting.
“Hold on, I’ll get the scree—”
Mike popped the barrel of the rifle through the mesh. “Sorry man, he’s got a gun on him. Do I shoot before or after he pops the HOA prez? It won’t matter much to gangbangers; a war is a war. But if I shoot before they do, will it mess with me like it did the Japanese psyche for over half a century when they bombed Pearl Harbor before declaring war?”
“Let’s wait to see how this plays out. Maybe they’ll leave.”
“Typical reactionary cop take on the situation. Wait until something bad is done instead of preventing it.” Mike eased back on the trigger and fired. He rocked back slightly as the bullet left the chamber; a swirl of smoke drifted up lazily from the barrel.
“What the fuck, Mike!”
“Relax, I shot his motorcycle. Well shit, and apparently his leg. Must have careened off the bike.”
Dutch had his hands up in the air. The motorcycle gang leader was yelling out something indistinguishable as he wrapped his hands around his wound. The other riders looked around nervously, guns drawn as they scoped for targets.
“Get the fuck out of here or the next one is in your head!” Mike yelled, making sure to be as ambiguous as possible as to whom would be receiving the shot in the head. “And since when did you guys start riding bikes? You’re giving motorcycle clubs a bad name!”
The leader was still screaming, though now it was a string of obscenities.
“Kill them all!” he shouted, looking up. Dutch began to shake his head back and forth vigorously and then started to turn, heading for his home. The gangbanger that had been sitting next to the leader aimed and fired, whistling a round past the fleeing man’s ear. Mike adjusted and did just as he’d threatened, spraying the man’s most inner thoughts, hopes, prayers, and ideas all across the man next to him.
Tynes appeared to be in shock. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that.”
“I know I haven’t.” Mike gulped down some bile. The bikers fired back, but none of them knew exactly where to shoot. Dutch made it back to his home. Mike fired three more shots, this time much lower, not wanting to suffer through viewing, or inflicting, another headshot. Two pinged off motorcycle frames, and the third shattered a kneecap. The driver, the largest of the gang, fell over to the side. The leader, when he realized his bike would not start, pulled the headless man’s body from his bike and sat upon it. He swirled his finger in the air and then turned the bike around, speeding away from the killing fields, leaving two motorcycles, one running and one dead, and two men, one swearing, and one dead.
“Fuck.” Mike was shaking from the encounter. “I’ve never shot anybody.”
“Looks like you’ve busted that cherry. You all right?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Okay, you stay here, I’m going out there. Gotta disarm that asshole before he does something stupid.”
Mike put the rifle down as if it were quite possibly the root of all evil. He noticed Tynes come into his field of vision, pistol drawn, hammer pulled back as he warily approached Mike’s kneecap victim.
“Put the gun down!” Tynes shouted.
“Fuck you!” Busky, as he was known in the gang, shouted back. He could not yet see Tynes from his vantage point, and perhaps thought he would be able to intimidate the other man with his size.
“I’m a cop. Put the gun down.”
“Cop? There ain’t no more cops, man. Even if you were one, you should be arresting the man that started all this shit. We came here just looking for some directions, man. Next thing we know, I got a bullet in my leg, and Jegs got a Kennedy pulled on him. He shot his fucking head off, man. Who does that shit?”
Tynes hoped for Mike’s sake—for all their sakes, really—the line about the directions was the lie it sounded like. “Drop the gun, or you’re going to be joining Jegs over there.”
“That ain’t right, man. I need a doctor. I need a hospital.”
“You know as well as I do, the hospitals aren’t running right now. You put the gun down. I’ll get you some medical help.”
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Busky asked.
“Look where you are. Who do you think lives around here?”
“You ain’t going to shoot me?”
“If we wanted you dead, you already would be. Put it down.”
“Fine, fine, man. I’m doing it.”
Mike watched as Busky made a great show of putting his small handheld shotgun down. Then he watched as the man reached for a small cannon down by his ankle. Tynes could not see the motion from his angle of approach. Mike whipped around and grabbed the rifle, standing as he did so.
“GUN!” Mike shouted, watching the events unfold agonizingly slow. Busky brought his gun up, awaiting the approach of the cop. Tynes was coming into range. Mike attempted to line up a shot. In the end, it was Busky that hesitated. He turned at Mike’s call. Tynes did not, placing two well-aimed rounds into Busky’s chest.
“Nobody shoots Busky,” he breathed, then fell over to the side, blood pooling around his body.
Neighbors began pouring out of their homes, warily at first, making sure that the confrontation was over. Mike rushed out as well.
“You all right?”
“You saved me, man. Thank you,” Tynes said sincerely.
“Not the first time, but you’re welcome.”
“Are you insane?!” Dutch came ranting and raving out of his home. “You could have got me killed.”
“You could have got yourself killed, you dumbass. I saved you!” Mike shouted back.
“Saved me?” The man scoffed. “How does getting me shot at mean I’m saved?”
“You have got to be the dumbest rich man I’ve ever met. Are you alive?”
“He shot at me, you fucking savage!”
“What did you think was going to happen? That your stern talking to was going to set him straight, and that we would have no further troubles with the D Streeters? That perhaps he would see the wisdom in your fatherly words and repent his life of sin? Is that it? That wasn’t some street brat. Do you want to know what was probably going to happen? I’m going to tell you because, apparently, we’re not yet on the same boat, and I don’t think we should go sailing together unless we are. Know what I mean? This is how it was going to go down. See that guy there without the skull?” Mike pointed; Dutch reluctantly looked. “He was going to get off the motorcycle, and he was going to hold that gun to your head and make you escort him and a couple of his friends back to your house, where they were going to see your pretty little wife. My guess is they might have murdered you right away and then had their way with her before killing her as well. But sometimes, well sometimes, they can be pretty sadistic, and they might have made you sit in a chair and just watch as man after man brutally took her. Then they might even have left both of you alive to remember the night. How about that for a kicker? So she’s devastated by a gang rape and then she has the added fury of you impotently watching from the couch, never lifti
ng a finger to help. You become racked with guilt for how big a loser you are by not manning up and risking your life in a valiant attempt to at least try to help your wife. That’s what I fucking saved you from, asshole.”
Tynes arm-barred Mike from getting any closer to Dutch. “He gets it man, he gets it. Look at him.”
Mike paused. Dutch was pale, even considerably more so than his waspish features would allow for. “You’re welcome,” he said, taking one more verbal jab.
“Do you ever know when to quit?”
“What do you think? That’s the kind of shit I knew we’d get from these idiots” Mike said.
“They were D Streeters?” Dutch asked incredulously.
“No, they were the fucking rotary club.”
One did not live in New York and not know about the infamous gang. Most just tended to believe wrongly that if they kept their noses clean, they would have no reason to ever have any contact with them whatsoever. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth, but ignorance has always been a preferred way of life over action. If I pretend it isn’t there, it won’t bother me, seems preferable to sticking one’s neck out in the hopes of fostering some change. So even when the newspapers report a crime purported to have been done by the D Streeters, most assume that drugs are involved. That isn’t always the case. The gang members constantly tried to outdo each other with violent crimes against their fellow man in an absolute show of disrespect to not only authority but the lives of others as well. The only thing that mattered to D Streeters was other D Streeters. They were already as animalistic as a human could be and still walk upright.
“What now?” Debbie Harrington, Tynes’ neighbor from three houses down, asked as nearly the entire neighborhood looked upon the scene. “Can we call someone?”
That was the question of the day. As Americans, they’d been programmed their entire lives that help was merely a phone call away, or that the government would miraculously make everything better when things were at their worst. Consequently, still they waited, though it was clear no help was coming. The first responders had disbanded, the National Guard was guarding its supplies, and the military that had been brought back post haste was protecting the government and her assets. The populace, for the moment, and maybe forever, was on its own, and most had not a clue how to deal with this fact.
“Your phones work?” Mike asked sourly. The aftertaste of the night was beginning to reflux back up into his system.
“Don’t be a dick,” Tynes told him.
“They’re going to come back, you know that, right?” Mike asked. “This was a fact-finding crew. When those guys go back and say they got jumped, they’re going to come back in force. They can’t have anything or anybody make them lose face. It won’t look good for their power grab.”
“And whose fault is that?” Dutch asked.
“I’d say yours for putting me in a situation where I had to shoot. Maybe there was a chance we could have bought our protection from them, but not anymore. Should have let you die, and then maybe that nagging irritation I get behind my eyeballs every time I hear you talking would stop.”
“That true?” Tynes asked as soon as Marlene pulled her husband away.
“Fuck no. We were lost as soon as they turned the corner. They don’t take payoffs; they just take. I’d say we have the remainder of tonight and the daytime tomorrow before they make their show.”
“That’s not much time. Most of these people look like they’re ready to go hide under their beds.”
“Tynes, man, I’m ready to go hide under my bed. Well, I mean your bed.”
“You did what you had to do, and I appreciate that. Now we’ve got to figure out what we need to do from this point forward. I’m thinking maybe we block off the street; have them fight their way through.”
“I have a better idea.” Mike told him his plan.
“That’s better?”
“Sure; in another life, I’m like a colonel of an earth resistance force or some shit.” Mike said wryly.
“You really do just say whatever comes to the top of your head, don’t you?”
Mike smiled at Tynes’ remark.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I-70
Darlene went up the stairs but stopped Tee. “We’re being watched from across the street.”
Tee nodded and went back down the stairs.
When Darlene walked into the apartment, the first thing she noticed was the smell. It stunk of rotting meat and unwashed bodies.
John was standing at the window with his rifle. He glanced at Darlene. “We’re being watched from across the street. At least two people, and they have guns. I’m surprised they haven’t shot at us yet.”
Darlene nodded. “Maybe they’re waiting for backup. We need to leave,” she said.
“Agreed.” John went back to looking out the window. “Herbert is in the bedroom. He has something he wants to show you.”
Darlene walked slowly down the hallway, glancing at the family pictures lining both walls. She assumed these were the Boyette family members, and she sighed. She braced herself for something horrible.
Herbert was standing in the doorway, covering his mouth. At first, Darlene thought it was because of the reek of death, but she could see he’d emptied his stomach at the sight before him.
Darlene had seen a glimpse of the Boyette mother and father with Terri in the middle, smiling at the Grand Canyon in a picture frame in their farmhouse. The disfigured and destroyed woman on the bed wasn’t Terri.
“Who is she?” Darlene whispered.
Herbert shook his head. “I have no idea. It isn’t Terri, though. She didn’t have a roommate, either. There’s nothing disturbed in the apartment. Her jewelry is on the vanity. I don’t know who she is or what happened.”
“We need to go. Someone’s watching us,” Darlene said.
“Tell John and Tee we need to salvage anything we can from the apartment. Dried food, weapons, anything we can carry. I don’t want to think we came to town for nothing,” Herbert said.
Herbert went to the dresser and pulled open a drawer, grimacing. “If I know Joe, he gave Terri a weapon of some kind for protection.”
Darlene couldn’t look. She felt like she was violating a woman that she didn’t even know by going through her personal things. She went back into the living room. John was still in position at the window.
“They’re still there. Watching. Nothing on the street,” John said.
“We need to collect whatever we can and get out of here,” Darlene said.
“There’s some food in the kitchen pantry and a few other things we should take. Once you fill your pockets and a couple of plastic bags, tell Tee to come up and do the same. I’ll go last. I don’t want them to think we are getting ready to go.” John said.
Darlene didn’t want to argue with John, but she thought going one at a time was wasting too much time. She found a handful of plastic grocery bags and opened the pantry. There were plenty of canned goods, and she filled a bag with soup. Terri was apparently a fan. Saltine crackers and three boxes of Pop Tarts were added to the other bag along with two boxes of spaghetti and a bag of white rice. Darlene packed both boxes with a few cans of corn and carrots. Instead of swapping with Tee, she filled two more bags with food and set them on the counter.
Herbert came out holding a .357 and smiling. “I knew Joe would give his little girl a cannon.”
“We need to go,” John said. “I don’t see my voyeur couple anymore.”
Darlene grabbed two of the bags, and Herbert grabbed the other two. John went into the kitchen, but Darlene was already moving down the steps.
Tee motioned for her to stop, leaning close. “I think the pickup truck is idling down near the trailer park. The lights are out, but I heard voices.”
Darlene handed the two bags to Tee and stepped slowly out, hugging the shoe store as she moved, rifle up and ready. She looked across the street, but it was too dark to see if anyone was watching her
. At this point, it didn’t really matter. If she saw anyone, she’d shoot.
Herbert stepped out, and a second later, John, carrying two bags himself, followed.
“We walk slowly across the street and into the alley the way we came,” said Herbert. “If there is any trouble...”
“I’ll deal with it. Just keep moving,” John said.
They began walking across the street, Darlene in the lead, followed by Herbert, then Tee and John lagging a few feet behind. She just wanted to get to the alley without any trouble.
Headlights from down the street turned on, and she knew she’d been dreaming if she thought this was going to be easy.
“Run and do not stop,” John said. “I’ll meet you at the truck. If I’m not back in thirty minutes, you leave. I know where the house is.”
Darlene didn’t argue. She sped up, awkwardly running with two bags of groceries and her rifle. She did her best to sling the weapon over her shoulder and pulled out the Desert Eagle. It would be easier to manage as she moved.
She kept running, across the road and passing the dumpster and onto the next street, keeping an eye out for gunmen and anything that moved. They were alone so far.
Two gunshots rang out in quick succession, and she slowed, but Herbert, right behind her, gasped for everyone to keep moving. Darlene knew the shots had come from at least a block over, which meant someone had fired on John, or he’d taken the fight to them. Either way, right now, they could be in dire trouble.
Herbert was panting so hard they might be able to hear him from a block away. He’d never make it all the way back to the truck.
Darlene grabbed his arm and led Herbert away from the trail and off to a stand of trees, forcing him down behind a thick bush. He tried to speak, but she told Herbert to keep quiet.
Tee slid down near a tree and kept still.
Three men wielding shotguns ran from the alley and right up the trail, not even looking.
If we’d have stayed on the trail, they would be shooting at us right now, Darlene thought.