by Fox, Harley
It feels like I’ve just left a prison. But before I can truly celebrate I’ve got to go home and get ready.
I’ve got to put my Bullets gear on one last time.
Flynn
I’m sitting at the couches with my friends around me. My real friends. The people who are on my side and who will be with me no matter what, who won’t lie to me, who won’t ever leave me. These people are my real family. These people are the ones I can trust.
So then why do I feel so alone?
With every beer I drink all I can think about is Trista. Every time the door to the bar opens I spin my head, trying to see if it’s Trista. The drunker I get the less important what she did to me seems.
Sure, she lied about being a cop and being from Pasadena—but we’ve all lied to people in our lives. Sure, she was going to arrest everybody—but she warned me, and confessed her entire plan, and said she wasn’t going to do it. And sure she hurt me by lying—but she wanted to make it up to me. She wanted to run away with me. Just the two of us. Together.
I take another long drink of beer. There’s soft music playing throughout the bar. Usually we can’t hear it, but today hardly anybody is talking. Everybody’s thinking about what they have to do tonight. And I’m thinking about Trista.
I might leave the Bullets. Just leave. These people are my family, yes, but that doesn’t mean they’re a family that I want to be with forever. And the plan for tonight? I want no part of that. Will is taking this too far. I’m not going to help him murder a bunch of innocent people. I’d rather just leave. Just pack my things and go.
Because what else is in this town for me? I’ve fallen in love twice, and twice I’ve had my heart ripped out of my chest. There are too many painful memories for me here. Too many places where I see either of their faces. And now that I’m without either of them, what else is there for me? A life of this? Getting drunk in this bar every night, helping sell drugs and murder people during the day?
No. That’s not the life for me. I don’t know what my life is supposed to be like, but I know it’s not that.
I hear the door to the bar open and my drunken instincts make my head swing over. I see a woman walk in—red hair, medium build, leather jacket and jeans. She looks just like Trista. She starts walking in our direction and I’m just starting to turn away when I hear Chloe yell out:
“Trista!”
The rest of the Bullets all bubble up with excitement, but I turn my slow and stupid head again to see her approach us. She stops in front of me, cocks her fist back, and punches me right in the face.
“Augh!” I cry out, dropping my beer and hearing it smash onto the floor. “What the fuck?”
“Flynn, you drunken fuck,” she says to me. “Get up.”
Something kindles inside of me. Her tone. Her words. How dare she?
“What did you say to me?” I ask, feeling angry. I stand up and she takes a few steps back. I take a few steps toward her in return.
“Look at you,” she says. “Drunk and stupid, in the middle of the day.”
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I growl at her, my face throbbing. “How dare you show your face around this place! After you told me you’re a—”
She punches me again, on the other side of my face.
“Come on!” she yells. “Fight me!”
I look at her, the effects of the beer lesser now. My head is clearer. The other Bullets behind us, in their drunken states, have started cat-calling at us.
“I’m not going to fight you,” I snarl, and Trista responds by punching me in the ribs. She’s got a hell of an arm on her. She’s about to go for my other side but I deflect it, grabbing her arm instead. Her eyes go wide for a moment, but then she smiles.
“That’s it,” she says. “Sober up. Get your head in the game.”
“I’m sober,” I say to her. “Now tell me what the fuck you’re doing here.”
“I have a plan,” she says in a lower voice. “But I need your help.”
More anger flares up in me.
“You need my help?” I ask. “You’re the one who fucking broke my heart! You betrayed me! You’re a—”
Quick as anything Trista grapples onto me, grabbing me underneath the arm and sweeping her leg behind mine. I’m caught off balance and I land hard on the floor on my back. She straddles me and punches me again in the face.
“AUGH!” I yell amid the noise of the other Bullets, and I struggle to grab at her wrists. Finally I get them but then Trista drops her head down … and kisses me.
It feels like everything else stops. The noise, my emotions, my brain. All of it fades away as Trista’s lips are pressing against mine.
She breaks the kiss and I open my eyes, not having realized I’d closed them, to see her looking down at me. The noise of the bar all comes back and my head clears. I try pushing Trista off but she won’t go.
“Get off me!” I yell, and she breaks my hold on one of her hands. With it she grabs my shoulder and rolls us over on the ground. Her legs are wrapped around mine, like vines. We roll over once completely, until we’re farther away from the Bullets, with her on top yet again.
“Shut up,” she says in a low voice, dropping her head close to mine. “I need you, Flynn. I need you to help me.”
The sight of her, the smell of her, the feeling of her against my body. I can feel myself getting hard in my pants and I can tell Trista feels it too because she glances down for a second before looking back in my eyes.
“Get off of me.” I struggle.
“Flynn, listen to me,” she says in a low voice. “I quit. I quit the force.”
I stop struggling.
“What?”
“And I have a plan. But I need your help for it. Just listen to me, okay?”
I’m still angry at Trista, still angry at her for hurting me the way that she did. But my cock reminds me that I still miss her. And when I look over at the other Bullets, who have all quieted down a bit now that Trista’s not punching me, I somehow feel a distance from them. I look back up at Trista.
“Fine,” I say to her. “But let’s go somewhere private first.”
Trista smiles, a glimmer of a smile, and nods before getting up off of me. I clamber up to my feet, rubbing at my face where Trista punched me.
“Aww, is the fight over?” Kendal yells to us across the bar.
“Yep, show’s over!” I call back. “We’re going for a walk. I’ll be back soon.”
They all slide back down into their seats and go back to drinking. Trista and I leave the bar and I have to squint hard against the blinding sunlight. Soon my eyes adjust and I join Trista as we start to walk down the sidewalk, away from the bar.
“So what’re you doing here?” I ask her. “And what do you mean, you quit?”
“I quit,” she repeats. “I’m done at the police force. Flynn, this has been such a crazy day so far. First off, I was up all night, thinking about what happened between us.”
“So was I,” I admit to her. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither,” she says. “And I’m sorry again for what I did. Nothing I do will be able to … well anyway, you’ve heard all that before. So I go into work and the captain isn’t there. And then, I see her on the news … with Will Silver.”
“What?”
“She and the Deputy Captain and Will Silver, they were all on the news because, get this: Will Silver’s pairing up with the department to head some drug task force. They said something about using their facilities to break down other drugs into their components and catch the suppliers.”
“Jesus,” I say. “That would let them take out the competition.”
“And leave themselves in the running. But it means the head of police is in on it. If I’d stayed there … the entire force will become completely corrupt in no time.”
“So that’s why you quit?”
“Well, to be honest, I thought I was going to have to just skip town and run away. I was debating asking for
a transfer, but if they know where I am they can still get to me.”
“Right.”
“But then, here’s the second part of the news: somebody came into the station today. Jeannette Willow, who is the mother of Nathan Willow.”
It takes me a moment, but then I realize who she’s talking about.
“The woman that Will told us to take out?”
“Yeah! And the reason she came in … is because Craig Silver raped her a year ago and now Nathan is Craig’s illegitimate son.”
“Jesus,” I say again.
“That’s right. But it means there’s a hope for something to change. If both Will and Craig Silver go away, then Nathan—or, rather, Jeannette—could take control of the company, and then we can put a stop to this.”
“But how are we going to do that?”
“Well, I have a plan for that,” Trista says, and then she proceeds to tell it to me. And as she tells it to me I’m shocked. Disgusted, even. She finishes and we’ve stopped walking, the bar still in our sights down the street.
“Are you serious?” I ask her. “That will never work.”
“It’ll work,” she says. “We just have to do it with conviction.”
“But … Maddox,” I begin, but Trista cuts me off.
“I know. But he’s the only one, I swear. We just need to show everybody that we mean business. And they’ll understand. They might not agree with it, but they’ll understand.”
I’m still unsure. I shift my weight from one foot to another.
“Trista, I’m not going to lie to you: this is the opposite of what I want. I want to leave Santa Espera. And I want you to come with me.”
Trista steps up to me and wraps her arms around me, leaning up and giving me a kiss.
“I know,” she says. “This isn’t what I want either. But if we leave together then we’re walking away when we could be doing something. This isn’t about us anymore. It’s about this city. And we’re the only ones who can do something about it.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. And yet that won’t make this any easier.
“Okay,” I say to her. “I’m in.”
Trista smiles up at me, and then doesn’t kiss me this time but gives me a hug. I hug her back. I feel bad for what’s about to happen, but she’s right: it’s got to be done.
“Let’s go back in,” I say as we let go of each other. “I’m sure they’re wondering about us.”
So Trista and I walk back to Point Blank and go in through the front door, banging it open. I put an angry look on my face as I walk up to the couches, Trista right behind me.
“Hey guys,” Matthias says. “What happened? Why were you fighting?”
“Where’s Maddox?” Trista asks, stepping up beside me. “We need to talk to him.”
“Maddox?” Jackie says. “Probably the warehouse?”
“Hey, is everything okay between you two?” Chloe asks. “Flynn said you guys broke up.”
“We’re fine,” I tell her. “But we have something we need to do. And we need you to come see what it is.”
“Come to the warehouse with us, now,” Trista tells them. “Otherwise you’re going to regret it.”
Nice touch, I think. The Bullets all look at each other.
“We’re drunk,” Tyrone points out.
“I don’t give a fuck,” I spit back. “Come with us. Now.”
I turn around and so does Trista as we head back for the front door. I hear, behind me, the sounds of the Bullets getting up off the couches and following us. Those poor fools, I think. But they need to see this.
We leave the bar, the others shortly behind us. Climbing onto our motorcycles I watch as the others struggle to stay on. If I hadn’t known them all so well—and known how much practice they have riding drunk—I’d be worried for their safety. Soon enough all the engines have started.
“Follow us!” I shout to them as Trista and I roll out of the parking lot and onto the street, heading toward the warehouse. I go over the plan in my brain, over and over, thinking about every contingency. This could go horribly wrong. But if it goes right it could mean saving Santa Espera. And it could mean spending the rest of my life with Trista.
Too soon we arrive at the warehouse, luckily with all the other Bullets still in tow. Trista and I park our bikes and the others do the same, getting off of them.
“Flynn, what’s going on?” Kendal asks.
“Inside!” Trista shouts in response, and she and I lead the way. We all walk through the front door of the warehouse, into the relative darkness of the inside. As my eyes adjust to the dark I see Maddox in his office. He turns his head to see who it is, then gets up and walks out.
“Hey, guys!” Maddox says. “Flynn, Trista, you weren’t there for the thrashing. It went pretty well. Did the others fill you in on what’s next?”
I make it happen so quickly that I don’t even have time to think.
I pull out my gun, cock it, and shoot Maddox in the stomach. The bang of the bullet leaving the muzzle echoes and reverberates off all the walls, and I hear the drunkenly surprised yells of everyone behind me.
Maddox yells out in pain as he grabs his stomach, falling to the floor. I hear Trista pull out her gun and spin around, pointing it at the others.
“Nobody fucking draw!” she shouts out, with great conviction I might add. “If I see anybody pull a gun out they’re getting one right between the eyes!”
I walk over to a moaning and writhing Maddox. His blood is already pooling around him on the concrete ground. When I reach him I squat down, bringing our faces so close together. I can see how scared and hurt he is … almost exactly how I feel.
“I’m sorry, man,” I whisper to him as he looks up into my eyes. “You didn’t deserve this. But things have to be changed, and you’re the one thing standing in our way.”
I stand back up and turn to look at the crowd of terrified Bullets. They don’t look drunk anymore.
“This piece of shit,” I shout to them, “is getting in the way of Bullets’ progress. He’s old. He’s losing his touch.” My emotions almost betray me for a moment as I feel myself starting to choke up, but I push through it and just yell louder. “He got no respect from Will Silver, and he didn’t have the balls to step in and get things done right. But I will. I’m going to do everything that Maddox couldn’t do. I’m going to lead us into the future.”
I look back down at Maddox to see him staring up at me, holding the bullet wound in his stomach. Without saying anything I aim the gun up to the spot between his eyes and pull the trigger.
The bang is deafening, followed immediately by the slack sound of Maddox’s body collapsing on the ground.
I swallow my sadness as I look out at the other Bullets. Trista’s still got her gun trained on them.
“I’m the leader now,” I announce to them. “Anybody got any fucking questions, they can send them to me.”
Nobody says anything. Good.
“Now clean up this fucking body,” I say, turning away from them and walking to what was formerly Maddox’s office. As my footsteps land on the concrete I hear others come forward, followed by the sound of something being dragged. I don’t turn to watch. I shouldn’t, and even then I don’t know if I can. I reach the office door and go inside, closing it behind me.
Epilogue
I open my eyes and blink a few times, staring up at the ceiling of my apartment. Beside me, Trista shifts in her sleep as she drapes her arm over my chest. Her body is warm next to mine, and she’s naked as the day she was born.
Four days. That’s how long it’s been since I killed Maddox. That’s how long it’s been since I looked him in the eyes and pulled the trigger. Bent down and said I was sorry. Stood back up and finished the job.
I’ve thought about that moment countless times since it happened. It’s visited me in my dreams, and whenever I don’t have something else to distract my mind. Things between me and the other Bullets haven’t been … perfect since it happe
ned, either. And I don’t blame them for being mad at me. But they don’t know the whole story. They don’t know the whole plan.
I bend my head down and give Trista a kiss on the top of her head. She stirs, moaning softly against my chest. I feel her fingers moving, and a moment later she lifts her head and looks up, smiling into my eyes.
“Mm, morning,” she says in a sleepy voice.
“Morning,” I say back. Trista stretches, flexing her muscles. She shuffles herself up and gives me a kiss. A long one. I kiss her back, my one arm cradling her from underneath. Trista moans as our tongues intertwine, that combination of morning breath being shared by both of us. One of her hands begins sliding up and down my stomach and she reaches down, between my legs, to find me … soft.
She hesitates a moment, but soon starts up again, her fingers fondling me, pulling, trying to bring me back to life.
But it’s no use. I reach down and find her hand, taking it in mine and bringing it back up to our chests. She breaks off the kiss, looking at me with sympathy in her eyes.
“Still no?” she asks, and I swallow, shaking my head. She breathes out a sigh, something I know she thinks is neutral but I know is disappointment, and lays her head back down on my chest. “It’s okay,” she says, as though consoling me. “We should get up anyway.”
“Yeah,” I say to her, and we lie together for a few more seconds, our bodies missing each other, missing the way we used to have one another. And then Trista lifts herself up off of me and I get up too, the two of us finding our clothes and slipping them on.
I’m dressed before she is—boxers, socks, jeans, red T-shirt—so I go to the kitchen to start making breakfast. I pull the eggs out of the fridge and start cracking some of them into a bowl. Trista comes in shortly and takes the bread out of the cupboard, pulling out two slices and popping them in the toaster. Then she puts on some coffee as I scramble the eggs.
“Did you sleep well?” she asks me.
“Yeah, I did,” I lie, putting a pan on the stove and turning on the heat. “How about you?”
“Not bad,” she says. “I was dreaming about us up on the roof. Do you remember that? When you took me up there?”