by G. K. Parks
“There’s one more thing you should know,” the owner said as he reached the emergency exit. “There’s two of them now. A second guy wandered inside. I saw his reflection in the mirror. He went right to the man with the gun. They’re whispering about something.”
“Shit.” I jerked my chin at the door. “Hurry. Go.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. By now, backup should be close. As soon as the liquor store owner called 9-1-1, this location would become a priority. I just had to hold out until then. It’d be okay. Everything would be okay. I took a deep breath and gripped my gun. These bastards wouldn’t harm anyone else. Not if I could help it.
A part of me thought about going out the front and waiting it out, but the moment the alarm sounded, I knew that was no longer an option. The emergency exit triggered an alarm, causing the regular lights to dim and the emergency flashing lights to turn on, along with the shrieking alarm claxons.
“Police. Freeze.” I blinked against the flashing lights. Footsteps sounded against the tile floor, and a glass bottle shattered to my right. I aimed at the sound and reached for the LED flashlight hanging from my keychain. I clicked it on. “Throw down your weapons and come out with your hands up. If you surrender, you will not be harmed.”
I edged to the side, keeping my back against the shelf as I approached the middle aisle. At first, I didn’t see anything, but with the flashing lights it was hard to see. And then I heard whispers from across the room and to my left.
I moved toward the voices, surprised when the emergency lights suddenly shut off and the room was plunged into darkness. The only illumination came from the lights inside the glass refrigerated cases and a single neon sign hanging above one of the coolers. The shrill squeal of rubber soles against the tile floor alerted me to movement, and I swiveled toward it, catching a glimpse of a man in the beam of my flashlight.
He stood near the register, one hand on the control panel behind the counter. A moment later, the shrieking, repetitive warning beep stopped.
“Let me see your hands,” I said, keeping one eye on him while I scanned the rest of the store for signs of his accomplice. He spun around to face me, a plastic Halloween mask covering his face. “I said put your hands up.” He had dark hair too, just like the man who fired on me earlier.
“Is there a problem, officer?” the offender asked, his voice gravelly. “Shouldn’t you be in uniform?”
“I’m not on duty.”
He snickered. “I knew this place had a mess of first responders who liked to drop by.” He turned his left wrist so he could see the time. “Aren’t you a bit early? Shift’s not over for another couple of hours. Was it a slow night?” He moved sideways, away from the register, and backed against the nearest shelf. “Do you want to come over here and frisk me?”
This felt like a trap. “Where’s your friend?”
The guy laughed again. “You’re all alike. Afraid. Pathetic.” His words dripped disgust. “What the hell makes you think you’re any better than anyone else?”
“Stop moving,” I ordered.
“Make me.” He grabbed one of the large bottles from behind him and held it in the air, as if he intended to throw it at me.
But I didn’t move toward him. Instead, I took a step closer to the front door. They wouldn’t get out this way, but now I had to worry about his accomplice escaping out the back. Where was my backup?
“No,” he taunted, taking a step closer, “you won’t make me. You’re scared. You’re alone and frightened. That’s always when they attack. When no one else is around to see it or step in. When no one else can come to help. It’s pathetic,” he screamed, spittle flying from the opening in the plastic mask. “You coward.”
“Sir, drop the bottle.”
“Oh, this?” He looked at it as if he had no idea how it’d gotten into his hand. “Well, okay.” It shattered on the floor.
“Who are they?” I asked, edging just slightly closer.
Before he could answer, another bottle shattered two aisles away. I kept my gun aimed at the first suspect but pointed my flashlight toward where the sound originated. Just as I did that, the bastard near the register knocked over a display, causing numerous bottles to crash to the floor. Glass and liquor shot out in all directions.
I turned to face him, pointing my gun in his face. “Hands on your head. Get on your knees. I won’t ask twice.”
He put his hands on his head and slowly knelt down, wincing as he did so. “Y’know, I got a bad knee.”
“Interlock your fingers,” I ordered, afraid to turn my back on him and even more afraid not to turn around to search for his friend. As soon as his fingers were laced together, I moved toward him, letting my flashlight dangle while I reached for my cuffs.
He wasn’t armed, but the shop owner said the man had a gun. Was this his friend? It didn’t make sense, but I’d get that sorted later. Right now, every instinct told me I was in trouble.
I just tightened the first bracelet and maneuvered his other arm around and clicked it in place when something knocked into me. My gun and flashlight slid across the floor, thrusting me into darkness.
Twenty-five
I dragged myself off the floor, blindly feeling for my weapon. I spotted the small cone of light rolling back and forth from my flashlight, but I couldn’t get to it. Not with these bastards so close. I just had to hope if I couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see me.
“What’s a matter, baby? Scared of the dark?” the one with the gravelly voice taunted.
“Stay where you are,” I commanded.
His laugh was joined by that of another man. I felt behind me, finding a solid shelf. At least that would provide some protection and limit the direction of their attacks. The rattle of the handcuffs sounded at my ten o’clock. He was close. Too close.
“Don’t move. On your knees.” I kept my head on a swivel, glimpsing dim shadows cast by the neon sign near the coolers. I could make out the form of a man, but I couldn’t be certain if he was getting closer. I needed a weapon, specifically my gun. Both of the men were taller and bigger than I was. They’d taken out security guards. I wasn’t sure I’d stand a chance in a fair fight. And they sure as hell didn’t fight fair. I tried to move silently toward the exit, and that’s when I spotted his accomplice. They had boxed me in. They didn’t come here to score. They came here to kill more people in uniform.
I resisted the urge to speak. I wasn’t sure they could see me. I knew it was a trap. Why did I walk right into it?
“You realize you never asked us what we wanted,” the gravelly voice said. “Tell me, baby, you’re the same bitch from this morning, aren’t you?”
I grabbed a bottle of wine off the shelf and held it by the neck while I desperately searched for my gun.
The gravelly voice chuckled. “I guess that means you already know what I want. Why don’t you come over here and give it to me?”
A piece of glass crunched beneath my foot. I froze, but it was too late.
“Diego,” the gravelly voice warned.
The accomplice darted forward, attempting to grab me. I swung the bottle, smashing it against his temple. I felt the jarring impact run up my arm and through my shoulder. The bottle broke due to the force and cut my palm. Diego didn’t make a sound as he collapsed to the ground.
But before I even felt relief at having taken down one offender, the other one grabbed me from behind. His strong, thick arms encompassed my body and forced my arms down at my sides. For the briefest second, I thought I smelled menthol mixed in with the pungent smell of wine and spirits. How’d he get out of the cuffs?
“You’re going to pay for that. I’m going to make it hurt the same way they hurt me. You’re going to beg to die before I kill you. And then I’m going to laugh when I put a bullet through your brain.” He knocked me sideways into one of the racks, knocking more bottles to the ground in the process.
I struggled and kicked, trying to get free. Lifting my legs, I threw off hi
s center of gravity. He teetered to the side, and I thought about the way he winced when he knelt on the ground. He hadn’t lied about an injured knee.
He tried to compensate for the sudden shift, and I drove the ball of my foot into his left kneecap. He howled, losing his hold on me and stumbling backward.
Spotting my gun, I dove for it, but he saw it first and knocked it out of the way. It slid beneath a shelf and disappeared into the darkness.
“You’re gonna pay for that, bitch.” He grabbed my leg and pulled my foot out from beneath me.
He was strong. I kicked him in the stomach or maybe his chest. I couldn’t tell, but he held tighter, dragging me across the floor toward him. Shards of glass cut into my exposed skin, and my clothes became soaked with tequila and rum.
He pinned me beneath him, hitting me hard with his elbow before switching to his fists. He tightened one hand around my throat and squeezed. I pushed against his chin, trying to get away from him. I shoved his mask up a couple of inches, exposing a grizzled chin and a small scar, but that had no effect on the stranglehold he had on me. So I went for his throat. I hit him hard, and he reared back, making a wheezing sound. He coughed a few times, and I used that opportunity to slip out from beneath him.
I’d just gotten to my feet when he eked out, “Grab her.”
Someone rammed into me from the side, knocking me into a shelf. Before I had time to recover, he launched his full weight at me. In the dark, all I could see were his hands spread out in front of him like Superman mid-flight, and then we crashed through the glass door of one of the coolers. Large shards crashed to the floor around me, and the sudden cold was a shock to my system, even as warmth ran down my face and neck.
My legs gave out, and I slid to the floor, one arm and shoulder wedged inside the refrigerator. My vision swam. Dark bubbles crowded out the tiny bits of light. I tried to push away from the door, getting snagged and caught. The tiny lightbulbs inside allowed me to see. Blood dripped from a few of the cans and pooled at the bottom. He must have been cut.
I tried to climb out of the broken door, my shoes sliding on the wet floor as pieces of glass scraped against the tile like pebbles on asphalt. Then two hands yanked me out of the cooler, and the world flipped upside down. I was barely aware of the laughter or the pressure easing from around my shoulder as they threw me to the ground. The pain came in waves as something warm and sticky spread down my back.
“What should we do with her?” one of the voices asked.
“I know what I came here to do,” Gravelly Voice said. “But she’s too much of a mess. It’s time you prove yourself. Finish this.”
“Look at her, man. She’s done. Let’s just go,” the first voice insisted.
“Shut up.” Gravelly Voice stomped toward me. “You said you’d do it. You already fucked up more times than I care to count. Now fuck her up.”
My gun, where was it? I needed to find it. Pulling myself to my hands and knees, I barely made it a few inches toward the shelf before I fell back to the ground, dizzy and in agony. I couldn’t breathe. My chest burned, and I struggled to suck in air. One of the men kicked me in the side, hard enough to flip me over, and I gasped, unable to scream.
Gravelly Voice crouched down over me as my chest heaved, and a gurgling sound came from deep within my throat. But I could barely hear it over my pounding heart. I tried not to panic, but I saw it in his eyes. He was going to kill me. He reached for the belt loops on my pants and tugged me a few inches closer. He yanked my badge free and scoffed at it. Then he forced my head to the side. “Beg,” he whispered.
The smell of the broken liquor bottles nauseated me and burned my eyes. I gasped again, forcing the impeding darkness to momentarily dissipate. And that’s when I spotted my gun. I stretched out, reaching for it beneath the shelf.
“We don’t have time for that,” the other one hissed. “Don’t you hear the sirens? The police are coming.”
“Again with the fucking sirens? What did I tell you about smoking that shit?” This time, a third voice joined the mix.
“You all right, Diego?” Gravelly Voice asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“Then keep watch. The police will be here soon.”
That’s when I realized there were three of them. We had no way of knowing before. Now it made sense. The third uniform. The way they split up. Two with dark hair, one with light. I had to tell Brad. He needed to know.
Two of them crouched over me, but with the masks I couldn’t tell them apart. One of them grabbed my chin and forced me to look at him. “How long?” he asked. I caught a glimpse of him in the dim lights. Dark hair beneath the Halloween mask, but he didn’t have the gravelly voice. The one with the gravelly voice was in charge. This must be Diego. A welt the size of a plum stuck out from his temple where I hit him with the bottle. “How long for patrol to arrive?”
“Fuck you,” I spat.
“Don’t be stupid,” Diego warned.
“Let’s speed this up.” Gravelly Voice forced a gun into the palm of the third man. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought he might have been the blond. “Kill her or I’ll kill you.” Gravelly Voice stepped back and aimed at the back of his accomplice’s head.
“Yeah, okay.” The blond stared at me for a long time. I found his gaze disconcerting and vaguely familiar. He checked to make sure the weapon was loaded, flipped the safety, and aimed at me.
I stretched my arm farther beneath the shelf. Pain radiated down the side of my neck, across my collarbones, and along the muscles in my arm, but I had to get my gun. My breath came in frantic, short gasps. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t control my breathing.
He pressed the barrel against my temple, and I closed my eyes, unable to move or talk. My entire body had practically shut down since I’d gone through the cooler door, but I couldn’t figure out why.
“Wait.” Gravelly Voice crouched down. “I want to leave a message first.” He towered over me. “Don’t worry, bitch. Your friends are gonna join you soon enough. You won’t burn in hell alone.”
He ran his fingers against the side of my neck. I screamed, feeling as if he’d stabbed me with ice or burned me with a poker. Expelling that much air nearly knocked me out. I was drowning in the black bubbles. As a last ditch effort, I clawed more frantically beneath the shelving for my gun and managed to hook my middle finger inside the trigger guard.
I pulled it closer, finding it difficult to get my shoulder unwedged from beneath the shelf to draw on them.
Gravelly Voice stood up. “That’s done. Now, blow her brains—”
“The cops are here. I see lights,” Diego said. I couldn’t see him, but his voice came from near the front door.
“Shoot her now,” Gravelly Voice retreated, leaving the blond behind.
I stared up at him, my shallow gasps almost sounded like choked laughter, taunting him. But I couldn’t help it. No matter how much I gasped, I couldn’t get enough oxygen. “Please,” I managed.
He stared at me. “I’m sorry.”
I freed the gun from beneath the shelf and fired. I didn’t even have the strength to aim, but the gunshot scared him. He bolted from beside me and ran for the front door.
I stared up at the ceiling, unable to see anything. Even the neon sign on the wall was nothing but a hazy blur. Everything dimmed. I felt cold, except for the burning in my neck. I sputtered, gagging now.
Two officers burst through the front door with guns at the ready and their flashlights aimed. I couldn’t call to them, but they found me.
“Shit. It’s DeMarco.” One of them knelt down beside me. “Liv, hey, come on now. You have to hang on.” Officer Roberts keyed his radio. “Officer down. I need an ambulance rolled to this location. Hurry.” He rolled me onto my side, so I wouldn’t choke. “Clear the building, Ainsley.”
“Yes, sir.” The other officer headed toward the back.
“Olive, don’t you fucking die on me. I don’t need that kind of shit raining down on my care
er.” He took out a knife and sliced a strip off the bottom of my shirt, then he ripped it across and rolled it up. He pressed it against the side of my neck, tore off a second strip, and put it against the back of my neck.
“Clear,” Officer Ainsley said.
“Good, get down here and help me,” Roberts said. “See what you can find to hold this in place, and whatever you do, don’t remove the glass. She’ll bleed out if you do.”
“She’s going to bleed out anyway.”
“Bite your tongue. This is Vince DeMarco’s kid.” Roberts kept his hand against my neck. “You hang on, Olive. You hear me?”
Twenty-six
“Shit.” Carter couldn’t stop shaking. “Shit.” He yanked the mask off his face, sucking in deep breaths. “Pull over.”
Diego glanced at him from the rearview mirror. “Not yet. We’re still too close.”
“Oh god.” Carter clutched his stomach and hurled.
“Son of a bitch.” The third man turned around, waited for Carter to wipe his mouth, and slapped him across the face. Carter’s cheek stung, and his eyes watered. “It’s done.” The third man stared at him. “Pull yourself together. She’s dead, right?”
“Ye-yeah,” Carter said.
The third man held out his hand. “Give me the gun before you blow your brains out.”
Carter fumbled with it, accidentally ejecting the magazine. It dropped into the pool of sick, and he scooped it up, thumbing out one of the bullets before offering it to the third man. The third man reached back, wiped the magazine on Carter’s shirt, and shoved it back into the gun.
“I wish I could have seen it,” the third man said. “What was it like?” He grinned, the tip of his tongue snaking out to moisten his lips. “Did you feel that rush? The thrill? There’s nothing like it.”