But Nobody Wants To Die

by David M George

  The car’s glass windows shattered as three rounds fired in quick succession tore through them. Luckily, he was over fifty yards away, outside a pistols effective range, but that was still way too close for comfort.

  I knew now was not the time to think I should have used more duct tape, or I should have shot him when I had the chance. Now was the time to think about what I needed to do with the skills I had. I’d qualified expert with both a .45 caliber pistol and a Glock M-9 when Dad was with LVPD years ago, and some things you never forget.

  But maybe right now the best idea was to be somewhere other than where he expected me to be. I kept low and quickly traded the trunk of the red Toyota with the blown out windows for the front end of a silver Ford, three cars down.

  Scuttling like a crab across the asphalt reminded me of that night in the desert, trying to escape from Mikey after he kicked me in the ribs. Crouching behind the Ford’s front tire, I thought, I’m tired of running and hiding from you people; let’s end this once and for all.

  I tore off the blonde wig and fumbled with the buttons of the yellow housekeeping blouse. I had a grey t-shirt on underneath. I wanted to change my appearance. If Alphonso was expecting someone with blonde hair and a yellow blouse maybe it would give me the extra fraction of a second I needed.

  Ready? No, not yet. Was I scared? Hell yes, my heart pounding in my chest, but I could feel the adrenaline surging through my veins too.

  I remembered the Marine Corps acronym Dad taught me, BRASS. The first letter of BRASS, and now the most important, ‘B’ stood for BREATHE, as I was worried that I was breathing so hard that it would affect my aim. On to the second letter, ‘R’ for RELAX, I told myself to calm down and forcibly exhaled, expelling as much air as I could from my lungs. Ding, ding, ding, I told myself, when the bell rings, be the Hurricane. Wreak havoc. Are you ready now? Yeah, I thought, now I’m ready.

  I pivoted up from my crouch behind the tire, bracing my forearms over the hood of the car, trying to stay low and assumed what I hoped was an acceptable firing position. AIM, I found Alphonso’s blue shirt in the front sight, as he slowly walked towards me, much closer now, his pistol pointed towards where I had been just seconds ago.

  I aimed for center mass, seeing only the blue shirt and taking up the SLACK on the trigger, and then SQUEEZE, don’t jerk, as Alphonso saw me, hesitated and finally started to turn, too late, his arm moving towards me.

  BLAM, BLAM, BLAM, and then there was nothing but noise, my ears ringing, and Alphonso was down. I kept my pistol aimed at where he was standing, but he was no longer there. He was sprawled on his back, his blue shirt now red with blood, the pistol by his side.

  The Sig Sauer wasn’t the M1911A1, .45 caliber pistol, it was better, and I was grateful to Carlos that I had it. I kept the pistol trained on him, just like you would keep it trained on a venomous snake, watching for the slightest movement. I was more than ready to empty the magazine if he so much as twitched. When I was convinced he was no longer a threat, I lowered the pistol. I turned and picked up the blonde wig and the blouse and walked back towards where I last saw Jamie. I found her still hiding behind a car.

  “Are you okay?” I said.

  She nodded, “What about you, are you okay?” she said.

  “I feel like a million bucks,” I said, exhilarated that I was still alive, the adrenaline still pumping, “But we need find Mikey and Melinda and get out of here before the cops show up.”

  I looked back at Alphonso. He still hadn’t moved. Was he dead? I didn’t know, but I hoped he was. I never wanted him to try to hurt me or the people I loved ever again.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

  JIAN COUNTERMANDS AN ORDER

  T hey were about forty meters behind Alphonso, following him at a distance, when he opened fire. They both instinctively took cover. While lying face down in the parking lot, Jian ran the possibilities through his head, deciding that whichever way this ended, there was no way they could obey General Chen’s orders. If Alphonso killed Katrina, then they wouldn’t have to do it. If Katrina killed Alphonso, whatever deal the General had with Alphonso would be out the window. Even if neither one got killed, just the report of shots fired in the parking lot of the Global Hotel and Casino would bring the police as well as hordes of curiosity seekers and there would be no way they could abduct Katrina without being seen.

  “Lieutenant Shen,” Jian said, “I believe that it is no longer possible for you to carry out your orders regarding Katrina without jeopardizing our mission. I am hereby issuing a new order, I am ordering you to take no action whatsoever, do you understand?”

  “But sir,” said Shen, “what about the General?” Jian became upset that Shen was too stupid to be grateful for the reprieve. Jian had hoped that even an idiot like Rat Face would know that the price of marrying the General’s daughter was much too high. As they slowly got to their feet Jian looked him directly in the eye, “The General is not here to assess the situation, which has changed. I am in command and I’m giving you a direct order to stand down. Do you understand Lieutenant?”

  “Yes sir,” Shen said, reluctantly

  They spotted Alphonso in the distance, further away than before, holding his pistol at the ready. No sooner had they started walking towards him when three more shots rang out, and they hit the deck once again.

  When no more shots followed, they got up once again and resumed their hunt for Alphonso. They soon found him on his back in a pool of dark blood with two holes in his chest and one in his stomach, the Beretta by his side.

  “See if you can find a pulse Lieutenant,” Jian said.

  Lieutenant Shen knelt down, searching for a pulse. Shen looked almost as pale as Alphonso. Jian thought that the lieutenant hadn’t been in the Army long enough to have even seen a dead body. Shen shook his head, “I can’t find a pulse sir, is he dead?” he said, looking at Jian for confirmation.

  Jian shook his head, “no, not yet, but soon” he said, “call 911 Lieutenant and request an ambulance. By the time it gets here he will be.”

  “Yes sir,” said Shen as he reached for his phone.

  Jian turned and saw that Katrina was staring at him across the expanse of asphalt. Their eyes locked. Jian slowly shook his head from side to side. He saw her motion to her friend, and then they both turned and walked away. In the distance Jian could hear the wail of sirens. He watched as their retreating figures got smaller in the night and when Jian turned around to ask Shen about the ambulance, Shen was gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

  SHEN

  S hen snuck away quietly, staying low, allowing the cars to conceal him as he mentally configured a plot point where his path would cross Katrina’s. Shen was so close now, too close to let the Captain’s reluctance to take a chance derail his plans. He was sure that the General would be impressed with his initiative and his ability to carry out his orders despite everything that had gone wrong. And besides, a General’s favor is always worth more than a Captain’s displeasure. And marrying the General’s daughter would take him a long way from the slums of Wuhan, slums he vowed to never see again. He made his way quickly through the maze of cars, stopping only occasionally to listen for footsteps, either those of Jian in pursuit or Katrina’s in flight.

  He didn’t hear footsteps, but finally he heard voices, female voices. He was hoping it was Katrina and her friend. He snuck closer, using the cars to his advantage, wanting to get as close as he dared without being seen. Crouching behind a car, he slowly raised his head just high enough to see who was talking. It was Katrina. Katrina was wearing a grey t-shirt, but her friend still had on her yellow housekeeping uniform and they were walking together some ten meters away, totally unaware of his presence. General Chen wanted her shot in the back of the head, but dead is dead, and since Katrina killed Alphonso surely the Cosa Nostra would be expected to seek revenge any way they could get it.

  He would have to kill them both. No way to pin this on the mob if there was a witness. But Katrin
a first. He stood and took aim. Katrina had her back to him and he focused on the grey t-shirt. But this time he did hear footsteps. Someone coming in a hurry. Jian? He turned his head. Not Jian. Someone else, holding something.

  The bat hit him squarely in the upper arm, shattering the humerus. The pistol clattered to the asphalt as Shen cried out in pain. The bat hit him again in the rib cage, and Shen went down, clutching his ribs, moaning in agony. Someone thumped him on the chest with the bat. Carlos?

  “If you try to get up,” he said, “I’ll break all your ribs, not just a couple. Understand?” Shen nodded.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-SIX

  CARLOS AND KATRINA

  J amie and I heard noises behind us and turned to discover Carlos holding a baseball bat. He was standing over someone. We ran over to see what was going on.

  “This guy was about to shoot you in the back,” Carlos said when we got there, kicking the pistol towards me across the asphalt. “You recognize him?”

  “He is one of the Chinese guys we saw in the elevator,” I said. I picked up the pistol. I was going to have to start a collection.

  “How did you know?” I said.

  “I didn’t,” Carlos said, “it just never felt right to leave you and Jamie unprotected. I had Rick stop and drop me off. I told him I’d ride back with you. When I heard the shots fired I feared the worst. I am so glad that you’re okay. I was so worried I wouldn’t get here in time.”

  “We’re sure glad you did,” Jamie said.

  “Me too,” I said. “Where did you get the bat?”

  “I put it in the back of the ambulance,” he said. “I heard that someone else had a fondness for the Willie Mays Signature model. Looks like they were right.”

  “Jamie can you please hold this for me?” I said, handing her the pistol. “I have something I need to do.”

  I hugged Carlos as tight as I could. “Why am I always throwing myself in your arms,” I said.

  “I don’t care why,” Carlos said, “just as long as you promise to keep doing it.”

  “I promise,” I said.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

  EPILOGUE

  T he rumor mill in Las Vegas operates pretty much the same way that rumor mills do everywhere. You throw into the hopper a series of vague truths, half-truths and outright lies and it spits out a corresponding litany of semi-plausible theories, implausible theories and wild ass conjecture, none of which, when held up to the light of day, begin to explain what really happened.

  Was it Tony Battaglia, about to be released from prison, seeking to re-establish his power; the Red Chinese, furious about the attempted double cross or perhaps even the ragtag group of former military and just plain pissed off civilians, the ones that had the huevos grandes to duct tape Big Ears Alphonso to his own office chair, that were behind the sudden although not entirely unexpected demise of the late Alphonso “Big Ears” Vietri?

  I’m sure by now you’ve seen the headlines; Alphonso shot and killed in the parking lot of the Global Hotel and Casino. And depending on who was writing the story, a demise not reflective of the usual style of a mob hit the Column A theorists say. The logic being the mob killed him, but didn’t want to take the heat, and sought to shift the blame, by taking Alphonso’s wallet, just to make it look like a botched armed robbery.

  The Column B theorists cite the Red Chinese who usually want the death of their enemies to look like an accident, the brakes fail, the plane engine stalls while attempting a landing, with an attempted armed robbery certainly fitting into that category.

  And then you’ve got the smaller but just as vocal Column C theorists who believe the widely circulated sensational internet picture of Alphonso, dressed in a Global Hotel and Casino housekeeping uniform, with regulation blouse, skirt, blonde wig and make-up, complete down to the blue eye shadow, and bound to his own office chair with three rolls of duct tape was such an embarrassment to his over inflated ego that he died seeking revenge on whoever tied him to the chair.

  Now no one knows who put that picture out there, but it’s funny how those things seem to take on a life of their own once they hit the internet. Of course that’s not really germane to our present discussion, just an interesting aside you might say. There’s more, of course, and if you look hard enough you’ll even discover that the former General Chen is now Colonel Chen in charge of the sewage treatment plant at the most distant army base in China.

  But back to my point that once you take one from Column A, one from Column B, and one from Column C, like that old Buddy Hackett joke, what do you get? Dim Sum? Maybe. But whatever it is, it quickly grows as stale as leftover fried rice, yesterday’s news.

  So, at least until it truly is yesterday’s news, I’m not at liberty to say where we are, but I can say that Carlos and I enjoy sharing the many beautiful sunsets, white sand beaches, and cold margaritas. How do we afford such a comfortable although not exactly opulent lifestyle? It turns out that Rick, our resident computer genius, not only siphoned some money Alphonso’s way, but some our way also, something about an account at that Portuguese Bank in Macau. And as it also turns out, he was kind enough to share. Of course we had to split up, go our own way at least temporarily, in the interests of keeping a low profile, and not attracting any undue attention.

  But we’re planning a little reunion of sorts, on appropriately enough, the 10th of November, the Marine Corps Birthday. Carlos is not exactly thrilled with the idea, but for now at least, he’s outnumbered two to one. And like the Marine Corps, we improvise, we adapt, and we overcome, secure in the knowledge that whatever happens, we’ll endure.

  For you purists out there, those of you who love happy endings, I’m glad to report that yes, Rick and Jamie are together. So are Dad and Fay, yes the Fay from Housekeeping who was instrumental in his rescue and they seem very happy, and they have my blessing. Melinda and Mikey? Well, that’s probably a story for another time and another place.

  But until then, I’ll say goodbye. If there is any advice I can give, any truth to be gleaned from my adventures, the reason I’m still here to tell this tale is largely due to the philosophy, Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat; Latin for Fortune Favors the Brave, first attributed to Terrence, the Roman playwright who was born a slave and died a free man. And being brave, facing my fears squarely, has freed me as well, making all the difference in my life as I’m sure it will in yours.