A Dying Wish

by Henry Roi

  “Vietech,” Blondie growled.

  “That's him?” Shocker said from the other side of Blondie. “He looks like he's twelve.”

  “I don't know how old he is. Gotta be at least twenty-five,” Blondie said.

  Ace moved his girl aside and squinted at the screen. “T'heh. He can't even get past the screensaver.”

  Blondie smirked at him, but lost her spirit when she looked back at the phone. “Uh-oh. What's this?”

  I looked closely. Several well-dressed thugs walked out onto the roof and headed for our prison. I said, “If they come in just put your hands behind your back. Follow my lead.” Everyone whispered or nodded agreement.

  We watched as they stopped outside and attached something next to the door, about shoulder high. Blondie zoomed in on it. The device was the size of a Big Mac, squarish, dark colored with several wires and two red LEDs. I sighed. “Diep has the good stuff. This isn't fun anymore.”

  Ace peered at the Droid closely. “That's an explosive with a remote detonator,” he said, just reporting the facts. “An old Claymore.”

  Shocker stopped shadowboxing and gave him a terrified stare. The geek in him withered and the husband-father surfaced. Panic pulsed from him as he stepped to his wife and hugged her, the stress infecting Bobby, then us. I couldn't imagine what was going through their heads. They had kids. Families. Blondie just looked pissed. I had no opinion yet, likely due to the shock of the wound and the fantastic drug dampening my emotions.

  Which reminds me…

  I sat on the desk. Took my Ziploc out and snorted a large dose up each nostril. “Aaaahh! Better.” I put it away. Wiped my nostrils, fingers. Smiled hugely at my squad. “Shall we expedite our exit?”

  The girl-beast clenched her fists in front of her, frustrated at me, them, the world. “You goddamn lunatic,” she told me. She pointed at the door. “There's a bomb about to turn us into air pollution and you're getting high?!”

  “I'm not getting high.” I scowled defensively. “I was already high.”

  Did her eyes just flash red? I looked at the phone. Blondie worked the helicopter's camera so we could see the thugs walk into the lab and gesture at Vietech to hurry up. The hacker didn't even turn to look at them, completely absorbed with breaking into Ace's monstrous computer, eyes locked on the over-sized screen in front of him. I could just barely make out that he was typing furiously on the keyboard. She spun the camera back to our shed. The thugs set to guard us were glancing at the bomb and muttering to each other, fingering the guns in their waistbands nervously.

  I put a hand on my girl's shoulder. “Have Diana position the other Draganflies over the lab. Tell her to scald them as soon as they come out, then unload the pepper spray. On my signal scald the two outside the door. When we get out put that bomb on a flight into the ocean.”

  “Gotcha Raz.” Her eyes narrowed. She started to call Diana.

  “Wait. Wait Wait Wait,” I said, eyes closed. I shook my head as if I had left out something vital. Looked at her. “We need some music.”

  She smiled agreement.

  Shocker snorted, then said, “You are unbelievable.”

  “I know.” I shot imaginary cuffs, smoothed my hair back.

  “What are you in the mood for? Pantera?” Blondie asked.

  I looked around, tapping a finger to my lips. Got it! “Man in the Box by Alice in Chains.”

  “Alice who?” Bobby said.

  Blondie chortled, called Diana. Shocker seemed to reconsider her ridicule after hearing my song choice. Hey, the music should fit the setting, right? I saw no reason we shouldn't do this with style.

  I nodded to the girl-beast. “Just do your thing. Take them out.” She grunted. I said to Ace, “Uh, don't get in the way. Bobby, grab a speaker.”

  I limped over to the door and picked up a sub-woofer. Big Swoll grabbed the other. We squatted down by the sides, him on the left, me on the right, and stuck the magnets to the steel, on the very bottom where the sliding locks were. I looked at my girl. She nodded, Ready. I grinned at her and said, “Let's jam.”

  Two second later, through the thin steel door we heard heavy metal guitar chords precede faint splashes and two loud yelps. We dragged the speakers across the metal quickly. The locks freed, the door popped open slightly. Yanking the speakers off, we pushed the door up and charged out.

  Bobby, with two good legs, made it to our guards first. He rammed into them as they grabbed for their guns, knocking one on his back. I jumped on top of the fallen gangster and introduced him to my fist. Repeatedly. Then I flipped him over and took my razor from his pocket. Indescribable relief flooded me as I palmed the handle, sheathed it. I told the unconscious man, “Thanks for holding that for me.”

  The other guard had been standing near the edge of the roof when Bobby hit him. The blow had so much force the guy flew over the side, and would have dropped six stories if Bobby hadn't reached out and snatched him back. The gangster's face showed relief a microsecond before Bobby smashed it into oblivion with a huge elbow.

  Splashes and shouts alerted us to the goons coming out of the lab. Shocker was already on them, fists of fury bashing into their scalded, pepper-sprayed bodies. Four Draganflies buzzed over the fight. “I'm the man in the box!” their tiny speakers wailed, surprisingly loud, spurring Shocker's performance.

  Blondie had dropped the phone and grabbed the explosive. A Draganfly descended, expertly piloted by Diana, and Blondie dropped the bomb into its cargo box. It hummed away quickly, disappearing in the direction of the Gulf. Blondie didn't waste time watching it, trusting Diana to handle up. She ran over to aid Shocker, yanking a gun out of an enemy's hand right as he aimed it at the fierce legend. The pistol popped a tongue of fire into the night sky, and seconds later a Draganfly crashed into Blondie's truck. She saw her paint job ruined, shrieked in rage, and wopped her target in the head with his own weapon. Turned and pointed it at the thug still standing. He held his hands up. Shocker turned from the two she had taken out, walked over to him almost nonchalantly and drilled him with a lead-right. His attempt to block her punch was comical. He joined his pals on the concrete.

  “Hell yeah!' I resisted the urge to jam my air guitar, limped over to the lab. Ignored the frightened Viet geek that babbled incoherent pleas while I searched for his power source. “Where is it?” I shouted at Vietech.

  “W-what?” His glasses looked as fragile as his tiny frame, sharp cheekbones and pathetic chin just begging for my fist.

  “The cell.” I traced the computer's power cord with my eyes.

  “I-”

  Crack! I slapped him. “Never mind. I found it.”

  Blondie came in behind me and pistol whipped her squealing rival to sleep while I unplugged the lamp and computer from the power cell. Bobby saw I was struggling to carry it and took it from me. Damn thing wasn't all that heavy – it was about the size of a large couch cushion, maybe forty pounds, metal frame with several deep cycle batteries in it. But my leg wasn't going for it, numbly-drugged or not.

  “Where?” Bobby said.

  “Outside. Breaker box by the entrance.”

  He ran out. I looked around and grabbed some wire from under a bench, hurried after him. Diep's people had cut the power at the main breakers on the ground level. And we needed to get the vault door closed before they responded to that gun shot. The power cell was the only source that could do it.

  Shocker paced back and forth in front of her victims, veins bulging all over, snarling in her lovely demonic way, looking like she hoped one of them would wake up so she could put them back to sleep. I nodded to her, limp-running over to the breaker box. Bobby, kneeling next to the open vault door, adjusted the dials on the power cell's digital readout. I stumbled down next to him and opened the panel in the concrete next to the door, ran a finger down the breakers, stopping on the one we needed.

  “They're coming,” Blondie reported, looking through the entrance, down the ramp. Racing engines and squealing tires from multip
le vehicles echoed up the levels. We had to get the door closed fast.

  I popped out the breaker. Palmed it and looked at the wire in my other hand. It was a length of extension cord, minus the plugs on the ends, white, green and black wires encased in orange insulation. They were already stripped, thankfully. I pressed the white wire into the breaker slot and forced the breaker back into its place over it, having to push hard enough to make me see stars. Dizzy, I turned to the power cell. Like a generator it had multiple outlets. I chose the one for 240 volt appliances, quickly sliding the white wire in the short slot and the black wire in the tall slot.

  “Got it?” Blondie asked from the far side of the entrance, hand poised in front of the key pad. The sounds of Diep's death squad just underneath us and approaching fast made her eyes dance with apprehension.

  I nodded to her, stood like a drunk and turned back to the breaker box. I grabbed the black wire and touched it to the metal housing in the panel, grounding the circuit. The keypad lit up, and the motor for the door had power. Blondie typed frantically. I let out a breath when the door began cycling closed.

  Exhaust pipes from highly revved Honda's bellowed up the ramp from the fifth to the sixth level. A yellow Accord was the first one visible, a train of multicolored, customized Toyota's and Acura's tight behind it. The driver of the Accord saw the vault door sliding closed and gunned it. The door was nearly shut when he rammed into it. The booming destruction of his car shook the building. Blondie screamed as plastic and glass projectiles flew through the opening and lacerated her upraised arms, a chunk of yellow bumper cutting her forearm badly.

  The door crushed the car's bumper, grill and hood like a trash compactor before stuttering to a halt. The gap was big enough for a person to slip through. I had no plans to hold them off with the few guns we had taken; our ammo would run out before theirs. We needed to get off this roof.

  I grabbed Blondie's shoulders, searching her for debilitating inquiries. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” She clenched her bleeding forearm, looking at the still-open door. “They'll come through in a minute. Are we going down the rope?”

  “Only way. Give me a gun.” She handed me a black .380 Beretta. I kissed her and gave an encouraging smile. “Get them down to the street. Rendezvous B.”

  “All right. Hurry.”

  She jogged over to the edge of the roof facing the condos and picked up a black garbage bag. Opened it and pulled out the one hundred foot rope inside. She made sure one end was still securely tied to its anchor and threw it over. She told everyone to follow and went down first, blonde hair flying haphazardly.

  Shocker gave me a concerned look. I waved for her to go down and stuck the Beretta through the door, squeezed off a couple of shots. I couldn't see where my targets were, but they immediately returned fire, bullets from pistols and semi-auto rifles pinging into the thick steel I put my back against, a few zipping through the gap, heading straight into the condos. At least no one lives there yet, I thought, wincing at the concussive vibrations ringing from the door.

  As soon as their shooting lulled I turned and fired through the opening again, hoping the gun had a full clip. Glanced at my crew. Blondie, Ace, and Bobby had gone down, Shocker just stepping over the edge. As soon as she slid down I would run over and repel down before anyone came through and saw how we escaped.

  I could hear Diep barking orders to Phong, who shouted rapid, harsh Vietnamese to his soldiers. Suddenly, a fusillade of bullets tore into the door, ricocheting dangerously off the car and concrete. They were trying to hit me with a rebound. I glanced at the rope, judging Shocker to have descended most of the way by now. The concentrated fire stopped, the men reloading, and I fired at them again, the pops minuscule after the impressive assault. When they opened fire again, I dropped the spent Beretta and ran for the rope.

  The fifty feet to my exit was too much for my leg. The damn thing decided that now was the perfect time to refuse to work. I tripped over my own feet, chest and elbows taking the impact, tiny rocks breaking skin. I choked out, “Fuck that hurt.” Pain lanced through my entire body. The black mist returned, and I had no control for a moment. I rode it out, vision clearing somewhat. I regained full consciousness, realized what had happened and turned to look at the entrance right as several gangsters sprang off the Accord's crumpled front end, through the gap, MAK 90s in their hands.

  I turned over and did my best to crawl-walk to the rope, the anchor and knot still over thirty feet away. I wasn't going to make it. “Let's go after the Tiger Society,” I said in falsetto, mimicking myself. “Let's make things RIGHT.” I sighed a growl. “You suck, Eddy.”

  I decided I wasn't going out like a trampled, crawling mutt. I stood and faced the men I knew would empty their 30-round clips into my body. Four were through and had their assault rifles directed right at me, walking with hatred wrinkling their faces. I snorted my final, lovely drip. Smacked my lips in pleasure, then told them, “Kiss my ass.”

  I would have mooned them if I didn't think I would fall on my face.

  They didn't immediately shoot, knowing they had me. They spread out, crouched and scanned the roof like they knew what they were doing, lifted their weapons to their shoulders to waste me. Triumphant smiles stretched their cheeks, fingers tightening on triggers, expressions abruptly turning startled as they were knocked off their feet in quick succession. The silent sniper fire whizzed by from behind me. Thud-thud-thud-thud, they went down like video game targets.

  I wheezed out a laugh. Spun around. On the roof of the condos was a figure in black, a familiar tripod mounted rifle in front of him. “Loc,” I muttered. Then got mad. I shook both fists at him, pointed at my leg. “Now you help?! You're a little late!”

  Did he shrug? With the relief of not being dead came the inspiration to dig deep and push myself into a limping trot for the rope. I heard two more men cry out as they came through the gap and took rounds from our crew's mysterious sniper. I slid down entirely too fast, weak arms unable to make my hands grip the nylon, palms burning severely. I made it about four levels down before blacking out and falling into pain-free nothingness.

  Dear reader,

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  The story continues in:

  A Long Ride by Henry Roi

  To read the first chapter for free, head to:

  https://www.nextchapter.pub/books/a-long-ride.

  About the Author

  Henry Roi was born and raised on the Mississippi Gulf Coast, and still finds his inspiration in its places and people.

  As a GED tutor and fitness instructor, working both face to face and online, he is an advocate of adult education in all its forms. His many campaigning and personal interests include tattoo art, prison reform and automotive mechanics.

  He currently works in publishing, as an editor and publicist. He particularly focuses on promoting talented indie writers – arranging reviews, delivering media campaigns, and running blog tours.

  If you're not lucky enough to catch him fishing round the Biloxi Lighthouse or teaching martial arts in your local gym, he can usually be found on Twitter or Facebook, under Henry Roi PR.

 

 

 
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