Street Justice: Book 2 of the Justice Series

by Trevor Shand

  Jeff turned anyway, "What's up?"

  Russ wanted to run through the list of reasons to not go into the alley but he told himself he was being silly. “Nothing man,” he said, shaking out his shoulders and arms. He closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath.

  “You sure?” Jeff asked.

  “Yeah, nothing.”

  “OK,” Jeff said and headed down the alley. The gray brick walls were the same ones that had stood since the great Seattle fire of1889. The alley was a block long, connecting the park to 1st Avenue. The two men traversed nearly half the distance when Russ heard the opening of a window. The sound echoed off the tight walls, making it difficult to pinpoint the origin. Russ’ head gyrated around and he saw an open window on the second floor behind him.

  In the window was an African American male who could not be out of his teens. He held a hand gun in their direction. Russ knew this was not the ideal weapon for the job. He should have a rifle and be aiming it, rather than simply aiming it in their general direction. That being said, there was not a large distance nor much room to move and a lucky bullet could be as deadly as a well-aimed one.

  In front of them a door opened and a large African American male sauntered into the street followed by two others. They took positions to either side of lead man, each holding a pistol. “So you thought you could just cut me out, huh?” the lead man announced. He had the volume and delivery of a sidewalk salesman. All three of the men wore bright white, wife-beater undershirts and jeans that sagged, threatening to fall down around the wearer’s ankles. The leader and the guy to his right were bald and the man on the left had dreads that hung down past his shoulders.

  “I’m sorry, who are you?” Russ asked.

  “What, Jeff, you didn’t tell your friend here about me? I’m hurt,” the leader of the crew feigned sorrow.

  “Russ, Two-Time Johnson. Two-Time, Russ. Listen Two-Time, Russ has nothing to do with this. He’s just a friend who was keeping me company,” Jeff offered spreading his hands as he spoke.

  “Well, that’s too bad, because we ain’t lettin’ him go. Wrong place, wrong time I guess,” turning his attention to Russ he continued, “Sorry friend, but that’s what you get for associating with people like my boy Jeff here.”

  Russ had a fairly good idea of what was going on but wanted to support the ruse set up by Jeff that he was just a regular dude accidently mixed up in something over his head, so he sad, “Two-Time good to meet you. What’s going on here? I’m guessing you’re not here just to say hi as I assume he is with you.” Russ jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the cover man in the window.

  “Perceptive, my man,” Two-Time said, “That’s right, you’re quick. You see, your boy here, Jeff, he used to buy from me, I used to supply him. Did I ever cheat him? No. Did I ever wrong him? No. But then you know what he tried to do? Screw me. Like a little bitch. He tried to go around me, to find a new supplier. And to top it all off, not content to simply leave me, but he then tried to set up a deal to supply one of my corners. Can you believe it?” Waiting a pause, he added, “Jeff, what did I do to you to ever make you feel like you needed to do this to me?”

  “Nothing man. It wasn’t like that…”Jeff started but Two-Time cut him off.

  “I don’t care Jeff. I really don’t, I was just trying to be nice about all of this. So now here we go, this is how it is going to all go down. I’m guessing you have the product on you, otherwise, why would you be down here to meet Dario in person? So, what you’re going to do is to give us the product, then walk out of this here alley, quietly and we can all pretend this never happened.”

  Russ evaluated their position and it was not enviable. In front of them were three men, all of whom were nearly Russ’ size and at least two were packing guns. While he had not seen Two-Time with a gun, he assumed Two-Time was carrying as well. In the case of combat, assuming your enemy was strong was never a bad thing. The shooter in the window was designed to cut off their retreat and with him being positioned in a second floor window, it made getting to him tougher.

  Fighting the three men in front of them hand to hand would be difficult. Russ doubted the cover man would fire into the melee but it was still three on two. If they simply shot it out, providing their side did triumph, it would remove any dis-incentive for the cover guy to hold his fire. If they tried to retreat, they had half an alleyway to cover and he guessed that not only would the guy in the window fire but so would the other three.

  Russ scanned the alley for cover or something else to change the odds. There was a dumpster against the wall below the second story window the shooter occupied. The sides would provide cover from the three in the alley but the plastic top would not provide any protect from above. A fire escape was mounted to the other wall but it was behind the three men in their way. Russ cursed himself for not listening to the voice in his head that said not to come down this alley. Two-Time had not devised a complex plan but it was deadly in its simplicity.

  Russ needed time to think so he decided to add some confusion to the situation, “So do you have the money?”

  “I’m sorry what?” Two-Time asked. His brow scrunched as he peered at Russ, “What do you mean do I have the money”

  “I mean, for the cocaine. It wouldn’t be fair for us just to give you the coke and not get something in return,” Russ said in a tone more pinched and nasally than usual, trying to sound as nerdy as possible.

  “What?” Two-Time extended an arm, indicating Russ and turned slightly to look at the men behind him, “Can you believe this guy?” In a tone mocking Russ’ already almost comical voice he said, “That wouldn’t be fair.”

  Two-Time turned back to Russ and said, “Listen, what I’m offering for you for the coke is your lives, got it. You give me the stuff and I think about not killing you, how do you like that offer?”

  “Th-that seems fair,” Jeff said shooting Russ a sideways glance, “I got it here in my bag.” Jeff started removing a backpack.

  Drawing his own gun, Two-Time said, “Slowly.” The two men flanking him also aimed their weapons though they both only used one hand. One handed pistol firing looked good in the movies, but was much less accurate than holding it properly in two hands. Russ doubted any of these men had any formal training and would place money on the fact that these men were much more worried about looking cool than doing their job right.

  Jeff set the backpack on the ground and reached inside. Slowly he pulled a tightly wrapped brick from the bag. “Yeah, that’s it,” Two-Time murmured. Russ’ mind raced. They could not just give this brick to Two-Time. They could not afford it nor was there any guarantee that Two-Time would not shoot them anyway once they handed it over. Jeff took a step toward Two-Time who said, “Don’t walk over here, just throw it.”

  This did not make Russ feel any better. If Two-Time was planning on gunning them down it made sense he wanted them to stay at a short distance. Made firing easier without worrying about hitting your own man. Jeff bobbed his hand getting momentum to throw when Russ said, “Don’t.”

  Jeff nearly let go of the package but at the last moment held on to the brick, bringing it back down. He turned to face Russ and said, “What?”

  “Yeah, man, what? Do you want to get shot?” demanded Two-Time.

  “No,” Russ’ mind was racing he knew their time was running short. Sooner rather than later Two-Time was going to stop worrying about the downsides of shooting them where they stood and simply gun them down. If he lost a few ounces due to bullets and blood it would not matter since it was all profit anyway. “What assurance do we have that you will in fact let us walk out of here once we throw the package to you?” Russ heard the screech of a car suddenly breaking, then the whir of a car backing up at high speed.

  Two-Time shook his head slowly and said, “Man, you don’t. You just have to trust me. You don’t have any other choice. Now throw it.” Jeff looked at Russ. Russ blankly looked back at Jeff. Two-Time shouted, “Don’t look at him, thr
ow me the brick.” For emphasis he stabbed the gun in Jeff’s direction a few times. Car tires chirped again and an engine gained speed.

  “Man, enough of this, smoke these guys,” Two-Time said lowering his weapon. Apparently he did not want to do the shooting himself. The other two lifted their guns. Time slowed for Russ. He instinctively bent his knees, widened his stance and rose to the balls of his feet. As the guns came level Russ cut left, tackled Jeff and rolled to the side of the alley, colliding violently with the wall.

  The two shooters let loose a round each down the now empty alley, then retrained their guns on the heap that was Russ and Jeff. Jeff looked at Russ quizzically. Russ did not know if he was asking what to do now or why had he jammed them into the side of the alley with no room to escape but Russ did not have time to answer either question. The two men took up slack on their triggers. Just before the guns fired, all three men were launched through the air like rag dolls as the red nose of the Ram slammed into them. Mario was behind the wheel.

  Tires squealed again as Mario locked up the knobby twenty inch rims. Mario stuck his head out and screamed “Get in.” Bullets rained down from above as the window gunner opened. Mario ducked back into the vehicle even though he knew the truck’s roof was not armored as the Hummers in Afghanistan were. The thin metal would do little to stop a well-placed shot. Fortunately, the young shooter in the window had been distracted by the truck, aiming for Mario rather than Russ and Jeff. His hasty shots were pinging off the truck or punching holes in the bed but it would only be time before the kid relaxed and aimed or he got lucky.

  Russ extricated himself from Jeff and scrambled to his feet. He reached down and hauled Jeff up off the dirty pavement. He dragged him in front of the chrome grill. As they cleared the corner, he shouted at Jeff, “Get in the truck. Get in the truck.” He then shoved Jeff hard enough to nearly knock him off his feet. Spinning, he charged toward the dumpster and using an arm on the lip, vaulted himself up onto the plastic lid. The window that held the shooter was now only a about a foot and a half above him.

  He couldn’t see the boy but knew he was there. With the number of rounds fired, Russ assumed the gunner was reloading. He paused and a moment later an arm appeared holding a gun above him. Russ leapt. As he did so, the added force of his leap combined with his weight caused the plastic lid of the dumpster to buckle. The jump was awkward and off balance. Rather than reaching the boy with two hands, Russ was barely able to grab the boy’s arm with one of his own.

  Even so, the now plummeting weight of Russ pulled the shooter who had been caught by surprise. He stutter stepped toward the window and nearly out, barely catching himself on the window frame, bent at the waist. Russ was holding all of his weight up with one hand grasping the sweaty wrist of the boy. He knew if he let go, he would fall into the dumpster where he would be easy pickings. His hand closed a little tighter.

  The boy was frightened. One minute he was firing as fast as he could at the red truck and the next moment he was bent sharply at the waist, half in and half out of the window. He had not expected this move. He had not expected he would have to do anything when he told Two-Time he would take the job. Two-Time told him all he would have to do is stand in a window and show a gun. Two-Time even gave him the gun. Now Two-Time was lying in a moaning heap fifteen feet down the alley after being hit by a truck and he was staring at a machine of a man who had a vice like grip on his arm.

  Seemingly together both Russ and the boy seemed to realize that while Russ held the boy’s arm, the boy still held the gun. How Russ was currently holding his arm meant that the gun was naturally tilted slightly toward the wall. But the boy, who wanted to be free of this two hundred and twenty five pounds of weight trying to drag him out of the window willed the gun toward Russ’ body a millimeter at a time.

  Briefly, both men stared at the gun. Then Russ acted. He swung his legs and body in a large arc and used the momentum to reach his other hand up to join the first. Then taking an instant to rest, held on to the boy’s wrist with one hand, used the other to strike out at the gun, then immediately re-grab the wrist. He repeated this action several times. The blow hurt, and slowed an already slow action even more but fear made him strong and he held on.

  After several failed attempts and the gun continuing to move toward him, Russ knew he had only a second or two before the boy could get the gun lined up and pull the trigger. So Russ again used his legs and body to swing himself up. This time he stuck a foot out and caught the wall. Using that as leverage he quickly placed a second foot on the wall. This increased the pull he was able to exert on the boy but also made it increasing difficult to hold onto the sweaty wrist.

  The boy felt the shift and watched the man holding on to him get one, then two feet onto the wall. The pressure now pulling his body felt as if his arm would dislocate and he would be ripped in half at the waist at the same time. His eyes bugged and he had trouble breathing. But the change in position had reduced the force on his wrist. He focused on calming himself and lining the gun up with Russ.

  Russ saw the gun swing his way and realized it was now or never. He pulled, using his arms and back, while pushing with his legs. The muscles tightened and knotted but he knew he could not ease up. The nose of the barrel seemed to have a life of its own, like a snake, its head slowly creeping toward him. With one last effort, Russ willed himself straight. The shooter’s hips cleared the window and once the crease of his body was over the lip, the rest of him followed quickly.

  Russ plummeted down onto the crushed plastic lid. His head smacked the edge of the dumpster with a glancing blow. The air escaped his body as he hit the nearly empty bottom of the container. Before he could regain his breath the shooter fell on top of him. Russ tried to inhale but could not draw a breath. His elevated heart rate burnt though his body’s oxygen and his brain screamed for air. He started seeing dark blobs float across his vision.

  Mario hopped out of the truck and rushed over toward the dumpster crying out, “Russ, you okay? You okay? Talk to me.”

  No response came as Russ could not breathe, let alone speak. Mario reached the dumpster, reached in and pulled the boy off of Russ with one giant arm. Like a living crane, he lifted the boy over the edge and dropped him on the floor of the alley. A large straight cut oozing blood could be seen on the shooter’s forehead where his head had creased the dumpster. Mario had to partially crawl in to the container to grab Russ. With Russ’ additional size and weight, getting him over the side was much less graceful but Mario managed.

  Russ regained his breath and squeaked, “I’m fine.” He flopped his arms around waving Mario away and drudged himself to his feet. He dusted himself off and staggered toward the truck. Mario helped stuff him in the driver’s side as Jeff clamored into the passenger side. The three men squeezed into the truck and roared off just as the first wail of sirens could be heard.

  “Well that was interesting,” Jeff offered. Russ bobbed his head still regaining his breath.

  In a ragged voice he asked, “Now what?”

  “What do you mean, now what?” Mario asked, “I drive us home and we rest. Get you a beer. That’s what.”

  “No,” Russ said, regaining strength in his voice, “I mean for us.”

  “Ahhh, I see,” said Jeff, “Well, I’m not really sure.” Mario had bolted out of the alley, cut across Occidental Square which was not open to traffic but then dropped off the curb onto Main Street. He was now obeying the speed limit and trying to blend into traffic. “I’m not really sure. I thought getting onto the corner was going to solve things. Now I think it may have made things worse.”

  “Ya think,” Mario offered, “I mean we still have way more coke than we can sell, we have a ticking clock to unload it and now we have that guy and his boys after us.”

  “Two-Time,” Russ offered.

  “What? Two times what?” Mario scrunched his brow.

  “No, that was the guy’s name, the guy you hit, his name is Two-Time,” Russ clarified with
a smile.

  “What are you smilin’ about?” Mario demanded, switching his eyes back and forth from the road to Russ.

  Russ started laughing. A small chuckle at first, then it gained momentum. Mario looked at him then Jeff joined in. Stuffed between these two, driving down the highway, Russ composed himself enough to say, “Mario, remember how we came home to get away from getting shot at by guys with weird names?” With that he redoubled his laughter. Mario and Jeff understood. They drove home in silence.

  Katie organized her desk, waiting for Devon to appear. He was already five minutes late. It was uncommon for him to be late and she was worried. With her job, when her kids were late for meetings, that usually meant they were not coming and that usually meant they were into some bad things. Katie fussed at her desk, rearranging the pencil holder, the photo frame, a few pieces of paper to one spot and back to their original place. She opened drawers, looked inside, knowing what was inside, then closed them. Anything to keep her mind from running off with day dreams, day nightmares, of where Devon was and what was happening to him.

  Fifteen minutes after their scheduled time, Katie heard a small knock. “Come in,” she said.

  Sheepishly Devon stuck his head in, “Hi Ms. Verd, sorry for being late.”

  Katie’s face flush with relief that he was safe, none of the myriad of scenarios her mind had envisioned had come to pass. “Come in, come in,” she said. Devon slipped in, closed the door and wafted into a chair. Katie took a deep breath and as quickly as the relief had hit her, a new emotion displaced it. Anger warmed her cheeks. She wanted to scream and demand he explain his tardiness. She knew she could get all of her answers without yelling, the yelling was an emotional response and would push Devon away. But it would feel good. Still she took another deep breath, felt the heat leave her face and calmly asked, “So why were you late Devon?”