by Mike Gomes
On the coffee table were the new 9mm bullets for Falau’s gun, and he loaded two magazines as fast as he could before tucking them into his back pockets. The remaining ten bullets he put in his front pockets.
“It will be just my luck to get shot there and blow off my own dick,” Falau said to himself while putting on a new shirt.
Knock, Knock.
Freezing in place Falau glanced at the door. He could see in the gap beneath it there were two sets of feet standing right outside the door, their shadows giving away their number.
Working on light feet the big man moved to the side-wall, staying out of sight in case the men in the hall looked through the peep-hole. Gently reaching down with his eyes on the door he picked up his Ruger SR9C and slid it into the back of his pants.
Eyes fixed on the door and stood in position for a forced entry, the doorknob jiggled. He watched the slightest movement, but then the men on the far side of the door shook it with more force and pulled hard against the handle.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
“We know you’re in there, Falau, so open the door!” shouted a man whose voice Falau had no recollection of.
“Who is it?” replied Falau in a high-pitched female voice, mocking the men outside. He rummaged through the papers on the coffee table looking for the card with Tyler’s phone number.
A loud clunk against the door caused the frame to crack. And then again, as the man outside the door kicked with all of his might, smashing the door from its frame. No matter how good the locks were, this man was going to drive his way through.
The frame finally gave way and the door fell into the apartment. Falau slid himself down between the bed and the sofa, using the sofa for cover, but nobody entered the room. Falau looked around the room for possible escape routes in case something was thrown in. The window was the only possibility, and that would be a nasty fall, making it near impossible to get up and get safely away after.
“Falau, we’re not here for trouble. We just need to talk with you. We’re going to walk in. No need to get jumpy about anything.”
“You always kick down the doors of people you just want to talk with?”
A chuckle floated from the hallway. “I understand your trepidation. We’re going to come in. We just want to talk.”
Two large men dressed in the all too familiar suits entered the room, and looked like carbon copies of one another. Both in their forties, short haircuts, fit, and not a thread out of place... the kind of men who did everything by the book and had total loyalty to their boss. They were mercenaries.
The odds that these two were here and that nobody else knew were slim. They were just the first wave, and more guards were sure to come.
Edging away from his partner one of the guards went to the far side of the room, setting up a tactical advantage. Falau mapped their distance, knowing he had already been seen but not wanting to show himself for fear they could fall into attack mode.
“Mr. Falau, this is quite a place you have here,” said the guard closest to the door as he slid his hand across the top of the sofa and inspected the grime on his hand.
“Well, my summer place is in the Hamptons,” quipped Falau, raising his body inch by inch and revealing his position to the two men.
“Sir, there’s no need to be shy. We just want to talk.”
“Say what you need to say, then leave.”
“Why so hostile?”
“Well, you just cost me my security deposit on the apartment by breaking down the door.”
“You like to joke, don’t you, Mr. Falau?” asked the guard at the far side of the room as he unbuttoned his sports jacket. “You’re quite the character. You keep showing up at Mr. Wise’s house. You got out of jail somehow. All very impressive. The problem is that we can’t have you coming around.”
“I was just looking to take a few pictures.”
The guard across the room nodded. “Mr. Falau, do you think we’re fools?”
“I don’t know you that well, but I’m sure you do your best.”
The guard smiled. “We can’t have you poking around the property. You need to come with us. We can do it the easy way or the hard way, but no matter what you leave with us.
Falau’s senses jumped to high alert, his mind taking in all the information of the room and the two men. He knew deep down where the men were headed. The bulge in their jackets showed they had handguns in chest holsters that could be drawn and fired in less than two seconds.
“Sorry, but I have dinner reservations with an old friend. Need to take a rain check with you boys.” Falau shifted his footing, bringing his left foot forward and squaring himself up to both men the best he could, his eyes focused on their distance to each other and from him.
The guard on the far side of the room would have a straight shot. He was in line with Falau. The guard at the door would need to reach away from Falau on the opposite side of his body, then pull the gun back across, taking a second longer.
“You’re going to break your plans tonight,” said the furthest guard while taking a step toward Falau. “In fact, I don’t think you’re ever going to have dinner again.”
Drifting his hand slowly behind his back the big man knew that his every move was being watched. Nothing would come as a surprise. Moving at a lackluster pace, he pulled the 9mm from the back of his pants and brought it down by his side in full view.
“What have you got there? A cap gun?” joked the guard across the room.
“I think he has his sister’s gun,” quipped the nearest guard.
“It’s a 9mm. It can do the job.”
“Oh. Can it? You just brought a fly swatter to a gunfight, boy,” said the far guard, pulling open the side of his sports jacket to expose his firearm that held far more power than the 9mm. “Smith & Wesson, 357 Magnum. Something for a man.”
“Wow. Impressive gun. But not for me. I’m not really into ballistic masturbation.”
The guard grimaced, tired of playing. “Time to go.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Let’s get him.”
The two guards took a step toward Falau, their hands moving inside their sports jackets to reach for their handguns.
Falau squeezed the handgrip of the Ruger as his eyes narrowed, his finger dropping from the side of the barrel onto the trigger.
Did I put a bullet in the chamber? he thought, feeling the world fall into slow motion around him.
The guards had now secured their guns and were both within five-feet of him.
Falau lifted the gun, shooting from the hip at the guard to the right. The bullet hit him center mass, just as he’d been taught years ago. Hit your target in their biggest spot. Right in the chest.
The bullet exploded just as Tyler had shown Falau it would in the lab. The Kevlar vest under the guard’s shirt was ripped to pieces as the explosion ruined the man’s chest.
By instinct, the other guard immediately snapped his head around to assess the situation, rather than keeping his eyes on his target.
Falau shifted his hips and dropped to one knee, limiting the need to shoot across his body. Firing off a single round, the bullet again found its target in the center of the guard’s chest, the explosion having the same devastating effect.
Both men dropped to the floor in a pool of their own blood. Dead.
Falau stared at the men, unsure what to do next.
Chapter 30
Blood started seeping away from the dead bodies lying on the floor. Falau shook his head, trying to bring himself back into the present.
Rushing to the fallen door he lifted it with ease, pushing it back into place before the nosy neighbors could come and inspect what was going on. The police must have been called, thought Falau as he frantically moved about the apartment searching for something–anything–that could help.
“Focus!” Falau demanded of himself. “Slow down and focus. The bodies first.”
Racing to the bathroom Falau ripped down the shower cur
tain and rushed back into the living room. Laying it on the floor he examined if both bodies would fit inside it.
“Bleach!” he said aloud, running into the kitchen and pulling open the cabinet doors under the sink. Yanking aside the various bottles of cleaners and solvents he could see there was no bleach.
Back in the living room he caught his breath, and put his foot on the coffee table. But he suddenly pulled his leg back, causing him to tumble to the floor in a heap in the pool of blood, and finding himself looking eye-to-eye with a dead man. The man’s eyes had already started to cloud over so they looked fake, like a doll’s eyes. Yet there was nothing to indicate the man was just verbally sparring with another man just moments before.
Falau pushed himself back, scrambling to get away from the body.
“You killed him. You killed me,” whispered the female voice in the back of his head. “His eyes look like mine.”
Forcing himself to his feet, Falau grabbed the half-finished bottle of whiskey that had sat next to his bed for months. He opened the top and took a long slug, swallowing several times before stopping.
I’m screwed! he thought.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Falau again pulled the gun from the back of his pants and pointed it at the door.
A voice called through the door. “Mr. Falau. We’ve been sent by Tyler to help with your problem. May we come in?”
The name Tyler raced through Falau’s head, stopping all confusion. Tyler was an anchor. Something to depend upon. If the people on the other side of the door knew Tyler, then they were on his side.
“Come in,” he said, wondering if he were making a mistake that could end his life in a matter of moments.
“Thank you, Sir.”
The door opened and five men entered the room, closing the door behind them.
A young man no older than Falau himself stepped forward. “Mr. Falau, if it’s okay I would like to hand out assignments before I speak with you.”
Falau nodded, impressed with the man’s confidence and ability not to be phased by two dead men on the floor.
“You two are on the bodies. You’re on floor cleanup. Johnny, you’re going to fix the door. We’re out of here in five mins max. Let’s go.”
The men sprang into action so fast that it looked like a blur to Falau. They all worked in silence and perfect unison, like an expert ballet troop that has every move of their show choreographed to perfection, a kind of art, despite the grim nature of the show.
“Mr. Falau, I have a new set of clothing for you, all made to Tyler’s specifications. If you could just take off the clothing you have on now and place it in this bag, then put on the new clothes.”
Changing his clothes as fast as he could Falau looked out the window after hearing the faint sound of a siren he was sure was coming his way. The bodies had been cleared and the floor was being cleaned. The man on the door had wedged it back in and was hammering in a few nails to keep it from falling back out.
“Where’s Tyler?”
“One minute left. Let’s go, team,” said the young man in a matter-of-fact voice. “I’m sorry, Sir, but Tyler is not here. He sent us in to take care of this issue. It’s what we do. I think we all knew that something like this was a possibility considering the case you’re working on.”
“Why not just give me some guards?” asked Falau while pulling on the new pants.
“That could blow your cover, Sir. Please, we need to leave,” the young man said with all the calmness of a preacher talking to an old lady. “Time’s up, men. Out, now.”
The men on the bodies were already long gone. The cleaner and the man fixing the door hustled out the door, closely followed by Falau and the young man.
Hitting the street they all went to separate cars and drove away.
“Mr. Falau, the van is set for you. Here are the keys. Please don’t leave them in the ignition again. Good luck,” he said, starting to walk away.
“Wait!” said Falau. “What do I do now?”
“Complete your mission, of course.”
Chapter 31
His backside hit the driver’s seat as he heard the police sirens cars getting closer. The key was in the ignition, avoiding the problems he had earlier with the apartment door. A quick turn, and the engine came to life. Grabbing the gear shift on the steering column, he dropped it into drive and pulled away in a casual and methodical manner.
Police cars raced up Massachusetts Avenue, hitting the intersection of Columbus Avenue just as the light turned green and Falau was driving by them in the opposite direction, keeping his head fixed forward and making no eye contact with the police in the cars flying past him.
He kept going straight through the intersection and drove up to the next, taking a right on Huntington Avenue toward the Prudential Center. Falau was sure that the mix and twist of roads would expose anyone who may be following him, though the idea that more guards were on the way had not escaped his mind. Perhaps they were just waiting outside for him to leave and then start the chase again.
“Hello,” said a voice behind him.
“Oh!” The word shot from his mouth as he jumped in his seat, his heart rate doubled. Instinctively his hand reached back for the 9mm tucked into the back of his jeans.
The sounds of the voice filtered in his mind and was rapidly deciphered, as the next words came forth from the back seat.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you,” said Tyler in a calm and soothing tone. “Don’t shoot me.”
“Shit! What the hell did you do that for?” questioned Falau, knowing full well why Tyler needed to be secretive with everything he did.
“There were a lot of eyes back there so I just laid under a blanket back here until you got going. Out of sight, out of mind.”
Falau looked in the rearview mirror and saw his friend sitting in the back seat of the van. His hair and suit looked impeccable, despite his claim he’d been under a blanket waiting for the right time to pop up.
“Thanks for the cleanup crew. I figured I was screwed with them kicking down the door and me shooting them.”
“No problem. After you got out this morning I was thinking Wise might have gotten word of it. A man like that would rather just kill you at this point than stick you back in jail.”
“Nice to know.”
Sitting in silence the two men sized one another up. Falau wondered why Tyler was in his car now.
Tyler looked side to side out the windows, fidgeting in his seat. He looked like a preacher who had forgotten his sermon and was looking for the right thing to say.
“Falau, I have always been straight with you and there is no need to change that now. Is this all too much for you?”
“What?”
“Is this all too much for you?’
“You’re kidding me, right?” Falau’s tone switched to anger as his fist pounded on the steering wheel. “In the last eight hours I have escaped from jail. I’ve been in a car chase where I probably killed four people. I killed two more people in my apartment at point blank range, and you’re asking me if I’m up for this. My whole fucking life is into this!”
Tyler straightened his coat and looked down at the ground, giving Falau a few moments to compose himself and take the steam out of a potential argument.
“We go back a long way. I care about you and what happens to you. I know your history. Even the stuff you won’t talk about. Like your empathy.”
Falau’s strong, calloused hands gripped the steering wheel hard, and he pulled it toward himself trying to exert some of the negative energy building up inside him.
“My history has nothing to do with this mission. I can do my job and I’m getting sick of you asking me if I want out. If I want out, I will tell you. Until then you don’t need to ask me.”
“That’s part of my job. I need to make sure you’re okay. You’ve given a lot to this mission, including going to prison. If you said screw this, it would be understood. We don’t expect anyone to be super
human. The last thing anyone wants is to see this thing tear you apart. There is no shame in walking away. You have to come first.”
Falau could not bring himself to look in the rearview mirror. He knew Tyler was right, but he was angry about Tyler changing his tune just hours after saying there was too much to do, and that Falau could not take a few days for himself. Was Tyler screwing with him and seeing what he could take? Was this all a test from the judges?
“Thank you for your concern about me,” said Falau with a dusting of sarcasm in his voice. “This is all I have. I have no woman, no job, and no life. I struggle to get by every day. This is what I want, and this is what I need. Besides, I need to take care of this for T-Bone. I made him a promise.”
“You convicts all stick together,” said Tyler, trying to hold back his laughter
Falau smiled and nodded his head, looking back in the mirror.
“I know you’re just concerned about me, but you just have to let me go and do the job. You can’t be worried about me. Let me do my thing and you will not be disappointed. I promise you that.”
“I know. I can trust you, but as a friend I just needed to check in. Killing six people in one day is not something anyone can just shake off. You’re my man on this job and any others that come up in the future. Just don’t let it get too personal. Personal feelings just cloud a person’s judgment.”
“I understand,” said Falau. The big man felt a weight lift off his chest, the way it always did when he and Tyler finished fighting. The two men had always fought and defended each other like brothers, and now was no different.
“Pull over here,” said Tyler as they pulled up to a stop-light.
“I can drive you where you need to go.”
“No need. This will be fine.”
Falau pulled the car to the side of the road and hit the button for the side door to open. Tyler jumped out and pulled his jacket tight around him as the sun started to set.
“Good luck. Call me if you need me.”
“Will do.”