by Adam Smith
The air shook with a mighty boom, and orange flames filled the right side of St. Thomas Aquinas Boulevard ahead of Max. He swerved to dodge the cloud of debris raining down across the pavement. “What the—” When he glanced back over his shoulder, his jaw clenched in surprise. One of the black-suited passengers in the back of a heavy pickup truck on Max’s tail was steadying a grenade launcher for a second shot. “Oh. Well, that’s just great.”
Rubber tires squealed as Max swerved back and forth between lanes. The pavement to his left detonated in a flash of burning rubble as the grenadier’s aim improved.
“Do you assholes have any idea how much it costs to fix a pothole that big?” Max shouted over his shoulder at the swarm of pursuers.
Several of the cars were starting to pull ahead and get close to Max. One fast car painted baby blue pulled up alongside him outside his driver’s window. The passenger leveled a submachinegun at Max and opened fire.
Max ducked down inside his car as the wave of bullets rained against the side of his black muscle car. Glass from the window fountained over Max’s head and spilled across the seats, and the windshield spiderwebbed around multiple bullet holes.
The barrage cut off abruptly. Without hesitation, Max popped back up and fired multiple shots into the flanking blue vehicle. His desperate counterattack didn’t hit anyone, but the flurry of bullets made the driver jerk in fear. The baby blue car swerved to the left into oncoming traffic and slammed into the grill of an oncoming semi. An explosive crunch echoed through the street as Max stomped on the pedal and sped away.
In his battered and wobbly rearview mirror, Max saw the semi jackknife and spill across the road. The falling trailer crushed several more pursuing vehicles as it plunged to the pavement and launched a shower of sparks into the air. Two cars made it through the barricade before the truck sealed off St. Thomas Aquinas Boulevard.
“Okay,” Max said, “just two left. I can kill two cars’ worth of people.” He hesitated and looked at himself in the rearview mirror. “Well, that sounded a little more insane than I meant it to.”
The rearview mirror exploded in a puff of glass and plastic as more gunfire tore through the back window and peppered the windshield. The spiderwebbing across Max’s view blinded him to most of the road ahead, and he had to lean down low to see through the remaining section of clear glass.
Max glanced ahead just in time to see metal posts rising from the middle of the street. He tried to brake, but there was no time. The muscle car skidded sideways and hit the metal posts along the passenger’s side.
Max shielded his eyes with his arm. His scream blended with the shattering glass and shrieking metal.
With a loud crash, the black muscle car hit the metal posts and flipped over them. The battered vehicle spun twice through the air before landing on its side and rolling onto all four tires again. Both passenger doors fell off with a clank.
Max stopped screaming and lowered his arm. A crazed grin flashed across his face as he began to laugh. “Ha! I’m alive! Hahahaha!”
Bullets tearing up the side of his car forced an abrupt end to Max’s crazy laughter. The battered car was stalled, so the ex-cop cranked the ignition, but the muscle car had endured too much and refused to start. With a curse, Max unbuckled his seatbelt, scooped up the two pistols, and dove out the open passenger side.
The two pursuing cars had stopped short of the barriers. Their occupants spread across the road behind their vehicles. Each of the businessmen had pistols similar to Max’s black 9mm.
Max took cover behind his car and returned fire with both guns. His shots stitched across the two enemy vehicles and forced the men to duck, but his left pistol clicked empty and the slide locked open. Max hurled the empty weapon at the enemy gunmen before turning and fleeing from the totaled muscle car.
The metal posts in the road had been protecting a public sculpture park. Metal and stone objects of modern art sat on various pillars or took up space across large open areas. Max had always hated modern art, especially after he’d found out how much the hideous things cost the taxpayers. He charged into the sculpture park as civilians scattered and ran screaming from the encroaching gunfire.
He took refuge behind a collection of metal forks welded together into one giant fork. His five pursuers rushed into the park and took shelter behind other sculptures.
One businessman hiding behind a large granite slab painted with splashes of ugly pink and green paint opened fire. Max took careful aim through the tines of the giant fork and put a bullet between the man’s eyes.
Two businessmen took cover behind a replica of Michelangelo’s Pieta reimagined with lizard people. The gangsters fired at Max and forced him to duck back behind his protective fork.
As Max covered his head to protect himself from falling bits of fork chewed off by bullets, he spotted another businessman trying to flank him. The criminal was running for cover behind a gleaming stainless-steel uterus which stood forty feet high. Max’s bullets tore through him, and the gangster collapsed in a pool of blood at the base of the uterus.
Max leaned out from cover and snapped off two shots at the thugs behind the lizard Pieta. Two of his shots blew open the chest of a gunman and tossed him through the air like a ragdoll. The other gangster ducked down into cover as Max’s pistol clicked empty and the slide locked open.
Man threw the empty gun to his left and made a break to the right. His boots tore up flowerbeds and tracked mud across cement as he rushed toward the giant gleaming uterus. Bullets chewed up the ground behind him as the two surviving gangsters tracked his path.
With a burst of speed Max dropped to one leg and slid toward the dead businessman like he was trying to steal third base. Max scooped up the fallen man’s pistol and skidded into cover behind the uterus. He slammed his back against the statue and checked to make sure a round was chambered in his new gun as he listened for footsteps.
Sure enough, the clomp of boots came from around the statue to Max’s right. He aimed for about where a man’s chest should be and opened fire as his attacker came into view. Thunder roared three times, and the businessman jittered as the bullets tore through his chest. With a thump, the corpse flopped back around the side of the uterus so only the dead man’s shoes were visible.
Gunshots rang out, and bullets clanged against the left side of the metal uterus, forcing Max to duck his head. The shots originated from around the corner of some hideous, twisted sculpture of metal and plastic. A businessman propped up against the ugly mess fired at Max again.
With a sharp intake of breath, Max pushed himself off the ground and rushed around the side of the uterus. Bullets rang against the statue at Max’s back as he charged ahead with his pistol extended, firing away. Both combatants’ pistol slides locked open just as Max’s final bullet shattered the businessman’s sunglasses and punched through his left eye. The blow spun the gangster around, and his corpse sprawled out in a flower bed at the foot of the misshapen statue.
The revving of distant engines sounded from the direction of Max’s trashed car. He ran the other way and hurdled the dead man in the flowerbed.
A small crowd gathered at the edge of the sculpture garden parted as Max approached. “Is this performance art?” a female bystander asked. “I don’t get it.”
Max jogged two miles through streets and alleyways before he finally slowed to catch his breath. He found himself at another small park. Play equipment and soccer fields filled a wide area surrounded by scraggly trees struggling to survive amid urban sprawl.
I know this place.
His stomach rumbled.
Sighing, Max flopped down on a nearby park bench. He draped both arms along the back of the bench and tried to slow his breathing as he looked up at the blue sky.
“Man,” Max groaned. “I hope Nick and Hunter appreciate how easy I just made their jobs. I think I wiped out more dirtbags today t
han in I have in the last year.” His stomach rumbled again, and he winced. “No rest or burritos for the wicked, though, huh? I think I’d kill for a—”
The tantalizing smell of grilling meat seasoned with the perfect blend of spices wafted to Max’s nose. Nostrils flared, Max inhaled deeply as his head swung around to scan the park. There, on the far side tucked in between the concrete bathroom shack and a red fire hydrant, was a bright orange truck.
Painted across the side was one word, Max’s third favorite word: “Burritos.”
Chapter 8
Clash of Titans
Max slammed a twenty-dollar bill down on the metal sill of the truck’s window. “Carne asada burrito. Make it fast and keep the change.”
The young Mexican girl inside raised one eyebrow and hesitated only a heartbeat before snatching up the cash and barking orders over her shoulder in Spanish. She smiled sweetly at Max. “Be right up.”
Max stepped away from the window and leaned his back against the side of the food truck with his eyes closed, letting the sounds of the city wash over him: car tires screeching, people shouting at each other, a dog barking somewhere. His body ached from the battle he’d just survived.
After just a few minutes, the young woman leaned out the window. “Hey, you! The guy in a hurry!” A white plastic shopping bag with a heavy weight in the bottom rattled as she waved it at Max.
Max snatched the bag from her hand and shot her a grin. “Thanks, babe.”
The Mexican girl snorted and rolled her eyes before sliding back inside the window.
Max headed back across the park and flopped onto the same park bench. Inside the white bag was a huge burrito wrapped in aluminum foil. Steam scented with spices wafted up into his face as Max peeled back the foil. The tortilla inside was scorching hot, and Max’s mouth watered.
“Oh baby,” he said to the burrito, “where have you been all morning?” He leaned in to take a bite.
A gunshot rang out across the park.
People screamed.
And Max’s burrito exploded inches from his face.
Rice, beans, and succulent beef splattered against his forehead and lodged in the stubble on his scalp. A bean struck him in the eye and left juice splashed over his eyebrow. His flannel shirt was soaked and ruined with the mess.
Time slowed as Max gazed in shock at the ruin of the burrito in his hand. Only the bottom third remained. With agonizing slowness, Max cranked his head to the right where the shot had come from.
There stood a hulking man in a white suit. His black hair was slicked back over a thick bear skull. The man had the jaw and heavy brow of a caveman, and both looked like they’d shatter the hand of anyone stupid enough to punch the chiseled brute. A maroon vest and tie added color to his otherwise completely white outfit.
One of the man’s white-gloved hands held a massive gold-plated .50 caliber pistol, and the bulky outstretched arm was rock steady as the man leveled the gun at Max. The perfect posture and calm expression on the man’s face left Max certain his burrito had been the first shot’s intended target.
“Whatta ya know,” Max said, “a gorilla in a suit.”
The man gave no reply as he continued to aim his golden gun at Max’s face. His gray eyes bored into Max’s. The intensity of those eyes reminded Max of documentaries he’d seen about big cats just before they lunged at their prey. The sight sent a chill up his spine.
Max despised feeling uncomfortable, and his default reaction was to pick a fight. Guns pointed at his head did nothing to improve his manners. “What are you looking at?”
“Not much.” The man’s voice was a low rumble, the rolling thunder of an oncoming storm.
Max held up the shattered remains of his burrito. “You ruined my lunch. I’ve killed men for that.”
The man in the white suit did not look impressed. “You armed?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a huge pair of cojones in my pants.”
The suited gorilla dropped his gun into a holster on his right hip. Max didn’t know why, but the confident moved pissed him off even more.
“You got a name?” Max asked.
“Johnny Legion. You?”
“Maxwell Cain. What do you want, Johnny?”
“I’m here to take you to see my boss.”
“Who’s your boss?”
“Papa Sal.”
Max grimaced. “Is he the one sending all these thugs in suits after me?”
Johnny Legion stuck his hands in his pockets and stood comfortably as if they were having a casual discussion. The park had emptied of every soul. Even the burrito truck had driven away, much to Max’s regret. “Yeah, you’ve been killing Papa Sal’s men. You didn’t know?”
“Not really. After the bullets started flying I didn’t get a chance to check W-2s. Your boss wants a meeting?”
“Yeah.”
“Not the kind of meeting I’d enjoy, I’ll bet.”
“Not the kind of meeting you can refuse.”
“Uh-huh.” Max eyed the enormous man. Despite the hairs on the back of his neck bristling in warning, Max was sure he could take the guy in a fight. He’d beaten much bigger. “And he sends one goon to fetch me?”
“No,” Johnny rumbled in a low voice. “He sent the Legion.”
Max stood from the bench. Aluminum foil crinkled in the silence of the deserted park as Max wrapped up the remains of his lunch and set it on the seat. “When I beat you,” Max told Johnny, “I’m gonna finish what’s left of my lunch. And I’ll savor every bite.”
Johnny Legion cracked his knuckles and cranked his neck back and forth. The muscle and bone stretched with loud pops. When he’d finished, Johnny raised his fists.
Max stretched his right arm across his chest and held it with the left, then repeated the gesture to the other side. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet to get the circulation flowing again before he settled into a comfortable combat stance.
Without delay, Johnny rushed forward. The hulking brute moved like an avalanche roaring down a mountainside.
Max ducked Johnny’s first jab and tried to launch a counter punch. Johnny swept Max’s fist aside, stepped in, and drove his own meaty fist into Max’s exposed shoulder.
The joint popped and Max felt a momentary numbness before sensation returned. He leaped back to get some room, but Johnny pursued him. The white-suited man was relentless in his assault, jabbing with rapid fire attacks that shoved Max back on the defensive.
The smaller man ducked and dodged, but staying ahead of Johnny’s blows took everything he had. And the huge gorilla hadn’t even taken any powerful swings yet. A light sweat broke out across Max’s forehead.
Max snapped out with a kick against Johnny’s thigh. The man grunted but showed no apparent damage when he stepped forward on the same leg and drove his left fist straight into Max’s upraised forearm. The sheer strength of the blow staggered Max and knocked his arm aside. He overcompensated on his guard by shifting his right arm into the center, but the reflexive move was a mistake.
Johnny took advantage of the opening to lunge and deliver a powerful haymaker into the side of Max’s head.
The blow sent Max reeling across the concrete. Pavement scraped his flesh as Max threw himself into the roll to gain some distance. The blow had scrambled his focus, but years of training took over and he climbed to his feet in an instant. He got his guard up just in time to block Johnny’s meaty fists as they reached to pummel him.
Max was gasping, but Johnny still looked cool as ice. His gray eyes bore down on Max like the eyes of an oncoming predator.
Max’s exhausted body was battered and bruised from gunfights and a car crash, not to mention getting rammed by a car, and had finally reached its end. His defenses slipped, and his counters came slower and slower. Johnny took advantage of every opening.
Max took a punch to
the gut. When he tried to recover, Johnny backhanded him across the face. The huge man swept Max’s feeble guard aside and delivered another haymaker to the left side of his head.
The blow launched Max sideways through the air, where he crashed down into a patch of flowers. The ex-cop struggled to lift himself up off the ground, but Johnny’s big black shoe swung into view. The leather shoe cracked into the side of Max’s head and everything went black.
Chapter 9
Wake Up, Sleepyhead
“Hey,” a female voice purred in Max’s ear. “You awake?”
“Urggh,” Max groaned. He tried to raise his head, but it felt heavy. Lightning flickered across the sky and burned through his eyelids.
“Come on,” purred the voice again. The words dripped with sensuous eagerness. “You gonna wake up, or what?”
Max rolled his shoulders and tried to find his voice but only succeeded in coughing.
“Hey,” the woman’s voice said again, more insistent this time. The sexy purr gave way to a much harsher tone. “Hey, stupid. Yeah, you sack of crap, I’m talking to you. Don’t ignore me.”
Max’s vision swam as he cracked open an eye. After a few seconds the room locked into focus. Blurry gray walls turned out to be made of cinderblocks. Puffy brown clouds resolved into pinewood crates. The lightning storm he’d first imagined was actually a flickering lightbulb in a bare socket dangling from the ceiling. The whole place stank of stale dust and mouse droppings, and sounds echoed strangely off the walls.
“Finally,” said the female voice. Max lurched his head around to look at the woman against the far wall.
She was beautiful, Max noticed. Max tended to notice such things first. It was also not unusual that he noticed her jeans stretched tight across her muscular thighs, or the way her thin white blouse clung to her voluptuous form. A thick mane of blonde hair spilled over a shoulder ever so slightly wider than most women possessed. Her sharp blue eyes and high cheek bones could have belonged to a model. Max had certainly seen uglier women score lucrative modeling contracts.