People Like Us

by J. D. Rhoades

  William straightened up. He stood in thought, the gun held down beside his thigh. Sis had mentioned that Sam and his lady friend had run into some trouble up north. He wondered if maybe they’d brought that trouble to their door. He’d always liked Sam; even back when he was just a baby grifter, he was a good earner, always made money for his partners. But Sis was family. If Sam had brought trouble, bad trouble to his family—well, that was something William was going to have to think about. Think about real hard.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Fischer cruised the darkened streets, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel of the car as he considered his next move. He hadn’t seen the targets at the address he’d been given. From what he’d observed through the windows, there were at least four people in the house, but he’d only gotten a positive look at two of them: the old white lady, and the big black guy. He figured the old lady was probably the one named Aunt Sally. It looked as if there’d been someone in a lit upstairs bedroom, but he couldn’t see exactly who. It was probably one or both targets, but he wasn’t a man who was willing to stake his freedom or his life on “probably.”

  His aimless wandering had taken him into the downtown area. Raleigh was one of those cities where one-way streets forced a driver farther and farther away from where he wanted to go. Fischer grimaced. He took out the new burner phone and dialed the number. The person on the other end picked up after the second ring. “Do we have delivery?”

  “Not yet,” Fisher said. “I need to confirm the address.”

  The voice was clearly irritated. “We gave you the address.”

  “How sure are you? I couldn’t confirm that the addressees were there.”

  “Look,” the voice snapped, “we’ve got good information here. Our guy saw them.”

  “He was sure?”

  “Hundred percent.”

  Fischer wondered why if their guy spotted the targets, he didn’t just take them out. It didn’t seem like these people were looking for subtlety or plausible deniability, two of the more common reasons people hired Fischer.

  “Make the delivery. Or we’ll find another carrier.”

  Fischer didn’t answer. He thumbed the disconnect button and tossed the phone into the passenger seat. “Fine,” he muttered. They’d paid for one delivery. He was going to make it and get out. If it was the wrong recipient, well that would be tough. Bad luck for someone.

  He took a left, trying to figure out how to get back to the neighborhood where the recipients were supposed to be, thinking all the while of how he’d make the delivery. Four people would be a lot to manage. His best bet would be to wait until everyone was asleep, then move in quickly and as silently as possible. It was a crowded neighborhood, with mostly white folks. Any kind of sustained ruckus would bring cops running. He looked around. There were restaurants and bars dotting the streets, groups of people walking and laughing along the sidewalks. Fischer was mildly surprised. He’d always thought Raleigh was the kind of staid Southern burg where they rolled up the downtown sidewalks when people left work. Sure, it was no New Orleans, but there was a respectable amount of nightlife here. Too bad he wasn’t going to get to see any of it.

  He cruised the streets, waiting.

  William lay on his narrow, hard bed in the room next to his sister’s. His ears were wide open, attuned to all the sounds of his old house: the soft creaks of old wood settling under the weight of years; the thump and soft rumble of the central air coming on; Sis’s soft snoring through the connecting door they always left open between the bedrooms.

  He sighed and sat up. Sleep wasn’t coming. That nagging feeling he’d felt since seeing that car outside was riding him like a night-hag. Walking as light-footed as a man his size could manage, he left his room and went downstairs. On the way, he stopped and took a twelve-gauge shotgun from the hall closet. He’d sawed the barrel down to the very edge of legality, cut the wooden stock down to a pistol grip, and loaded the eight-round magazine with double-ought buckshot. He checked the load, jacked a round into the chamber, and took his seat on the couch on the front parlor. He didn’t know exactly what he was waiting for, but that feeling at the base of his spine let him know it was surely out there, and on its way.

  It wasn’t a big city, and by the time Fischer decided that it was late enough to make his move, he figured he’d cruised most of it. He used the GPS on his phone to navigate his way back to the house. He parked the car a block away, a distance he’d calculated that gave him enough time for a quick exit but far enough away that witnesses wouldn’t recall a car in front of the murder house. Locking the car might slow his exit, and the chance of theft in a neighborhood like this at two in the morning was low enough that he could afford a little risk, so he left the keys in the ignition and the driver’s side door unlocked. He moved silently down the sidewalk, by all appearances just another insomniac out for a late-night walk. The casual observer would never see the lock picks in his front pocket, the silenced pistol concealed in the holster at his back, or the spring-loaded knife up his sleeve. He reached the house and, without pausing, turned and mounted the steps, for all the world like he owned the place. Standing in the shadows of the front porch, he stilled breath, listening for any sign that anyone inside was awake. Hearing nothing, he slid the leather case with its selection of lock picks out of his front pocket and knelt by the front door. It was an old house, with old locks, and they yielded to the picks like a nerdy high school virgin to a star quarterback. Fischer gently eased the door open and stepped inside.

  Despite his fatigue, William had begun to drift off on the couch. When he heard the scraping of the picks in the front door locks, however, he sprang fully awake. He rose to his full six-foot-four and moved silently to the doorway between the front parlor and the entranceway, holding the shotgun in front of him. As the door swung wide and a dark shadowy figure slipped inside, he raised it and spoke in a low, firm voice. “I think I know why you’re here.”

  Goddamnit, Fischer said to himself. He’d tipped his hand somehow. Set himself up. And now he’d walked into an ambush. He took a deep breath and didn’t look around. He didn’t know what the man he’d seen earlier was holding on him, but he wasn’t willing to bet his life it wasn’t immediately lethal.

  The words began to sink in. The big man knew why he was here, but wasn’t going to kill him for it. That gave Fischer an opening, and an advantage. The man behind him was no killer. Fischer was. And that was why the other man was going to die. Fischer suppressed his smile of triumph as he answered. “Do tell.”

  William held the shotgun on the intruder, keeping his voice steady. “Put your hands out in front of you. As far as you can. If I see you reach, for anything, you’re dead. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” the man whispered. He extended his hands as if he was trying to grasp something. William looked him over. He was a slender, light-skinned black man, with short, neatly cut hair, dressed in dark gray slacks and a black sweater. He was the one who spoke next. “So, I want something. Sounds like you want something. Let’s talk, brother.”

  William snorted. “Don’t play the brother card with me, motherfucker. I ain’t seen you at the family reunion.”

  The man chuckled. “Ai’ight. But family or not, I’ve got no beef with you. I’ve got a job to do, and you ain’t it.”

  “I understand. But I have a little trouble believin’ you’d leave witnesses behind.”

  “Witnesses? Who you gonna tell? The police? From what I hear, you ain’t the type to go to the police. But even without that, let’s talk this through.”

  William raised the gun. “You think you can bullshit me?”

  “No bullshit at all. Just simple logic. Say you kill me. Bury me in the back yard. The people who hired me ain’t gonna just throw up their hands and go ‘oh, well, guess we missed our chance. Let’s move on.’ They gonna send someone else. An’ that someone, maybe more than one someone, is gonna have four people on his list, not two
.” He smiled a little wider. “Or, I can do what I came here to do, an’ let the people who sent me know you helped me out. That might make up for the fact that you were helping those two in the first place.”

  William considered. “You’d guarantee my sister and I will be left alone?”

  “Your sister?” the man looked thoughtful. “Huh. That’s interestin’. But I ain’t guaranteein’ a damn thing, other’n that I’ll put in a good word.” The smile on his face vanished. “Face it. It’s the best chance you got of gettin’ out of this shit your two guests have gotten you into. You and your sister. So tell me where they are.”

  The gun didn’t waver, but William’s resolve did. “They’re in the bedroom at the top of the stairs. Turn left, then first door on the right. You do what you came to do, then leave. And you leave me and my sister alone.”

  “That’s fair.” The intruder chuckled. “I mean, why do anything for free, right? Or any one.”

  William didn’t find it funny. “So, we have a deal?”

  The intruder nodded. “We have a deal. We don’t have to shake on it, but you mind if I put my hands down? This is starting to hurt.”

  William didn’t answer, but he did relax slightly. That was all the opening the intruder needed. He dropped his hands and turned to face William, moving quickly to knock the gun aside with his left hand. As William saw the glint of the blade in the man’s right, he realized how big a mistake he’d made.

  CHAPTER TEN

  There was no way Fischer was going to leave anyone behind him with a gun, or anyone alive who could identify him once he’d finished what he came here to do. This big motherfucker didn’t realize that, which Fischer supposed was how you got when you took with words and not with weapons. Too bad for him. Fischer slashed with the knife, meaning to open the big man’s throat from ear to ear. He curled his left hand around the barrel of the shotgun, hoping to keep it under control and using the other man’s grip on the weapon to try and pull him closer. The big man was quicker than Fischer had anticipated, though, and he bent back at the waist while taking a quick step away, so that the razor-sharp blade missed him by a whisker’s breadth. The gun went off with a deafening roar, and Fischer could hear wood splintering behind him. But if the big man was fast, Fischer was faster. He closed the gap with a quick step of his own, reversed his stroke, and drove his blade deep into the big man’s belly.

  The pain took William’s breath away. He lost his grip on the shotgun and dimly heard it clatter to the floor as his hand seized the wrist of the killer who still clutched the knife. The man was close enough that William could feel his breath. His eyes were calm, flat and dead, the eyes of a reptile at the kill. The man twisted his wrist in William’s grip, causing the blade to turn in his guts. He hadn’t thought any pain could have been worse that the original blow, but now he learned how wrong he was as it became all-consuming. William screamed. He lost his grip and fell to his knees as the man stepped back, drawing a handgun from behind his back in one smooth motion.

  God, he’s so damn quick.

  I’m sorry, Sis. I tried.

  As the edges of his vision began to go black, he saw a flash of white out of the corner of his eye. A blinding white light illuminated the room like a lightning bolt, accompanied by an instantaneous thunderclap. His head didn’t seem to want to obey; it felt as if it took minutes to turn and see where the noise had come from.

  Sis was standing at the foot of the stairs, dressed in a floor-length flannel nightgown, gray hair down and wild. She held a huge silver revolver that looked like a cannon in her small hands. As William watched helplessly, the man turned his gun on her. William could see the long barrel of a suppressor on the end. With his last strength, he bellowed “NO!” and lunged forward on his knees. He couldn’t reach the man with a gun, but the motion distracted him and he turned back toward William. Sis fired again, and William saw the gunman stumble sideways. It was the last thing he saw before the darkness closed over him.

  The noise from downstairs jerked Sam and Rachel awake at the same time. A loud boom that could only be a gunshot, followed by shout of agony. A scuffle. Then the sound of feet on the stairs.

  “What the hell…” Sam got out of bed as another shot resounded up the stairwell and down the hall. He reached into his suitcase and pulled out the .25 caliber pistol he’d stashed in a shaving kit. “Stay here.”

  “Like hell.” Rachel pulled her own .38 from her suitcase. There was no use trying to argue with her. He headed downstairs, still clad only in his boxers, the gun held out in front of him.

  He found Aunt Sally sitting on the floor, her hair a mad tangle around her weeping face. She held William’s head in her lap. As Sam burst into the room, she raised a gun that looked big enough to hunt elephant with and pointed it blindly at him. “It’s me!” he blurted out just as she recognized him through tear-blurred eyes. The gun fell to her side. She looked down at William. “Come on, little brother,” she sobbed. “Talk to me.”

  “Oh, my God,” Rachel said from behind him. She pushed past Sam and knelt by the old woman’s side. “Sally, what happened?”

  Sam got his first good look at William. What he saw wasn’t encouraging. The big man’s eyes were closed, his face slack and drained of blood beneath his dark skin. A steadily spreading blotch of red at his middle indicated a belly wound. Sam looked around and spotted a knife lying a few feet away, covered in blood. A sawed-off shotgun lay on the floor next to Aunt Sally and William. He began to put the pieces together and felt suddenly ill.

  “I got him,” Aunt Sally kept muttering. “I got the sumbitch who did this.”

  “Who?” Rachel said.

  It was Sam who answered. “Someone who came for us.” He knelt by Aunt Sally, on the other side from Rachel. “Sally, I didn’t know. I’m so, so sorry.”

  She looked up, uncomprehending. “What? What are you talking about?”

  Before Sam could answer, he heard the whine of a police siren outside on the street. The windows lit up with the strobing blue light of a police cruiser.

  “Shit,” Rachel said. “Neighbor must have heard the shots and called it in.”

  “Sally,” Sam reached for the gun. “Put that down. If they come in and see you with it…” She didn’t resist as he took the huge pistol from her slack hand and slid it away. There was the sound of voices outside and feet on the steps. Sally’s seemed to reacquire her focus. “Sam. Get upstairs. Don’t come down. Rachel, stay here with me. Remember who you are.”

  “Who I…” Rachel started to say, then got it. She nodded with a thin smile. “You got it, Granny.” She handed her gun to Sam. “Better stash these, baby. And stay under wraps.”

  There was a pounding on the door. “POLICE! OPEN THE DOOR!”

  “Willy,” Aunt Sally spoke down at the man in her lap. “We’re gonna get you some help. Don’t you die on me, you hear?” Gently, she let his head slide from her lap, stood up, and smoothed down the front of her nightgown. She looked at Sam, who was standing dumbfounded. “I thought I told you to git,” she said.

  He shook his head and headed up the stairs. As he reached the top, he heard Aunt Sally’s voice, raised and nearly hysterical. “Oh, Officer, thank God you’re here!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Fischer swore as he wiped at the gash on the back of his head with a surgical wipe. He carried a canister of the disinfectant squares with him on every job, but he’d never had to use them to wipe his own blood off. What the hell had that old lady been packing? It looked like one of the Guns of Fucking Navarone. Still, he guessed, if she’d had anything in a size she could actually aim, she might have done more than graze him. He tossed the wipe in the floorboard and pulled another from the canister. Graze or not, it hurt like hell, but he took a deep breath and tried to lock the pain away. It was a technique he’d learned over the years, starting literally at his daddy’s knee. He’d used it on worse pains than this, though not many. The pain was easier to deal
with than the anger. He had to channel that, not let it make him lose his cool and do stupid shit.

  He wondered again if he’d gotten bad information. He hadn’t even seen his actual targets, just the old lady, and the big black guy, and neither had been as easy to take as he’d thought. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again, even with the old lady. If the big guy survived, which was doubtful, he’d be weakened, but Fischer wasn’t going to underestimate him again, either. Because whether or not they’d been his targets at the beginning, both had seen his face. And, like the preacher used to say about the Lord, no one could look upon his face and live.

  He shook his head, sending fresh waves of pain through his brain. He was thinking crazy. Maybe he’d lost more blood than he thought. He needed to lay up. Stop bleeding and get his mind right. Then he’d be back. But not in a frontal attack this time. He’d learned his lesson. And he was not interested in any kind of fair fight.

  Sam felt useless hiding in the upstairs bedroom with the door closed and the light off. Worse than useless. Cowardly. But this was Aunt Sally’s show. Her plan to get past this, whatever it was, didn’t include him. He paced back and forth, until he realized a squeaky floorboard or the sound of a too-heavy tread might give him away, so he took off his shoes and sat cross-legged on the bed, straining his ears to try and figure what was going on. At one point, the lights of an ambulance splashed red and white flashes like dancing demons on the wall. There was a lot of shouting at that point and a lot of thumping as if a heavy object was being dragged across the floor downstairs. Then the slamming of the ambulance doors, the roar of the engine, and those lights were gone. The murmur of voices and the tread of multiple footsteps downstairs went on for a long time, and the tread of heavy footsteps on the stairs nearly sent him to the closet to hide, but eventually the house fell silent. He’d turned off the ringtone and notification tones on his phone, but kept it in his hand. He felt the vibration of an incoming message and looked down to see a text from Rachel. ON WAY TO HOSPITAL. ALL COPS WITH US. LOVE U.