Authors: William Vitka
Gotta keep the Russians on their toes.
But where the fuck’re they supposed to move to?
Saim says to Joe, “Check if you can find an emergency exit out the back or something. We can’t sit here. I’ll cover.” He takes a shot at Blue Polo guy. Mostly just to keep the prick back. The thug goes scurrying behind a car.
Joe says, “What about the basement?”
“Basements are always a death trap.”
“Right.” Joe grimaces. “I’ve seen the movies.” Then he’s off, past the bar.
Saim shouts to Sarah: “Find a phone yet?”
Sarah shouts back: “No, but I’ve almost been killed a dozen times. This is fun. I bet you and your partner are fuckin great party guests.”
Saim grins.
She’s pretty good. Tough
. He can see why the bartender liked her.
Bullets pound the wall next to Saim’s head. Chunks of brick and wood fly off. He ducks under the window. Thinks a moment. Pretty sure he’s got four rounds left in the Colt’s mag. He makes his way to the THE THING’s front door.
He can hear sirens incoming. Cops. The good guys.
Maybe.
He remembers what that asshole said:
We greased so many NYPD palms, you don’t even know if your partner’s gonna be on your side when it counts.
Saim grunts. “Fuck it.” Throws the front door open.
Blue Polo’s only about twenty feet away. Straight ahead. Standing behind a car. If Saim had still been ducked under the windows inside, it woulda been good cover. Now, not so much. And the guy shows off a look of dumb surprise.
Saim gives a cheerful, “Hello!” Then puts a bullet in Blue Polo’s neck.
He turns back inside. Lets the door close behind him. “We got a phone? We got a way out? Anything?”
“Got a door,” Joe says. He’s standing in front of it.
“Fan-goddamn-tastic. And we got sirens. Backup’s almost here.”
“Them sirens is music to my ears.”
Joe kicks open the emergency exit.
Racist Russian and his dick-looking buddy are right there.
Waiting.
Two shots ring out.
Joe takes both bullets. One in the leg. The other in his side.
Before Joe can even fall, the Racist has him in a headlock. Gun pressed against the cop’s temple. He uses Joe for insurance. The two thugs walk into the bar.
Saim motions for Sarah to stay put. Stay hidden. He lowers his gun. Doesn’t drop it. Says to the Russian fucks: “Cops’re gonna be here in a minute. A whole lot of em. They don’t like it when people shoot their buddies in blue. What you should do is, put my partner down. Give yourselves up. Otherwise, you’re making a real bad career move.”
Racist Guy says, “You don’t get to talk your way out of this one, faggot.”
Dickface says, “Yeah, faggot.”
Saim says, “You a parrot?”
“No you’re a... You’re—”
Saim says to Racist Guy, “I can see why you don’t let him talk too much.”
Racist Guy says, “Now I get to tell
you
what’s gonna happen.” He nudges Joe forward. “
We
have a bargaining chip. A hostage. You let us out of here. We maybe let your friend go.” Racist Guy taps his pistol against Joe’s head. Hard.
NYPD cruisers skid to a halt outside the bar. Their flashing lights turn THE THING into a nightmarish red-blue pulsing club. A dozen armed cops stomp the pavement and take up ideal firing positions. One of em on a bullhorn says, “This is the New York City Police Department. We have you surrounded. Come out with your hands up.”
Joe laughs. Winces. “They’re singin your song, you Russian pricks.”
Saim shouts to the cops outside: “I am Officer Saim Dajani of the NYPD. My partner, Officer Joe Leonard, is being held against his will and he is
wounded
. We need EMTs. And snipers, maybe, if you guys wanna
kill these assholes
.”
There’s a moment of panic on the Racist Guy’s face. Then he sneers. “This is bigger than you think, raghead. You aren’t listening to me. We’ll get the woman. Doesn’t matter what you do.”
Saim says, “Why don’t you tell me what you want with her.”
“She and that fuckin bartender. They took the boy away from his real mother. And mother’s got herself some powerful friends now. But the bartender’s rotting in hell. She will soon too.”
Sarah stands up. Exposed. “Fuck you. Don’t you go
near
Aaron.”
Saim bites his lower lip. Says, “That was not the smartest thing—”
Racist Guy says to his dickface pal, “Alexei, keep your gun on the cop.”
Alexei obliges. Aims the barrel of his MP-443 at Saim’s forehead.
Saim says, “Alexei? I’ve been referring to you as
Dickface
in my head. Glad that mystery’s solved. Who’s your buddy? The racist, homophobic jackass holding my partner?” Saim tries to deflect attention away from Sarah. “Who you guys working for? I’ve seen you in action. I know you ain’t the
brains
of this little operation.”
Dickface Alexei doesn’t bite.
Racist Guy says, “
Sarah
. You know what you did was wrong. Taking a child.”
Sarah says, “I didn’t
take
anything. But you, fuckball, you stole Kieron from me. You stole Kieron from Aaron.”
“That decision was made above my head. I’m just here to clean up.”
Saim looks to Joe. The two speak with their eyes.
Saim’s eyes say:
Tell me you got a knife or something you can jam into Racist Guy. Make him scream and drop you so you’re outta the line of fire. Then I can put some bullets in Alexei and take Racist Guy in for questioning.
Like they’re gonna have a magic Hollywood way outta this.
Joe’s eyes say:
Dude, I got nothin.
***
Sarah knew standing up was a bad idea.
She did it anyway.
These two cocksuckers. The Russians. Shooting at her. Shooting at these cops who came to tell her about Kieron.
Her Kieron.
Now the tears hit her. They steamroll down her tired face. She can feel em. Warm and wet. She hates it when they hit her lips, cuz then she’s gotta taste em too.
But she remembered one important thing that Kieron told her.
And she
did
find it behind the bar.
***
Racist Guy’s in the middle of a speech about how Saim and Joe and Sarah need to pay for what they’ve done and blah blah blah Mother Russia and they have no idea what’s coming and—
Sarah brings up the shotgun.
A big scary motherfuck. Remington model Express 870 Tactical Magpul pump. The one with no papers and no registration. The one Kieron was worried about the cops finding when Saim and Joe first walked into THE THING.
Nobody moves. Nobody breathes.
Sarah racks the shotgun. Pumps a round into the chamber. That sound—that fuckin sound—it’s the voice of God. Tells people to pay attention. And she ain’t doing it to make pretend the sound itself is a deterrent. She’s doing it cuz she plans to blow Racist Guy’s head right the hell off and turn it into drippy confetti.
Saim’s lightning. He uses the distraction. Brings the Colt up. Tries to think of something witty to say. Can’t. Fires twice at Dickface Alexei. Both bullets find a home in the thug’s head. One goes through an eye. The other hits dead center at the brow and turns the back of Dickface’s head into splattery brain bits. Could be mistaken for strawberry jam, the way it slides down the wall.
Sarah keeps the shotgun on Racist Guy.
Racist Guy panics. Says, “I’ll kill the cop. I swear I’ll kill the goddamn cop. And if you shoot at me, bitch, if you shoot at me you’ll hit us both.”
Sarah says, “Ain’t birdshot in here, dumbass. Shotty’s loaded with slugs. Cops’ll be lucky to even
find
teeth if I decide to pull the trigger.”
Saim says, “Smart thing to do here is give up.”
Racist Guy says... Nothing. He says nothing for a minute. A full minute.
Saim and Sarah with both their guns on him the whole time.
Then he says, “I ain’t telling you nothin.” But he moves the pistol away from the side of Joe’s head and lets the Kentuckian slide to the floor. “You can’t shoot me now. I give up.” He puts his hands behind his head.
The Russian now worried for his life.
With good reason.
Saim swoops in like a bat outta hell. He shouts, “
Clear
. Move in.”
The rest of the NYPD does. Takes positions.
EMTs rush to Joe and the cop keeps telling em, “I’m okay. Just sew this shit up.”
With all the Blues piling up, Saim stands over Racist Guy. He motions for everyone to stay back. He leans in to Mr. Racist’s ear. Says, “Faggot is a pretty fuckin terrible thing to call a gay man. You even know what it means?”
Mr. Racist says, “You’ll suck cocks in hell, faggot.”
Saim smiles. Nods. Drops his empty mag. Puts a fresh one in. Racks the slide. Motions for everyone to back away from his prize again. He fires the Colt once into Mr. Racist’s crotch.
Mr. Racist howls. Blood pools around him.
Saim says, “Accidental discharge.
Accidental discharge
.” He smiles. “Hey, EMTs,
something happened
. Guy’s bleeding out his balls.” Then, in Racist Guy’s ear: “I can get married to anyone I want. Have kids. Now, well, you can’t. That’s a bitch, ain’t it? You wanna be mad about gays? Get mad at straight people. They’re the ones who keep giving birth to all these gay kids like me.”
***
Saim says to Sarah, “That was amazing, what you did.”
Sarah says, “It’s cuz of Kieron. He was so worried about that goddamn gun. Thought someone was gonna come in and use it on him after he went for a piss.”
“Well, it did what it needed to do.”
Sarah looks at him with watery eyes. “How’s your partner?”
“Joe? Joe’ll be fine. Good lookin guy like him, and a cop? Wounded on duty? He’ll be buried in pussy for the next month and a half. All those nurses.”
Sarah grins. “And what about you?”
Saim mimics her smile. “Well, I would rather
not
be buried in pussy. What about you?”
“I’m... I’m fine. All things considered.”
“And what about—”
It hits Sarah like a freight train. “Aaron.
Aaron
.”
27.
Saim’s gotta fight Sarah a bit to keep her back while they make their way up to Kieron’s apartment.
It’s a conga line up there on the stairs.
Saim, one cop, two cop, Sarah, cop, cop, cop, cop.
Saim kicks the door in. Takes point. Colt up.
Other cops filter in behind him.
Saim cries out, “Aaron?
Aaron?
It’s all right, buddy. Come out if you’re hiding. This is the NYPD. Good guys, I swear. Aaron?”
Sarah pushes her way through the cops and Saim nods to them:
Let her through.
She screams for the boy. Calls to him.
Nothing.
Nothing.
She and Saim walk into the living room. The TV’s on. An old Disney movie nobody remembers.
The Black Hole.
Aaron’s big spaceship is in pieces on the floor.
28.
Saim jogs up to the ambulance carrying Racist Guy. Hits the driver’s window once. Just to let the EMT know he’s there.
Saim moves to Racist Guy in the rear emergency bay.
The guy smiles. Laughs on his stretcher.
Saim says, “Where’s the kid?”
Racist Guy says, “I told you.
I told you
.” Laughs some more.
Saim hops into the back. Shoves his Colt 1911 into Racist Guy’s mouth. Rams it down the fucker’s throat till the bastard’s gag reflex kicks in and he’s choking.
No more laughs.
Saim says, “You tell him I’m coming.” Eyes hard. Staring Racist Guy down. Kinda fun when you have a gun. “I know you and your boss are gonna pull some bullshit where you end up on the street again in a day. And I know you’re gonna go back to him.
“You tell your boss I’m coming. You understand me?”
Racist Guy nods. Speechless now.
“My name is Officer Saim fuckin Dajani.
“You called down the thunder.
“Now you got it.”
About the Author
William Vitka is a writer and journalist. He spent ten bloody years in the media in New York City. He’s written for CBSNews.com, NYPost.com, Stuff Magazine, and GameSpy to name a few.