Gunmen: Ch. 5

     Butch parked the van two blocks away from Saliverri’s luxurious compound. A ten foot brick wall surrounded the grounds. The only gate, located at the front, led to the main drive. The driveway curved in front of the main house then onto the lesser houses and garage. Saliverri’s lieutenant lived with his family in the slightly smaller, less extravagant house to the east. The guard house sat in a corner. Oscillating security cameras observed the streets outside the grounds. Stationary cameras fixed upon the inner grounds. One guard patrolled the wall, one made rounds on the inner grounds, two guarded the gate, two, the main house, one monitored the cameras and they all stayed in constant radio contact. That was normal. Unfortunately, Saliverri had already begun gathering his forces to take down Mac, Butch, Sundance and Joe. More than thirty men armed themselves for Saliverri’s fight.

     Sundance turned to Mac. “You got one minute,” he said.

     Mac opened the rear door and ran off.

     Mac ran full sprint across the two blocks to Saliverri’s mansion. He found the guard walking the back wall. Mac ran straight at him. The guard stopped to raise his weapon but Mac was already firing, his aim skewed by his speed and the silencer's end weight. He fired eight rounds to ensure the kill. The grouping was sloppy, but none of the bullets missed entirely. The first bullet hit the collar bone and the rest scattered over his body. He rattled like an electrocution victim with the impacts. He rasped and slumped to the ground. Mac popped two more rounds in him as he ran by. He also shot the three outside security cameras within twenty seconds and hopped the wall.

     A gate guard walked towards the guard house talking into a radio. A man on the other end gave him instructions, “…the third box, I think. The sixth switch is for the outside cameras.”

     Mac walked up behind the guard and shot him behind the ear. The radio screamed, “Oh shit! Oh shit!” The guard monitoring the cameras had evidently seen. Mac ran past the dead guard and heard the radio warn the other guards. Mac had to get to the front gate where the remaining guard controlled the only sub machine gun.

     The spare house obstructed Mac's view to the gate. He rounded it to find the gate guard alert, but looking the wrong direction. Mac closed in on him as quick as possible. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a patrol guard come round the other side of the house and aim at Mac. Mac's response was automatic. He fired his first shot with incredible speed but wild inaccuracy. The guard panicked, allowing Mac to carefully aim his second shot. The bullet hit the patrol guard in the chest. Mac heard the dreadful clang of his 9mm slide locking into place. He was out of bullets.

     He turned his attention to the guard with the sub machine gun. He was only twenty feet away now. The guard leveled his rifle.

     Mac hurled his pistol at the guard. The top of the 9mm struck the guard on the bridge of his nose, shooting blood from his nostrils. The guard squeezed off a three-round burst, but it trailed upwards as his head flung back. Mac heard the bullets burn past his ear. Mac was on the guard before the pistol bounced off his face to the ground. Mac pushed the sub machine gun under the guard’s chin and blew the top of his head off. Saliverri’s soldiers poured out of the main house and the guard house. Mac slid around the dead body as it fell and switched the sub machine gun to full auto. While using the body as cover, he peppered Saliverri’s front door with controlled bursts. Two soldiers fell and the others grabbed cover, but the machine gun ammo was running low. A crash came behind him, but he didn’t look. He knew what it what it was.

     Butch and Sundance bounced around the cab as the iron gate folded under the van’s wheels. Butch tried to provide cover fire from the driver’s side window but ended up shooting the upper story of Saliverri’s house, the dirt, a tree, the entryway stairs and at least one bullet flew off to the sky. He didn’t hit anyone, but it drew all attention away from Mac.

     Joe loaned out some of his heavy artillery to the boys and got them some more adequate equipment: bullet proof vests with thicker Kevlar, a handful of grenades and all the ammo they could carry. Joe also supplied Sundance’s new favorite toy, a rocket launcher. Sundance hung out the passenger window with it slung on his shoulder. The gate finally rolled out from under the van and Sundance steadied the launcher.

When he pulled the trigger, he could feel the heat envelope him. The rocket hit headboard of the house door. It did less damage than Sundance had hoped. The rocket exploded mostly on the wall. Some structural damage caused the second floor corner room to collapse, but the house stayed mostly intact.

     Butch drove past the main house and lined up the side door of the van with the front door of the guard house. Sundance opened fire on the door with his MP50 while Butch hopped in back. He slid open the door to reveal a mounted Browning machine gun. It was the best mounted Machine gun that Joe could find. It was the World War II model, M1919A4; primitive, but it could still hurl a bunch of lead.

     Butch fired waves of bullets over the guard house. Guards would try to sneak out the side or climb out a window, but Sundance popped them with a couple of rounds. Butch fired for less than a minute and spent all his ammunition. The building looked lucky to be standing.

     It took another thirty seconds to clear the guard house. Butch and Sundance found only a handful of survivors, none of which could fight. They came back out to find Mac missing again. Sundance looked down at his chest and said, "ow." He ran his fingers over a bullet that protruded from his vest.

    "What, did you already get shot?" Butch asked.

     "Yeah."

     "Pussy."

     "Maybe if you didn't get a giant steel fucking gate stuck under the van, I could've taken those guys out a little faster."

     "You gonna live?"

     "Yeah, it didn't go through the vest. Just hurts like a bitch," Sundance said while massaging his chest.

     "I think I have some Scooby-do band-aids in the van. Y'know, if your boo-boo hurts too much."

     "Fuck you! You got hit first in Tijuana."

     "I ain't gonna kiss it better. Just so ya know."

     "I have something for you to... Jesus Christ, nevermind! Can we go kill people now?"

* * * * *

      Mike woke up on his back, unable to move. It seemed that the second floor had collapsed onto his desk. He should have worked at his own house today, he thought. His right arm was pinned under part of the ceiling. Also, his legs were pinned between the chair and the floor. This was one of the few times Mike appreciated Saliverri's extravagancies. Mike's hand crafted oak desk absorbed most of the impact from the ceiling and even held up part of it.

     Gunfire was everywhere; inside the building, outside. Mike's ears were ringing but he got his bearings. He could hear Nick laughing like a Madman somewhere in the house. What the fuck was that maniac doing? The gunfire stopped and the laughing stopped. Mike hoped that someone killed Nick. At least something good would come of this. Whatever this was.

     Mike heard two men walk in the gaping hole that used to be the front door. They were bickering about something. He listened closely, but could only make out a few words. One caught his attention, "Mac." Nick said he had run into Mac earlier. If Mac was here, then they would all surely die. He heard the men go up the main staircase and he decided to remain perfectly still until these guys were all gone.

* * * * *

     Sundance took point up the stairs. He thought of how extravagant the house was. The wood was carved. Every piece of trim was etched and stained and expensive. Saliverri had those silly suits of medieval armor that Castles in movies had. Massive paintings lined the hallway in between marble pillars. Sundance almost felt bad for blowing up the entrance. He bet it was pretty.

     Someone at the end of the hall moved. Both men ran to meet whoever it was with guns raised. It was Nick. Suspended in air, hung on a mounted golden candle holder. He had a gut shot. He would probably bleed out.

     "Hi," Sundance said. "Mac's been looking for you."

     "Guess he found you," Butch said.

     Nick, it seemed could be as silent as Mac if he wanted. He didn't even look like he was in pain, though he had to be.

     "Nothing to say?" Butch asked. "Well, I say we kill him."

     "Why didn't Mac? Maybe we should leave him alive."

     "But I really don't like this guy," Butch said then turned to Nick. "What do you say, Nick? What do you want, live or die?"

     Nick decided to speak, "You should probably run for your lives, cause if I get—"

     Blam.

     Blam.

     Butch cut him off by putting bullets through his kneecaps. Nick released a wet, gurgling scream that made Butch feel better. "That'll work," he said. "Let's go."

     They walked past several bodies on the way to Saliverri's office. Sundance pushed open the office door to see Mac standing over a headless body in a chair. Mac waved. He was stuffing things into a duffel bag. He emptied the butts from Saliverri's gold trimmed alabaster ashtray and dropped it into the bag along with the ridiculous lighter. Mac stole his cigar cutter and all his cigars. He took Saliverri's titanium pens, silver money clip and lambskin wallet. In the center of the desk was a human head. Blood drained from the neck onto the solid oak and down to the floor. A bloody sword that belonged to a suit of armor lay alongside the head.

     "Saliverri?" Butch asked and pointed at the head.

Mac nodded and went on stuffing the duffel bag.

     "Ok."

     "We found your friend hanging around out there," Sundance said.

     Mac looked worried for a minute and stared at Sundance.

     "Oh, we didn't kill him or anything. Just hurt him a little more."

     Mac smiled and went back to packing. He found a gold letter opener.

     The situation was awkward. Butch didn't know what to say now. This was one of the smoother jobs that he and Sundance had been on. Mac hardly needed their help. They were no longer in danger. Saliverri was dead, Mac had gotten his revenge. Butch watched Mac walk around the room and stuff things into the bag for a few minutes before Sundance spoke.

     "Wanna come with us?" He asked.

     Mac looked up, smiled and shook his head. The bag was stuffed as full as could be. Mac zipped it up and stood in front of Butch and Sundance. He clapped them on the arms and walked out the door. A few seconds later, they heard Nick scream.

     "That was kinda easy," Sundance said.

     "It was easy for me, you got shot."

     "When you learn to drive, it will get easier to me," Sundance said, then paused. "Do we have enough to pay back Joe?"

     "Not even fucking close. We're indentured servants for at least three more jobs."

     Sundance sighed, "Let's go see Joe. I'm thirsty, anyway."

Gunmen: Ch. 4

     The case of drugs lay open on the paisley print motel bedspread. Neither Butch nor Sundance knew whether it was cocaine or heroin, but it still tantalized them with its misleading purity.

     Mac, for the first time in many hours, was not polishing a weapon. It took a few minutes for Butch to figure out that Mac was asleep. He was sitting upright in the only chair in the room. His eyes were closed and his head was angled back.

     “What are we gonna do with this shit?” Sundance asked Butch.

     “Sell it. To…someone.”

     “Who’s not gonna send us a hailstorm of bullets when they find out whose drugs they are?”

     “Were. They're our drugs now. And it doesn’t matter whose drugs they were. Anyone will buy it from us if we sell it for a million. They won’t care.”

     “I somehow know that you’re wrong and we’ll both regret your stupidity.”

     “Hey, fuck you. We’re gonna be sittin’ pretty for years… And if we get killed, blame him,” Butch pointed at Mac, who was still asleep, “He stole it.”

     “Yeah, he stole it, but you were ready to suck his dick when he did.”

     “Sundance, you jackass-curmudgeon…listen very closely to me. Another… million… dollars. Sounds good, doesn’t it? Yes it does, of course it does. Now saddle up, shut the fuck up and take it like a man. We’re fuckin’ rich. I’m going to kill anyone who tries to kill us and so are you. Not only that, we can send Mac ahead of us and just sit back and drink martinis.”

     Mac cleared his throat, but didn’t move.

Butch turned to Mac,“I was just kiddin’, all I was saying is that you’re invincible…You’re still a creepy motherfucker, though.”

     Mac smiled with his eyes shut. Sundance smiled at that.

     “Okay, then,” Sundance said. “We’re gonna do this because you’re a dumbshit, got it. But, we’ve been standing here, looking at this case for an hour and we don’t know what we’re looking at,”

Butch looked at Mac, “Do you know?”

     Mac, still with his eyes comfortably seamed, shook his head.

     “Hmm…what about Joe?” Butch said. “There’s not a drug dealing scumbag that he don’t know.”

Sundance paused to consider it. “That’s not a bad idea.”

     “Good. Now we can get some sleep.”

Mac opened up one of his eyes, closed it, and shook his head. He shifted, situating himself in a somewhat more comfortable position, then tried to sleep again.

     “We’ll go to Joe’s first thing in the morning,” Butch said as he put the drugs on the floor and got into bed.

Sundance locked the door, turned off the light and took off his boots and shirt. He lied down on the floor and did the best to make himself comfortable, but was still uneasy.

     “We’re gonna die,” he said.

     “hmpf,” came from the bed.

     The next morning was bright. Sunlight pushed its way through the flimsy, sixties orange drapes that hung over the window and hid the desolate parking lot of the motel. Sundance just about crawled under the bed. Butch groaned on the bed.

     Sundance heard a wet scraping sound and realized that Mac was already awake and brushing his teeth. It wasn’t really surprising after Sundance thought about it for a moment.

     He stood up and twisted his back, which let off a series of loud pops. With one hand on either side of his head, Sundance twisted his neck and sounded off another series of pops.

     The faucet was running and Mac was gargling and spitting. His holster was already on and his .45 in it. Sundance suspected his gun was already cleaned earlier this morning. Butch couldn’t take any more noise and sat up. He stared around the room with bloodshot eyes. The wallpaper was uglier in the daylight, he thought. Groaning, he stood up, pushed past Mac to go to the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

     Sundance’s shirt was on the only table in the room, neatly folded. And clean. And ironed. He looked at Mac who shrugged, spit one last time into the sink and turned off the faucet.

     The shower was now running and Sundance got sick of waiting for the bathroom, so he just went outside. While standing in the little garden in between motel room doors, he thought about smoking a cigarette. He hadn’t had one in probably a year. He thought about smoking too much for the job he was in. There was no way to count the times he and Butch had to run for their lives. They had to run a long fucking way too. He decided not to think about it for a while and walked back inside.

     The shower faucet was off when he came back in. Butch emerged from the bathroom, steam rising around him, with a towel around his head and one around his waist.

     “Hurry up, we gotta go,” Butch said, walking over to his bag.

     “You are a god damn woman, Butch. I’m ready. I’m going brush my teeth, then I’m still gonna be sittin’ here with Mac waiting on your feminine ass to do your hair.”

     “Jealous," Butch said.

     “Hurry.”

     “Y’know, I haven’t taken a shower in two days. The least you could let me do is enjoy it.”

     “Hurry.”

     About an hour later, they finally left the Motel. Sundance was laughing while he tried to fuck up Butch’s immaculate spiked hair. Butch kept dodging.

* * * * *

     A bar in the middle of the desert was peculiar, so Nick expected something appropriately odd inside. He found a far stranger scenario than any he’d conjured up. The bar was typical in design. Dust hung in the sunlight just like every other similar establishment, but the customers were irregular. Fourteen men were scattered out across the tables in groups of three or four. Unfortunately, every one of them knew Nick, or of him.

     Nick whacked a guy name Victor Piccoli two and a half years before. It was really a work of art; disemboweled him at his sixty-fifth birthday party. Victor was beloved father and uncle to four of the men at the table twenty feet immediately in front of him. The Piccolis convinced an informant to sell out Nick’s information. It was the only man who’d ever snitched on him. The Piccolis sent one of the nephews after Nick with ten soldiers. After killing the first five, Nick took a bullet in the chest. He still managed to take out everyone else before he got to the nephew. For two weeks, every day, Nick mailed a piece of the nephew back to the Piccolis. The last package was his heart. He hadn’t heard anything from the Piccolis since.

     To the left of the Piccolis and a few tables away, two mercs were talking to a contact. Nick had gone head to head with the mercs over a contract bounty. They’re no longer a three-man team.

     Two more tables of men stared down Nick in similar fashion, but Nick couldn’t place their faces. It made them unknown threats, probably and hopefully minimal threats. The bartender was the only person in sight who wasn’t staring down Nick. He cleaned a mug behind the counter and carefully surveyed his seated patrons.

     It was quite a tight predicament for Nick. All the outcomes, maneuvers and countermoves unfolded in Nick’s head. He wasn’t sure why no one was shooting at him yet, but it gave him more time to think. Who to shoot first, who would draw fastest, who was the best shot? Nick was still calculating when all the men began to push their chairs away from the tables to stand up. Nick pushed his jacket away from his holster.

     “Boys,” the bartender said, “You know the rules.”

The bartender never stopped cleaning the mug. The men at the tables finally peeled their eyes off Nick and looked at the bartender. The men scooted back to their tables. It surprised Nick that a bartender’s authority outweighed these men’s hatred for him.

     “Come over here a minute, Nick,” the bartender called to him. It caused him a second of pause.

“Yeah, I know who you are,” the bartender continued, “C’mere, we gotta talk.”

Nick walked alongside the bar stools, keeping an eye on the seated men. He sat in one of the stools, facing the bartender. He didn’t like having his back to fourteen people that wanted him dead, but this bartender seemed to have weight with them.

     “Now listen carefully, Son,” the bartender began, “This is a neutral establishment, so no one’s gonna do a thing while I’m here. Not them, not you. Understand?

Nick just raised his eyebrows in muted shock.

     “Okay, good. I know you’re good but don’t make the mistake athinkin’ you’re better or faster than me.”

The bartender looked hard at Nick, enough to make Nick give him his undivided attention. What the guy said wasn’t a threat; it was a warning. His tone of voice was that of concern more than intimidation. The bartender believed he was faster than Nick…and he knew Nick. The guy might be bluffing but Nick didn’t know anything about him or what he might be capable of. Nick forgot about everyone else in the room for a moment.

     “Anyway, now that all that bullshit’s over with, I’m Joe.”

     The bartender changed to a friendly demeanor, snapping Nick’s attention in two again. The men behind him, and the danger they represented, were again apparent.

     “What can I getcha?” Joe asked.

     “You have any good wine?”

     “Hah! You fuckin’ kiddin’ me? What kind?”

     “Um…Pinot?”

     “Just a sec,” Joe smiled and walked into a back room.

Nick turned back to the furious faces behind him. The men were grimacing and popping knuckles. They dragged their nails down the sides of their drinks and stared at him. Nick did what came naturally to him and smiled. It would have been a sure tension breaker, but before anyone could react, Joe returned to the room with a bottle of pinot noir in one hand and a shotgun in the other.

     Joe stared at his customers as he walked to Nick, making sure he dedicated at least a glance to each man. He laid the shotgun on the bar top with the barrel toward Nick. Joe pulled a wine glass off the shelf and popped the cork.

     “Won’t find a finer pinot anywhere. Don’t rush it, let it breath a minute. Guy I know makes it himself. Got it twelve years ago in California. Got a couple left,” Joe decided to pour himself a glass.

Joe pulled another wineglass down and filled it. He swirled it around and started speaking again, “People don’t breeze in here, Nick. Whaddaya want?”

     The wine had even color. It didn’t thin out when the glass tipped. Nick was impressed. He tilted it back and sipped it.

     “It’s good. Who’d you get it from?

     “That’s my little secret. But you didn’t come here to talk wine.”

Nick liked directness. He had to deal with Mike, his boss’s lieutenant most of the time…and Mike was full of seven shades of shit. Even Nick found himself being talked into things by the silver-tongued snake. It was too bad Joe had to die. Nick kind of liked him.

     “I have a couple of questions and I heard you’re the man to talk to.”

Joe let a few seconds pass before saying anything. “You can ask me anything you want, doesn’t mean I’ll tell…but shoot.”

     Nick grinned at the comment. “Know anything about a guy named Jimmy Ellis?”

Joe didn’t budge. “Should I?”

     “Maybe. He spilled his guts to someone I think was one of your informants…do you know what I’m talking about?” Nick paused and waited.

     Joe squinted, as if trying to piece things together. “Funny thing I saw on National News. Guy I know got caught up in a fucked up police massacre. Pretty close to here. Caused me a load of trouble. News has scarce details, but I’m pretty sure there’s only a few people on this planet capable and willing to do some crazy shit like that.”

     “So…you did know the late Detective George. That man made some very expensive decisions lately. Was he you’re informant or someone else’s?”

     “He was mine, Psycho. Why’s he dead?” Joe leaned toward Nick. It was the only thing Joe gave away. Joe was usually impassive, but now, he was very obviously pissed off. Joe’s fingers lined up nearer his shotgun.

     Nick was confused. Joe was tough to figure out, but Nick was great at reading people. The things that Joe said didn’t add up. Joe knew Det. George, but not Ellis. He didn’t even seem to know who Ellis was. If Joe were in on this deal, he’d know about Ellis. If George was Joe’s informant and Joe didn’t know about the deal, then George bypassed him and sold out the deal to someone else. If George bypassed his main organizer, then he did it to cut out the middleman. He must’ve wanted a bigger cut…so…he must have dealt with some gunmen directly.

     “Did George know any gunmen?” Nick asked.

      Joe paused. He didn’t like where this was going, “…Why?”

     “I think he informed some people he knew about the deal, instead of going through you.”

     “I think that could very well be some bullshit.”

     “Hey man, I did you a favor for capping the motherfucker who cheated you out of a deal. Although to be fair, I would’ve killed you if you had anything to do with it.”

     “You’re pretty confident, pipsqueak…I’m not that easy to kill.”

     Nick took another sip of his wine. He rolled it around on his tongue before swallowing it. Jesus, it was good wine. “Joe… Did Detective George know anyone capable of ripping off big deals? This is where you say, ‘Of course, Nick’ and then I say ‘Who-Are-They?’”

     Butch and Sundance were the only gunmen that the Detective George knew. Joe wasn’t about to give them up. But he was going to slap the shit out of them for talking to his informant.

     “He was a cop in my area. Chances are, he probably knew a few. I wouldn’t know which ones.”

     “Lies, Joe. You’re telling me lies. And even if you weren’t…which you are…you could find out. Why don’t you fill me in right now. I’m trying to spare you a lot of pain.” Nick drank the rest of his wine.

     “Listen up, Squirt, the only reason you’re not breathing your last breath through nine millimeter holes in your chest is because I say so. So don’t go throwin’ threats around my bar. You try that bullshit again, I’ll likely get upset.”

     “I just want the names of some guys that took a job from you. Why in the hell do you think they're worth protecting? You know I’m going to have those names, so come on and just give them up, Joe.”

      Joe didn’t want to escalate the situation, but he couldn’t back down and he couldn’t give up the boys either. A few of the guys behind Nick stood up. Nick noticed but didn’t break eye contact with Joe.

      Joe looked over Nick’s shoulder for a second. “Sit the fuck down and don’t do a goddamn thing.”

      No matter what, Joe couldn’t let there be bloodshed in the bar. His reputation and business depended on maintaining neutrality, maintaining the peace.

      Joe turned his attention back to Nick, “You keep tryin’ to give me orders and I’m gonna have to start knockin’ teeth down your throat. You either leave now and come back when you got some sense in that fucked up head of yours or I’m gonna let the boys here bleed you out.”

      Joe would never back down. The time for talk was over. Nick had to figure out how to kill everyone in the room and make sure Joe lived long enough to give up the names. This was very tricky.

      Nick laid his empty glass on the bar and stood up. He made sure it was easy to unholster his gun. When he stood up, nick heard muffled laughter from outside.

      Mac walked in front of Butch and Sundance to the front door of Joe’s. Butch’s hair was completely messed up and Sundance laughed about it. Mac pushed the door open and walked through.

      Butch and Sundance had barely made it inside when Mac drew his gun in a blur. Sundance had never seen a gun drawn that fast. He was amazed to see another man at the bar match Mac’s speed on the draw.

Joe already had a shotgun to the other guy’s ear and yelled, “Don’t!” before any shots were fired. Everybody in the bar drew their weapons in the next second, except for Butch who calmly stood still. Sundance had his pistol aimed at the unknown man over Mac’s shoulder. It would already be a bloodbath if not for Joe. Everyone wanted to shoot the guy.

      Butch looked around at all the angry faces and felt like he should be doing something. He finally decided to pull out his gun and point it at the guy.

      Well, Joe wasn’t lying, Nick thought. He was that fast.

      Joe was screaming, “MAC, YOU PUT THAT MOTHERFUCKIN’ THING UP! NOBODY DO A FUCKIN’ THING!”

      Joe shifted his weapon off Nick’s ear and pointed it into the crowd behind Nick to reinforce the statement, then let it drift back. Joe began talking to Nick, “You get the fuck out of here, right now, if you wanna live.”

     Nick ignored Joe.

     “Hi Mac!” Nick said, “Been a long time.” There was a long pause. “Oh what, nothing to say to me after all these years? Sure have missed you.

      Joe touched Nick’s eyelashes with the barrel of his shotgun and said, “Keep it up.” Joe tilted his head toward Mac, “Mac, not in MY BAR, GODDDAMMIT!”

      “C’mon, Joe!” Nick said, “It’s just getting fun now. I didn’t know you knew Mac. We go way back, Mac and me. Don’t we, Mac? Well Joe, I got a pretty good idea who’s responsible now. Who’re the two assholes with him?”

      “Hey! Fuck you!” Butch yelled.

      Joe still tried to calm things down. “Holster that weapon, son, and no one dies,” he told Nick. Nick was fucked outright and would have been killed ten times over if it weren’t for Joe. Nick didn’t seem to care one way or the other; his job was done. He had all the info he needed. These were the guys. Nick holstered his weapon.

      “Yeah…” Nick said, “I’ll check in on you guys later. Thanks for the wine, Joe.” Nick walked out of the way of the shotgun and toward the door. Joe kept the shotgun steady right where he had it. The gun trained on the guys at the tables behind where Nick stood.

      “Easy, everyone,” Joe told them, “Just take it easy.” He swept the shotgun over the bloodthirsty Piccolis. He made a point to look over at Mac without pointing the gun at him. “Easy, Mac. Take it easy, son. Not here.”

      Nick walked past Mac. Mac’s face was red; his pistol still locked on Nick’s head. Butch and Sundance hadn’t seen intense emotion from Mac before.

      Nick turned his back on the front door and leaned on it. As he left, he smirked at Mac, “See you soon, buddy.” The door slowly swung closed behind him.

      “Butch, bolt that door!” Joe said.

      Butch put away his gun and pushed the bolt over.

      Joe laid the shotgun on the bar and leaned on it. “Fuck,” he exhaled.

      Everyone holstered their weapons, except Mac. He had a white-knuckle hold on the .45 at his side.

      One of the Piccolis yelled at Joe, “You should have let us kill him, Joe! You know what that fucker did!”

      Joe didn’t bother looking up. He tried to catch his breath. He hadn’t been that anxious for a long time. “You know the rules,” he said sounding much older than usual.

      “We’re going to get him. You can’t stop us from skinning the son-of-a-bitch alive when we’re not here.”

      “That’s true. I can’t stop you,” Joe said, looking up. “If you go after him, he’ll kill you all. I’m sure he’s expecting you.”

      “FUCK YOU, JOE! C’mon boys, lets go.” He turned to the other guys at the bar, “You can come with us if you want.”

      Everyone agreed to go. They all left and Butch re-bolted the door behind them.

      “I couldn’t let you do it here, Mac,” Joe said. He knew he couldn’t comfort Mac in any way. He didn’t try. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a load off, huh?”

      Mac walked upstairs gripping his gun. Joe’s back straightened and his face hardened. He turned to Butch and Sundance.

      “I gotta talk to you two assholes.”

      “Hey, What’d we do,” Butch asked.

      “You guys talked to my informant without telling me?”

      Sundance glanced at Butch. They knew they were caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

      “C’mon Joe, we were gonna tell you. He came to us, man,” Sundance said. “We were gonna give you a cut anyway. Detective George told us not to say anything to you. He wanted a bigger cut.”

Butch interrupted, “We were gonna give it to you anyway. We just didn’t want to freak him out before we did the job.”

      “YOU SHOULD HAVE FREAKED HIM THE FUCK OUT AND COME TO ME FIRST!” Joe yelled, his voice quaking with fury. “If I would a'known the Saliverris were involved in any way, I wouldn’t have sent Mac. Jesus Christ, do you have any Idea how much shit you guys just fucked up?”

     “Jesus, Joe, you’re gonna twist your testicles, calm down,” Butch said.

     Joe stared Butch into looking down.

     “What do you mean about Mac?” Sundance asked.

     Joe was short with them. He was conflicted about whether he wanted to tell the story, throw the assholes out of his bar, talk to Mac or start working on fixing the fucking mess Butch and Sundance made. Whatever he finally decided to do, he figured that the boys needed to hear the story.

     “Mac used to work for Saliverri. He was one of his hitmen…Along with Nick (the asshole that just caused all the ruckus in here).” Joe took a deep breath. “Saliverri thought someone was stealing from him. He thought it was Mac. Eventually his lieutenant figured out the mistake and tried to clear Mac, but not before Saliverri sicced Nick on Mac’s family.”

      “Huh,” Butch grunted, “I didn’t know Mac was the family type.”

      “You didn’t know him before. Nick got there when Mac was asleep, sneaky motherfucker, dangerous as they come. He tied up Mac, his wife and his daughter. He just about skinned them alive. Nick did Mac’s wife first, then his daughter. Taking his time. Right in front of Mac too…poor sunuvabitch. Saliverri’s lieutenant got there just after Nick started on Mac. He stopped him, but it took a couple of weeks before they knew if Mac would live or not. Mac ain’t said much since. Saliverri tried to make it right, but you can’t fix shit like that. Mac went on a run for Saliverri after he got a little better. Mac killed all his kids. Even the bastard ones his wife didn’t know about. Don’t get all weepy ‘bout ‘em, though. They were class-A dirtbag assholes just like their father. Mac marched through most of Saliverri’s army, took a lot of lead, too. Boss Saliverri barely got out with his life. Mac’d a been fully recovered, Saliverri’d be dead as shit. Since then, Mac’s been in hiding, waiting for the right time to go after Saliverri, pullin’ high-risk jobs here and there for money. He’s more of a legend now than a gunman. Thought he might a come to his senses and put all that other shit behind him, but you two morons had to screw that up didn’t ya?”

      “How the hell do you know this?” Sundance asked.

      “Ain’t nothin’ I don’t know.”

      Sundance shrugged and let it be. He wasn’t sure what to think about this. What was he going to say to Mac?

      Butch was astonished. How could everything go so perfectly wrong? It was going so well.

Joe continued, “Now Saliverri’s gone and sent Nick out in the wild. He killed everyone in a goddamn police station to get to you. It’s gonna take every favor I got me owed, every string I can pull, most the money I got right now and probably a whole lotta other shit in the unforeseen future to keep the heat off my place now. …And now Nick found out who you guys are and he knows where Mac is. Saliverri’s gonna send everyone he’s got after you.”

     “Aw…fuck, man. We didn’t know all that shit,” Butch said. “Mac just ran off and wiped out all of Saliverri’s guys…came back with the drugs. We didn’t know all this shit.”

     “Yeah, no fuckin shit! That’s why you should have come to me first!”

     Butch sat down and put his head in his hands. “We’ll make it right, Joe. We’ll take care of it, I promise.”

     Sundance thought back to all the events that led to this moment. He thought of all the causes and slapped Butch in the back of the head, “I fucking told you, Butch!”

     “Man, haven’t you fucked up my hair enough!?”

     “Shut up, both of you,” Joe said.

     Butch and Sundance looked down and obliged Joe, then walked upstairs after Mac.

     Joe's second floor was posh. It was a collection of ‘cool rooms’. A few rooms were like hotel rooms: bed, satellite TV, mini-bar…comfy. Sometimes the bar was used for Boss meetings on neutral ground. Some of the bosses stayed the night. If negotiations ran long, they all stayed. Joe made quite a chunk of change on those.

     Mac sat on the bed in the last room of the hall. Butch and Sundance knocked on the open door and walked in. Mac raised his head just enough to acknowledge their presence, then let it hang back down. Mac stared at his chrome-plated pistol. He twisted it in the light, rolling the reflection from the light down the barrel and off the tip like a gleaming teardrop.

     Butch sank down on the bed beside Mac. He didn’t say anything. Sundance stood at the entryway. No words needed to be spoken. All of them knew how this had to play out. A mutual understanding was communicated in silence.

     Butch looked away from Mac to Sundance and nodded.

     “Well…” Sundance said, “Let’s go kill the motherfuckers.”

Gunmen: Ch. 3

     Tony Saliverri never looked upset. He never looked confused or hesitant. He always looked determined, as if he was already formulating a way to turn any situation to his advantage. It was unsettling to sit with him for long periods of time. His eyes were impenetrable, making it impossible to figure out what he was thinking. It was quite an advantage to have, considering how many people’s lives he could end, and has ended with but a word.

     Saliverri’s Lieutenant, Mike, had been sitting with him for five minutes and only a thirty-second discussion had taken place. Mike had told Saliverri about the drug deal being hit, all five of the men getting killed (as well as all of Sullivan’s guys) and both the money and drugs missing. Neither one of them had said a word since.

Saliverri opened his mahogany cigar box, pulled out a Cuban and lit it with his two hundred dollar silver and gold lighter. It was one of those lighters that released a torch flame that could withstand forty mile-an-hour winds, be dropped from a helicopter in Vietnam and get hit with a laser and still light a cigar. It wasn’t one of the pussy lighters that gave off an itty-bitty trickle of weak light and mild heat. Mike knew all about it because of the salesman he bought it from. Mrs. Saliverri asked Mike to get her husband something he would like. As long as it was expensive, Mike knew Tony would love it. This was one of the many reasons that Mike was invaluable to Tony. Everyone knew it, but Mike had always been insecure in his place as personal counsel.

     Saliverri spun the cigar in circles, puffing as the end burned bright red, wafting fire and smoke into the air between the two men. The smoke curled up and out in a thick gray roll. Mike adjusted in his seat. Saliverri stared without blinking at his lieutenant.

     The questions were coming any second. Mike knew all about getting questioned by Tony. He likened the event to running the gauntlet. Saliverri formulated every question he would ask, every response and pause in speaking before ever saying a word. He was prepared for anything at any time before a conversation took place.

     Both these men were very good at bullshitting and detecting bullshit, but Mike couldn’t just sit there and repeat ‘I don’t know, I don’t know,’ as he didn’t have the answers that Tony wanted. That wouldn’t be good for Mike’s health. Saliverri wanted solutions to problems. He wouldn’t wait long for them either. Mike had to word his ‘I don’t knows’ very carefully.

     “Do we know who did it?” Saliverri asked.

     “The shooters were pros, four to six highly trained men, but they aren’t the main problem. The deal got leaked by somebody.”

     “Was the leak one of Sullivan’s guys, or one of ours?”

     “That’s what I need to find out. I need to know who knew about it from our end. I’m going to talk to Sullivan tomorrow and figure out what he thinks about it. While I’m at it, I’ll see if he’s the one who set the whole thing up. If he didn’t, he’ll be entertaining the possibility that you were responsible for the hit and be cautious around me. If he did do it, he’ll be overly friendly, trying to calm the tension. It’s unlikely that he had anything to do with it, but I want to cover all ends.

     “I knew about the deal,” Saliverri said, “You knew about it, Sam and Lono knew, the rest are dead. It had to be from Sullivan’s side. Stupid, careless bastard,” Saliverri puffed on his cigar, the red glow gave his already intimidating, stern face a demonic appearance. “If it wasn’t Sullivan, who could fund a hit like this? Good gunmen aren’t that easy to come by.”

     “First of all, the gunmen weren’t good, they were superb; very clean, very fast. It was a well-organized, simultaneous strike on two well-armed teams. All of our guys were wiped out with blades. That shit’s not easy to pull off. I haven’t seen anything like that since I was a button-man.

     “As far as the initial funding goes,” Mike continued, “It was most likely an independent group that already has access to the equipment needed to pull it off. No need to hire more guns, they just repay themselves with the cash and the merchandise. A cut goes to the informant.

     “When I find the leak,” Mike made sure to stress the when, “I’ll be able to track down the gunners and whoever set it up, if anyone else was involved.”

     Mike stopped talking, somewhat afraid that he had talked too long. Even though everything Mike said was true, he was also pretty sure that Tony interpreted the whole thing as ‘Hey! I don’t know what the fuck is going on, I need to be shot in the face, and fast, don’t let me waste any more of your important time, Mr. Saliverri.’ Mike pushed the unlikely scenario from his mind, but he still wanted to hide from Tony’s damned diamond solid stare.

     “How is Sullivan going to find out who the leak was?” Saliverri asked. “I’m not going to count on that dumb fuck being able to clean up this mess. Once we know who the leak is, Mike, I want you to handle it.”

     “Of course, I’m not going to hand this over to him," Mike said. "But we have to be as diplomatic as possible about it. We can’t be stepping over his guys to get this figured out. I don’t think he had anything to do with the deal being knocked off, so if we start stepping on his toes, we lose him as reliable business asset.

     “The leak is on his side,” Mike, again, stressing the words that were important for Tony to hear. “So, that will give us some leverage and compensation, which we will demand,” This is where Mike really shined: business. He liked when he could steer the conversation to his strong points.

     “Mike…we’ve been hit before, but never this bad. I can’t let whoever’s responsible get away. It’ll be bad for business all around. If we can’t protect the deal, our men, the dealer’s men, the merchandise, the money, we’ll never get anyone to sell to us. I’m putting Nick at your disposal…”

     “Wait, Tony, I don’t need him…”

     “ …And you’re going to use him, Mike. He gets results fast and I need them fast. Don’t argue, I know how you feel about him, but we need him on this. I can’t let this dangle for too long. The drugs will be sold, the money will be gone and the bastards who did this will be in fucking Barbados. Just do it, Mike. Find my drugs.”

     “I will…but Nick brings serious heat with him, you know? That’s all I’m saying. He’s psychotic…dangerous having him around.”

     “It’s got to be done. Just do it,” Tony was done talking about this, so Mike resigned his argument.

     “Alright, Tony, it’s done. I’ll give him a call and tell him to get here by tomorrow.”

     Saliverri finished up his cigar, smothering it in his gold trimmed alabaster ashtray. He dismissed Mike to get started. Waiting until Mike was completely out of the room, Saliverri slouched in his lambskin chair, leaned on his oak desk and buried his head in his hands. Exhaustion swept over him. A million and half dollars was not something to easily dismiss as loss. Losing the drugs was worse. He stood to make four million on that.

It was expensive and troublesome to have Nick around, but Saliverri couldn’t afford to have this drag on. The business would suffer for the next few weeks for sure; it would become expensive very quickly. Saliverri might even have to get more drugs from another group. This would all have to be taken care of in a timely manner if he wanted to maintain the level of luxury that he’d become accustomed to. Nick was worth the risk.

* * * * *

     Today was a good day for Sgt. Malloy. Not one fight had broken out, no one had spit on him yet and he hardly had to deal with any morons so far. The weather was mild in the midst of this weeklong heat wave and he’d be off work in two hours. Working the front desk at the thirteenth precinct was not what he had in mind to do for his entire career, but after eight years, he’d settled nicely into the role.

     He watched the time tick away on the clock, looking forward to the hot bath he’d have with his doll of a wife when he got home. Tonight was TV night, the only night he got to spend with his wife. They watched her favorite programs and actually got to relax for a change.

     He was torn from his tranquil daydream when a young detective approached the desk.

     “Excuse me, Sergeant, I’m Detective Tucker. I’m working on a case that involves someone you’re holding here,” the detective told him. “I was wondering if I could question him.”

     “What’s the perp’s name?” The sergeant asked.

     “James Ellis.”

     Sgt. Malloy began typing on the computer that was hidden just below the counter of the desk. He slid over a clipboard to the detective.

     “Alright, Detective, I’m going to need you to sign here…wait a sec…hmm.”

     “What is it?”

     “Well, we did have him. I can’t verify if he’s still here or not.”

     “Can’t verify? Does that mean you’re not supposed to verify, his verification isn’t on the computer, or you don’t know if he’s here?”

     “What precinct you say you were from, Detective?”

     “I didn’t, but I’m from the two-two.”

     “Sorry, Detective, but I can’t say.”

     “So he is here.”

     Sgt. Malloy didn’t say anything. He crossed his arms.

     “Look Sergeant, I’m sorry,” Tucker said, “I need to talk to this guy. I’m working on a nine-person homicide in the middle of a drug deal with missing money and missing drugs. This guy knows something I need to know. I just need to talk to him for five minutes.”

     “Detective, I can’t even tell you where he is. This guy’s got Feds on him. If you want to talk to the guy so badly, you’ll have to go through them.”

     “C’mon Sergeant, that’ll take me weeks. I gotta break this case before those drugs hit the street. This could get a whole lot worse. I just need five minutes. Tell you what, just give me the name of the detective in charge, that’s all I’m askin’. If he says to go to hell, I’ll go to hell, but I can’t let this thing go, Sergeant. A lot more people could get hurt.”

     Sgt. Malloy uncrossed his arms and stared at his computer screen. It sounded pretty bad; nine people dead, missing drugs. He knew he shouldn’t do it, but the cop looked desperate. This did seem pretty important…but maybe that’s why the Feds wanted him. Then again, Sgt. Malloy hated Feds.

     Sgt. Malloy began typing on his keyboard.

     “Listen, I’m not supposed to be telling you this, but the Feds are going to come and transfer him in a few hours. Detective George, he’s in charge. He’s questioning him. Trying to get as much information out of him as he can before he’s handed over. I’ll let you in to talk to George, but that’s as much as I can do.”

     “He’s being questioned right now?”

     “Yeah, I’m going to need you sign here, Detective Tucker. I’ll have to get authorization from your precinct. And you say you’re from the two-two, right? …Detective?”

* * * * *

      Jim sat in the interrogation room waiting for Det. George to return. George got called away for some reason and that left Jim alone for the first time in some days. He was either in a holding cell with a bunch of weird, drunk, crackhead crazies or being questioned about his ties to Oliver Sullivan’s organization. He had to go into the witness protection program now. He was worthless as James Ellis; he had to give up big deals to avoid prosecution. The feds were supposed transfer him to one of their facilities by the end of the night.

      He’d given up most of what he had to Det. George, so he wasn’t quite sure why the FBI still wanted him. They could just talk to the cops.

      He looked at himself in the two-way mirror, wondering if anyone was watching him. It was really annoying being in the room with that mirror. He suddenly had an itch on his face, he wanted to fix his hair and noticed his ears were actually a little different from one-another. He didn’t really want to do anything in front of the stupid mirror in case someone was looking at him. He knew it was dumb, but he just sat there looking at himself, only moving his thumbs, drumming them on the table in front of him. He wasn’t enjoying his time alone at all.

      The door cracked open and another detective slid through the door. He was young for a detective, Jim thought. He was tall and had a muscular build, an intense looking guy. He had short, light colored, disheveled hair and cold blue, eyes that sat above heavy bags. He looked like his job had worn years into his otherwise youthful appearance.

      “Hello Jim, I’m Detective Tucker,” He said as he took a seat across the table from Jim.

      “How many of you assholes are gonna question me?”

      “Well, I’m going to be the last before the Feds start grilling you. But I’m not going to be that hard on you if I don’t have to.”

      “So kind of you.”

      An ashtray was already on the table in front of them, so Tucker pulled a pack of smokes out of his jacket. He lit one up and took a long drag off it, like he hadn’t had a cigarette in a long, long time. When he exhaled, he blew the smoke straight up and closed his eyes, enjoying the calmness that swept through his blood. He looked back to Jim, who although looked bored, was quite interested in this strange cop. Jim was eyeballing the cigarettes. It was a long time since Jim had one, as well. It seemed that not one damn cop in the entire building smoked.

      Taking the hint, Tucker pulled out another cigarette and handed it over to Jim. Jim leaned to the flame that Tucker lit for him. Jim too breathed in a long drag.

      “Listen Jim, I know your sick of talking, and especially to cops, but unfortunately for me time is of the essence here, I’m not allowed to talk to you for too long. So bear with me.”

      “Okay…what the fuck you want?”

      “I need to know everything you knew about the drug deal between your boss and Tony Saliverri.”

      Jim rolled his eyes and leaned on the table, “Why don’t you get the report from Curious George. I already told that prick everything about it.”

      Tucker squinted. His cold eyes almost bore a hole into Jim’s. Jim couldn’t help but look away.

      “Look, man, I swear to God. Everything I know, I already told the cops,” Jim said after Tucker’s intense scrutiny ended.

      “Detective George said you didn’t tell him a God damn thing about the deal. So either you’re lying, or he’s lying. My money’s on you.”

      “You guys need to get your shit straight, that guy took my statement, recorded it, everything,” Jim added a bit of aggressiveness to the statement. It made Tucker sit back in his chair to take another drag. Both men finished their cigarettes and snubbed them out.

      “Ok, say I believe you, sometimes cops don’t like cops from other precincts…who else did you tell? Outside of this police department, I mean.”

      “Ah, you’re from another precinct, maybe that explains why you’re not such an asshole…and you smoke. Can I have another cigarette?”

      Tucker pulled out another two cigarettes, lit them both then handed one to Jim.

      “Yeah…answer the fucking question,” Tucker said with more force than his usual laid back, colloquial tone.

      “Nobody, Jesus…I take back what I said about you being an asshole.

      “Nobody at all?”

      “For God’s sake, NO! No one.”

      Detective Tucker had an earpiece with a wire that ran down behind his Jacket. Jim only noticed it after Tucker put one of his fingers up to it and held it in place. He held up his finger in a ‘shushing’ signal then stood up. Jim saw that the earpiece ran to a scanner that Tucker had attached to his belt.

      “You’re sure you’re not forgetting anyone?”

      “I didn’t talk to anyone else about the fucking deal, no one that didn’t already know.”

      “Okay…okay,” Tucker listened carefully to the scanner for a second then his brow furrowed and his lips tightened, “…goddammit, hold on a second, Jim, I’ll be right back.”

      Tucker’s cigarette was still burning in the ashtray when he slid back out the door. Jim kept smoking, but relaxed in his chair this time. Being alone this time was better. Tucker was an intense guy, kind of scary, even.

      Nick slid through the door trying to hide what was behind it from Jim’s point of view. He didn’t want to scare him yet. This seemed to be the quickest way to get information out of him. He wouldn’t cooperate as quickly at gunpoint.

      A couple of beat cops couldn’t get the dispatcher to respond at the precinct and were heading back to check in. According to where they said they were located on the scanner, it gave Nick about thirty seconds to get to the front door. He managed to lock and block all the other ways in.

     He stepped over the bodies of detectives he left lying on the floor. The separate pools of blood had spread and combined into a large red lake that covered the linoleum. Nick had trouble keeping his footing as he leapt down the front staircase. The two beat cops were already inside, standing in the front hall in front of the Sergeant Malloy’s body. Nick had hidden the body behind the desk, but blood was all over the walls from other cops he’d killed in the front hall. Unfortunately, all of the recently arrested decided to hoop and holler for freedom so he had to shoot them too. After he’d swept through the entire building, he had to come back and hide their bodies as well. It probably bought only a second, maybe two, from someone that came in from the street, but it might have been all that Nick needed.

     The cops must have just discovered the body, because they hadn’t drawn their guns yet; lucky for Nick. He had already drawn.

     The police officers both reached for their sidearms. Two silent bullets were placed in the head of each officer. Their bodies crumpled on top of one another in a pile. Three more units were on patrol. Two were tied up in domestic disputes. Nick was worried about the other one.

     It was the second unit that had come back to see what was wrong with dispatch. The first came back when Nick was moving bodies. No one had gotten off a shot, sounded an alarm or called to an outside line for help. Timing was everything. Some green shootists still hadn’t figured that out. It was a bad idea to start blowing people’s heads off while anyone in the room was on the phone. Wait till the phone hangs up and then start shooting. In case anyone gets a shot off, no one on the other end can hear it and no one in the room can dial fast enough to tell anyone what’s going on. Even with systematic strategy, it was pretty tough to pull off in a precinct house, but…it was all about timing.

     Nick pulled the two fresh bodies behind the front desk with all the others. He was getting tired of pulling bodies around. And this time, he got blood on his shirt cuffs. Cursing, he picked up the phone at the desk. When he began dialing Mike, a phone behind him rang for every button he pushed. These damn internal phone systems, Nick thought. It took him a second to figure out how to get an outside line then he dialed again.

     “Mike…yeah, it’s Nick, I found the guy. Uh-huh…He got arrested on a cocaine charge a week ago…Apparently he’s been feeding the cops information about Sullivan’s organization to avoid prosecution. Thing is, he says he only told this one cop and that’s it. Before I ever walked into the room with this Jim guy, I talked to Detective…Uh… Timothy George, he said that Jim never told him a fucking thing about the deal.

“Well, yeah…I think George was crooked, so we need to find out who he was talking to, probably someone local…No, I can’t… Because I shot him…Yes, I fucking know that now…hold on a sec.”

     Nick switched the receiver to the other hand and fired two shots from his silenced berretta into the cops who just walked through the door. One of them looked like he was about to say something. His face froze with his mouth open when the bullet chipped his front tooth on the way to the wall behind his head. The conversational look on his face held all the way to the floor. It must have been that unit that wasn’t tied up.

     “Yeah, sorry Mike, go ahead…How the fuck am I supposed to know…Is there anyone near here who would have a snitch from this department?…There is, who?…Okay where is that? Just a sec.” Nick pulled a piece of paper off Sgt. Malloy’s notepad and started writing, “Interesting…Okay, I’ll check it out. Are there any other leads? All right, so at least he’ll know something…Uh-huh. Do we need Junior anymore then? Okay, I’ll call you.”

     He hung up the phone and trotted back up the stairs. He tried not to slip this time as he walked past the bodies. He noticed out of the corner of his eye, something blue, moving. He kept his gun raised and carefully walked toward the movement.

     A female uniformed officer was trying to crawl to the captain’s office. She had two bullet wounds. One had to have hit her liver because she was covered in near black blood that leaked from the hole in her gut.  The other wound should have hit her heart, but it must have just missed.

     Nick put his foot on her side and kicked her over on her back. She had blonde hair that was now dyed red and plastered to her face. Her eyes were bright blue and wide open, but blinking wildly from the shock. She was pretty for a cop, Nick thought. He looked down on her face and admired her beautiful features. Behind those alluring eyes, she probably didn't even know exactly what was happening. Did she have a boyfriend? Nick wondered. Was she supposed to meet him tonight after she got off work? Maybe she had kids to take care of, although she looked too young for that. He wondered if her mother and father were so proud of her when she graduated from the academy and would come over from time to time to hear all her glorious stories. Nick stared at her and wondered all about her life and she stared blankly forward.

Nick laid his foot on her and pushed his heel onto the bullet wound in her gut. Then leaned into it. A long, low guttural sound came from the girl; she was too out of it to scream. Tears streamed from the girl’s eyes as one of her arms made a feeble attempt to push his leg away. Nick pushed harder.

     The girl’s eyes opened as wide as her eyelids would allow and she stared right into Nick’s eyes. Blood drooled from both corners of her mouth in thick streams.

     “There’s a good girl,” Nick said, then shot her in the forehead.

Her arm fell off his calf with a slap into the standing pool of blood. Her eyes stopped blinking, but tears continued to roll down the sides of her face, cutting channels into the dried blood. Nick lifted his foot off the girl’s stomach. It made a long peeling sound as his sole pulled away from the blood soaked uniform,

Before going back to the interrogation room, Nick took a quick survey of the room to make sure no one else was moving. All the bodies were still, so he continued on. He didn’t bother hiding the carnage from Jim this time as he flung the door open.

     “Thanks, Jimbo,” Nick said while leveling the barrel of his gun with Jim’s surprised face. The gun kicked and ejected the spent shell from the chamber. The only sound from the gun was that of scraping metal. Jim’s corpse kicked back with the impact of the bullet, then forward, landing on the table with a thud.

Nick left the interrogation room laughing and headed toward the back. He kicked the bench he'd placed in front of the back door away and left the building.

     Finally, he removed the silencer from his pistol and holstered it. Nick pulled the piece of paper from Malloy's desk out of his pocket.

     “Joe’s Bar," he read.

Gunmen: Ch. 2

     Butch pulled the van around one of the boxcars at the rail yard. The yard had several entry points, all of which down sloped to a low center. No security guard patrolled at one in the morning. With its massive size and low level, no place in the city was as secluded and isolated. The ground was gravel. Someone walking at anything faster than a sneaking gait would broadcast his location to anyone within fifty feet.
     Mac sat in the back polishing his gun, which he did for the entire drive. Butch and Sundance were both unnerved by the incessant sound of thin cloth sliding over the metal barrel of a .45. They would normally be bullshitting and bickering, but instead, they sat in silence waiting for headlights to drop over the horizon and sink to the bottom of the hill.
     It only took about a half-hour before the first limousine coasted over the crest of the yard and drove to the center of the lot. Sundance was on the roof of the van watching the car through binoculars. A second limo pulled into the rail yard from another entrance.
     “Got ‘em,” Sundance said from the roof.
     “Which one’s the mark?” Butch asked back.
     “Hold on.”
     Sundance watched both cars park about seventy-five yards away from each other. It looked likely that the meeting point was probably north of limo one and east of limo two.
     The men began to pile out their vehicles.
     “Okay,” Sundance said, “looks like group one’s our guys. Three men walking to the deal. Two armed with a sub-machine gun each. The other guy is the courier. He’s got the drugs.”
     “All right, get in,” Butch said lightly and turned the motor over. Sundance climbed in the window.
     The van started crawling toward the meeting point. “We’re gonna park on the east side of limo one,” Butch said. “Mac, you stay close to the van. With any luck, that second group of bastards will be in their car headed the other way when they hear the gunfire. Should give us a little time before you have to cover us.”
     Mac didn’t respond, this time he was polishing his knife.
    “Do-you-fucking-hear-me?”
     Mac didn’t look up, but nodded acknowledgement.
     Butch could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand out. He closed his eyes, trying to control his frustration. He opened them back up, “You better not get us fuckin’ killed.”
     Sundance felt perfectly content just smiling at Butch’s frustration. He suppressed an ever so slight laugh. Butch could see it out of the corner of his eye, but just shook his head.
     The van quietly crept along the gravel. As long as they stayed over a hundred feet away from the meeting point, where both groups had now converged, they shouldn’t be heard. Butch pulled the van around a boxcar no more than sixty feet northeast from the first car.
     The meeting started to disband about fifty yards away and both groups headed back to their vehicles. Sundance got back on the roof of the van to look over the boxcar.
     “Courier’s cuffed to the case. Whaddaya think the chances are he’s got the key on him.”
     “Shit. That adds a minute.”
Sundance climbed back through the window and strapped on his MP50. He popped the clip and checked it. Cleared the chamber then tightened the strap a little. Butch preferred his .45 to sub machine guns. With only three targets, he felt comfortable with only his sidearm. He too un-holstered his weapon to check it when the back door slid open. Sundance looked up from his weapon to see Mac close the door behind him…and run away.
     Sundance watched Mac run off into the darkness. He looked back at Butch to see a face just as surprised as his own. Whatever game-face the two of them had was completely gone now. Though Butch was skeptical of Mac’s talent, he didn’t expect something like this.
     “Uh…Fuck,” Sundance whispered. Then there was a ten second pause before Butch’s frustration built too high to contain.
     “Oh, that weasily-goddam-little-bitch-motherfucker. I knew it. I fuckin’ knew it. Ooh…he’s dead. He’s dead and Joe’s dead, but he’s gonna die first. He’s gonna die slow.”
     “Jesus, Butch, shut the fuck up and get ready.” The targets were now only thirty yards away. “We gotta do this now, man. We can’t blow this. We gotta go now.”
     Butch conceded while quietly venting an incredible array of cuss words. He put his hand on the door handle and said, “Goddamit, let’s do this fast. Once those assholes across the yard hear the shots, we won’t be able to shake ‘em without a base of fire.”
     Butch popped the latch on the door as quietly as possible and crept to the left side of the boxcar. Sundance mirrored his movements on the right. The two of them hunkered down in their positions between boxcars. An overhead streetlight made it difficult to move and remain concealed. The drug dealers knew what they were doing when they picked this spot. It put Sundance in the position of firing the first shot when the targets also had the opportunity to see him.
     Sundance waited for the men to get just a little closer. He knew he didn’t have to worry about Butch reacting to the first shot. The two of them had worked together for so long, their actions were synchronized without communication.
     The two suited men on either side of the courier were professionals. Their eyes never stopped scanning the area. Sundance knew they would spot him if they moved any closer, but he had to wait until Butch could get a bead on the second suit. Only ten more feet.
     One step later, the first suit locked eyes with Sundance. It didn’t matter if Butch had a shot now, it would have to be close enough. The target was already reacting when Sundance squeezed the trigger. The first suit’s head slung backward and a red cloud exploded behind it. Before his body fell, a round from Butch’s .45 struck the head of the second suit, sending him toppling backwards. Apparently there wasn’t much need for adjustment to make the shot.
     The courier had quick reflexes as well. He ducked and reached for the gun under his jacket. As he did, the limo driver dropped the car into gear and punched the gas. The car barely moved. The tires threw gravel instead of gripping the surface. Didn’t know about him, Sundance thought. Butch quickly put three rounds into the courier’s chest before his fingers ever grazed his gun handle, then turned toward the limo.
     Sundance stepped around the boxcar and switched his MP50 to full auto, then unleashed into the windshield of the car. Rockets of glass sprang upward with loud pops and crashes as bullets decimated the vehicle. The limo idled forward at a crawl.
     Butch ran to the passenger side of the limo, firing rounds at the driver’s seat as he went. Sundance had emptied his entire thirty round clip by the time Butch reached the side of the car. The passenger side window had been shattered away. Butch paced next to the creeping limo, looking for the smallest twitch from the driver. It was clear that that wasn’t going to happen. At least six bullets were in the driver’s chest with other wounds scattered over his frame.
     “Clear!” Butch yelled.
     By this time Sundance had already replaced his spent magazine and had the gun trained back on the limo. He swung around to the direction of the second group and aimed at the darkness, expecting them to come shortly.
     Butch ran toward the downed bodies while placing a fresh clip in his .45. He dug in the pockets of the courier, but he already knew he wouldn’t find the handcuff key.
     “Nope,” Butch said.
     He worked as quickly as he could. He holstered his gun and pulled a small leather case from his jacket pocket. It contained several small gray and black devices. One of them looked like a small piece of gum. He tore off a little chunk and wrapped it around the first chain link of the cuffs. Then he unscrewed the top of a pen-sized cylinder with a button on it. Out of it, he pulled a wire with two very small RCA plugs on it.
Butch began to put the tiny plugs into the gum-like explosive on the chain when Sundance quietly said, “Movement.”
     Without hesitating, Butch laid down his equipment, un-holstered his gun and pointed it at the darkness where Sundance aimed. Butch couldn’t make out anything with this damn light pole above them. Worse, they were out in the open, looking at something just past their eyes’ ability to see.
     Sundance moved toward cover on his right. Once he reached a static position Butch moved to his left and found cover near another boxcar. Butch could just make out a human figure in the middle of the opening, moving in his direction. Strolling right down the middle.
     “Hold Fire!” Sundance yelled and came back out in the open
Butch was a bit confused until he saw the figure come within the light’s range. Mac came moseying down the road, covered in blood, carrying the case of drugs. He was wiping the knife on his shirt trying to get off the blood, but seemed to be having trouble finding a clean spot.
     Sundance looked pissed. “What the FUCK was that about? Where the fuck were you?”
     Mac held up the case.
     “That the drugs?” Butch asked. Mac nodded and Butch once again holstered his gun. “You cocksucker! Open up a fuckin’ dialogue once in while. Jesus!”
     “There were…what, four of those guys?” Sundance asked.
     Mac put his knife back in his belt (not entirely satisfied with how clean it was) and held up all the digits on his right hand.
     “Five…and you did it with a knife?”
     Mac nodded.
     Butch started laughing, “That’s our boy! I knew Joe recommended you for a reason. There was no way you’d ditch us like that.”
     Sundance gave Butch a dirty look but kept quiet.
     All three of them walked over to the courier and Butch clipped a small receiver on the wired explosive. He stood up and pushed the button on the pen-sized cylinder. There was a pop, no louder than a .22, and the chain flung off the cuff.
     “You know whose drugs those are, right?” Sundance asked Butch.
     “Yeah. You know how much they’re worth, right?”
     Sundance didn’t respond. He held his stare with Butch.
     “Look,” Butch said, “We’ll figure it out, we always do. Let’s just do one thing at a time. First of all, let’s get the hell outta here.”
     He picked up the money and the three of them walked to the van.

Gunmen: Ch. 1

      Joe flicked a speck of detergent from the mug and continued polishing. He remembered all the movies that had bartenders polishing mugs and realized it was no bullshit, he was always polishing or dusting.

      The bar had a big crowd this afternoon. Low conversations spattered across the tables. Joe scanned over the patrons, making sure everyone behaved themselves, knowing they would. Sam Phillips walked over to the bulletin board and pinned up a note to sell stolen merchandise. Joe didn’t hate Sam, which was high praise from Joe. Sam was a dirtbag, but a smart one that wasn’t afraid to get dirty. He was a garbage man in Vegas. While making rounds, he took mental note of which houses had thrown away boxes for expensive electronics, power tools, perfume, or anything of value. He’d come back when the residents were away and load up a truck. The bulletin board where he tacked the note was notorious among the underground. Pinned to it were wanted posters, job offers, and job needed notes in an array of illegal activity. The posters were proudly updated by their subjects when bounties increased. Wanted posters had a different purpose in the bar; they gave handlers something to survey. Joe and others used them to splice together teams of gunmen or thieves; though most avoided men on the FBI's hot list.

      Joe provided an invaluable service to the criminal element. His bar was for bad guys—all bad guys, all the time. It served as a much needed stop between Reno and Las Vegas where money could change hands, plans could be made, personnel could be hired or a wanted man could lay low and have drink. Being in the desert and far off the highway, wanderers did not drift in. Most importantly, it was neutral ground for any lowlife, crook, con-artist or gunman in the business. Rival mobs and gangs had to put their animosity on hold while in one another's presence. Joe upheld the neutrality with only his presence, almost majesty. Nobody wanted to face him, and not because he was a valuable asset. The stories were Joe’s favorite part of his bar. Everyone had a theory about Joe’s past. When asked, he wouldn’t confirm or deny anything.

      Everyone knew that Joe had Nevada in his pocket and inexhaustible funds. No one knew when he built the bar or how he got his money. In Joe’s favorite story about his past he had gotten his fortune by killing and assuming the identity of some Euro-prat. There was also one about him being a computer pirate that ripped off the government for billions. He was a psycho blackmailer once; that was cute. He overheard that he was a war profiteer in Vietnam that smuggled drugs into the country in soldiers’ coffins. Joe wished he had thought of it, but he didn’t.

     The guys who really mattered, the gunmen, knew everything they needed to know about him. They ignored stories and observed him. They could tell he had killed before. Many times. It was an immediate recognition between all gunmen. It was always in the eyes, the way a guy surveyed a room, looked over his shoulder, observed reflections, watched his flanks. When one of them would come into Joe’s bar, he saw the recognition in their movements of the eyes and shoulders. A series of glances between them and the important information was exchanged: Joe was dangerous. It was atmosphere, mood; “vibe” they called it. That’s why Joe liked gunmen the best—no bullshit. Ever.

     Joe was looking forward to today. His two favorite gunmen were coming. And they had money for him. Joe sponsored a Job for the pair in Tijuana. For a cut of profit, Joe ensured the authorities stay away. Nobody but Joe knew how he pulled it off.

     Desert heat swirled in behind them, kicking sand at Butch and Sundance's heels.

     "Well, well, well!" Joe yelled from behind the bar. "Lookie what the Tijuana whore dragged in! How was Meh-hee-co, boys?"

     "Took a bullet," Butch said.

     "Took two," Sundance added and winced.

     Joe apparently found this much funnier than the other two because he belted laughter. Butch scowled and Sundance rolled his eyes.

     "Yeah, yeah, yeah," Butch said as he leaned on the counter. "Shut the Fuck up, fat boy. We got a job...needs three men since we're a bit banged up. Came to check the board." He pulled an envelope from his pocket and tossed it on the bar. "And here's your cut from Tijuana."

     Joe counted his money. It was good, as it always was. Butch and Sundance were reliable business partners. Their leads were solid, they didn't double-cross, skim off the top or back out on deals. When Joe was finished counting, he stared intently at the two men before saying anything.

     "You sure that's a good idea, takin' somethin' on in your condition?" Joe asked.

     "Ain't got no choice. Now or never, y'know?"

     Joe frowned and slightly shook his head. The boys were top notch gunmen with the Devil's luck, but they had a propensity for getting in over their heads; hence their names. They took on some of the most dangerous jobs in the business and somehow always managed to come out on top. But one day, if they kept overextending themselves, their luck would run out. Joe Hung around low life pieces-of-shit all day. Out of all of them, he liked these two the most. He didn't want them getting capped.

     “Listen, don’t even go to the board.” Joe said. “I got the guy you need right over there. Name’s Mac.”

He pointed to a guy in the corner. Both Butch and Sundance recognized him as a regular of the place.

     “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, that guy? The mute?” Sundance asked. “I’ve never seen him do anything except what he’s doing right now…look at him.”

     Sundance threw his arm up towards Mac’s direction and winced when his wounds reminded him that they recently had bullets lodged in them.

     Butch put his hand on Sundance’s shoulder to hold him still. “Settle down, Spaz.” Butch looked back to Joe, “What’s so special about him?”

     Joe smiled, “Go ask him.”

     Mac was clean-shaven and had well kept blonde hair. He wore an ordinary blue button up shirt and plain khaki pants. He was boring, typical and forgettable. The only thing that was atypical of him was his nonstop polishing of weapons. He was either cleaning a gun, tinkering with it, field stripping it and brushing the inner parts or adjusting, what seemed to be minor personal inconveniences of a particular firearm.

Butch and Sundance would sometimes watch the creepy fucker with vigilant fascination. He always cleaned guns and never talked. As a matter of fact, they weren’t really sure if Mac could talk. He never moved around on any given night and never seemed to be doing anything other than waiting for something to come his way.

     Sundance rolled his eyes while clutching his side and got off the barstool. Butch felt the same way, but didn’t show it as he made his way over to Mac’s table. They had to humor Joe. Butch tried to talk as soon as he got within speaking distance. “Hey man, we were told to ask—"

     Mac cut him off by handing him a packet of stapled paper that he’d pulled out of a briefcase when he saw them walking over. Mac never took his eyes off his immaculately cleaned and customized .45.

Puzzled, Butch examined the paper and Sundance looked over his shoulder. Sundance realized quickly that it was some sort of résumé. A résumé for a gunman? They glanced sideways at each other and turned back to the packet

      It was neat and organized. It was mapped out in sections such as skills, where it listed what weapons Mac was sufficient or adept with. It was interesting, enthralling when Butch turned to the ‘Job Experience’ section. Page by page, as they examined the résumé, Butch’s eyes got narrower and Sundance’s got wider. Nearly every event listed was of some sort of respected story or legend.

     “Holy Shit…that was you?” Sundance said as he reached over Butch and pointed at the paper, “Jesus Christ, I was in Europe and heard about that.” Still not quite believing it, he turned around to Joe for verification. Joe was already nodding and smiling. Butch was a little pissed off that someone claimed to be better than him. Sundance was already counting three ways in his head.

     “Fine,” Butch said as he tossed the résumé onto the table, “Here’s the deal. We’re knocking over a drug exchange: two parties, lotsa guns, lotsa cash. You in?”

     Mac holstered his .45 and nodded.

     “Alright, we split it three ways if you don’t screw it up and get us killed. The two parties are very dangerous and very big time. The party arriving with the moolah has the most guns, so we wait ‘til the cases change hands. We’re going just for the cash, one and a half mil. Sundance here and I will go after the cash. We wait ‘til the party with the drugs gets some distance from the money party and then take them down.

     “These two groups have been doing business together since the late nineties. They have a good business relationship and they want to keep it that way. So, once the party with the drugs hears gunfire, they come a runnin’. We need you to pin them down so we’ve got some breathing room to grab the money. Clear?”

     Mac nodded.

     “Do you every say anything?”

     Mac nodded.

     Butch hung his head and sighed. “Lets go.”