Lifer
I collapse on the sagging bed and shut my eyes. Freedom. For a week. Bet I'll sleep like a baby.
Two hours later, I'm bolt upright, sweat pouring down my face. All those years in the hole. Decades. A century's worth of sleeping and I never dreamt about that night. This is ridiculous.
I lie back down with gunshots - hundred-year-old gunshots - echoing in my head. I close my eyes. It won't be there now. Won't let it.
Flash. I see a gun. It's in my hand. Loud voices behind me telling me to drop. My client whimpers, drops to the dirty floor of the alley. But the devil is in me tonight. Like the days when my old man used to--
Their voices are hostile and accusing like his. I feel my pulse thundering against my temples. My skull contracts. I can't feel - can't think - can't -
Sweat drips from the muzzle of my gun. I stand there frozen and boiling over.
"Get down, my little pork chop!" says my father's voice behind me. "Get on your knees!" Did he just say that? Sound is warping around me. It's clogging my pores. A leather belt snaps as it's tightened, and I know that if I turn around, he'll be there with that look in his eyes. Of hatred and lust and loathing.
Past, present and future align in one tortured syllable that bleeds past my swollen tongue.
"NO!"
I turn to face them.
"Last chance, mother fucker! On your knees!"
There are four of them with guns pointing at me. I go for my other piece at my back. And I'm jumping to the side, guns booming, the alley erupting in flame.
I see two of them go down, feel a sting in my leg. I'm behind a dumpster, shots ricocheting off its sides like enemy drum beats. My client is a quivering fetus in plain sight, hands clasped over his head.
I risk a look around the corner. One of the cops is bent over helping the fallen. I snap a shot around the corner and get him in the back, just over his waistband. A shot careens off the dumpster. I jerk back.As the roar of gunfire fades, I hear panting and, from one of them, a thick choking sound.
The one I didn't get is calling for backup. I have to get out of here. His shadow fills my end of the alley. I know where he is.
I spin out from the shelter of the dumpster and fire. Our eyes meet. He flinches as he fires. My bullet punches through his forehead even as my leg buckles and I fall. I'm stung by exploding brick as his shot hits the wall behind me.
Then there's only the choking sound. Little staccato gasps full of pulp.
Panic is rising in me now that it's over. They've seen me. They're cops. I'm a dead man. Unless ...
I drag myself through the garbage, feeling things erupt under my weight, gagging on the stench that's released.
I reach the one cop still alive. He's bleeding from the throat, trying to stop it with his hands. Blood everywhere. He thinks I'm one of his partners, then sees who it is and his eyes widen. He tries to say something, but his voice box is a ruin of bloody tissue.
I pull the trigger, watch the light fade from his eyes. He goes from human to object in a moment so subtle I don't see it happen.
My client is on his feet, whimpering. Trying to slip past me quietly, but he's slipping on garbage. I shoot him in the stomach and then twice in the head when he hits the ground. I use his shirt to wipe my guns off and throw them back into the alley.
I'm going into shock. Have to get out of here before the cops come. I'm covered in shit and bleeding like a bastard, but I spot some homeless guy's cart at the mouth of the alley - must've run when the shooting started.
I pull myself to it, lever myself up and push it out onto the street - just another bum in this shit town.
Look at me, the master criminal, pushing a cart. I'm a fucking dead man.