Jaw Beard

They got on at Sacramento, a whole flurry of them, with white bonnets and wide brimmed straw hats. Rob had looked forward to a nice peaceful trip, taking a seat in the back of the second car like the conductor had told him to: "Couple's towards the front, single passengers towards the back," and Rob had followed the directions to a T, taking the seat on the right side of the train car that was in the second to last row, hidden away by himself. The car had been mostly empty until they pulled into Sacramento Station and the invasion began.

He watched the newcomers scurry up and down the aisle, dressed in prairie clothes and placing tightly wrapped plastic bags in the luggage slot above the seats. They were making the train car their home and it irritated Rob. He pulled his laptop bag from the floor and placed it on the seat next to him, hoping to prevent anyone from joining him and starting a conversation about their job or their kids -some sort of bullshit. He hoped all these new people would stay clear of his seat, take one look at his steely face and walk back down the aisle.

There were at least a dozen of them, all younger than Rob, and the women all wore immaculate white bonnets on their heads and simple dresses that buttoned in the front and reached all the way down to their feet. The men wore white button up shirts with short sleeves and wide brimmed straw hats which, when removed, exposed long hair cut straight and simple, like someone had placed a bowl on their heads and cut around it.

The men also had beards that went along their jaw lines, scraggely, as if they had gone through puberty and never shaved. Rob assumed that was probably true. He also assumed they were Amish, or what was the other one? Shakers? Mennonites?

“Fucking freaks,” Rob muttered to himself. To him, they looked like a high school drama class that had gotten onto the train during a musical about a riverboat.

There was an old woman sitting across the aisle from Rob with a grin on her face, watching all the Mennonites take their seats. The new passengers were speaking to each other in another language, Dutch Rob figured, and the old woman was grinning and nodding like she understood a single word the freaks were saying. It annoyed Rob that she found the jaw beards and backward ways charming.

One of the young women seemed to be leading the group, softly relaying orders in their language and making sure everyone was getting comfortable and settled in. She wore glasses, the most modern thing they seemed to possess, and she looked older than the rest, maybe Rob’s age.

She motioned towards the front of the train car and another woman made her way up the aisle. Rob didn’t see the other woman’s face right away, her bonnet was in the way, then she turned to glance towards the back of the train car and and the bonnet gave way to the sun streaming through the train windows, exposing her face. She looked at Rob and and for a moment Rob's world slowed down to a terrifying lull that allowed him to reflect on all the yearning and muffled emotions he had collected in his life and could be summoned and discharged at any moment.

She was the most beautiful girl Rob had seen in years. Her skin was darker than the other people in her group, a rich tan, and there was a shock of blond hair that was pushing it’s way out from under her bonnet. She was tall and thin with large eyes that shifted over the train car, counting hats and bonnets. The eyes shown a deep blue that Rob knew he would lose himself in if given the chance.

He caught himself staring and thought she may have noticed. The girl retreated down the aisle and Rob sat back in his seat, waiting for the train to move. He imagined looking into the girls eyes and pulling off the bonnet, the blond hair falling down on to her shoulders. In his mind he was putting his hands through the buttons of her dress, forcing the strange Mennonite underwear out of the was so he could grasp her breasts.

The train lurched to a start and he turned towards the window, watching the platform pass beside him, the station disappearing, giving way to deserted fields occupied by single shacks and old rickety fences overgrown with bushes and weeds. He thought of the Mennonite girl and was horney and depressed before that disolved into an uneasiness when he realized her large eyes and the cut of her cheekbones had reminded him of Alison Cavanichi.

He had seen Alison's picture on-line just two months before, when he had found her page and clicked a request to be friends. He kept checking the app multiple times a day to see if she had accepted him but there was never a confirmation. He had sat at his computer, not noticing that he was muttering "c'mon bitch, c’mon" under his breath. He told himself she had probably stopped using the account.

He had never slept with Alison but came close once. It was in high school, on the senior trip to France, and they had both been in the group that had gone out to explore the Paris streets and successfully got themselves into a restaurant pub. They had always been friendly, he and Alison, and after three or four beers and some clear liquor Rob could feel something come alive between them.

They had things in common and he had the ability to be funny then, making her laugh easily. She was the smartest and most beautiful girl in their class and when they were back on the streets returning to the hotel with the group the two of them stopped short on the cobbled streets and kissed for while in front of the Saint Germain L’Auxerrois. Rob remembered how dumb it was, to go that far to make out with a girl that lived two miles from his parent’s house.

When they got back to the hotel they agreed to meet up later. Rob paced in his room for half an hour, then went and knocked on the door to Alison's. Her roommates answered, bleary eyed and in their sweatpants, telling him she was in bed after getting sick. He could see her in the bed behind them, her face turned away from him towards the wall, dark hair splashed across the pillow.

Rob went back to his room and waited again until he opened his eyes and the morning sun was streaming through the room’s beige drapes. The group all flew home the next day and Rob never had a chance to search Alison out before the school year ended, it felt like nothing had occurred at all. The night on the streets of Paris was really the last night Rob could remember being young, or what it felt to be young at least, with hope and loss all mashed together into a brew within his limbs. It felt more like fading dream then something that had actually happened to him.

When he got home to the States after the senior trip he told his friend Travis that he had actually fucked Alison, and he had always felt bad about that lie but never admitted to it. Both he and Travis had gone to college together down south and soon knew other women and other experiences to where Alison Cavanichi was mostly forgotten. Rob had a girl friend for a while, Christine, who started talking about the future, and the price of real estate in Imperial Beach and Coronado, and her father’s health, and buying a dog. After three years he realized he didn’t really like all that much and just stopped calling. He had seen a few other girls here and there but nothing lasted very long.

Rob heard a baby start to cry up amongst the seats where the Mennonites were encamped. He plugged in his earbuds and tried to listen to one of his sports podcasts but could hear the kid crying in the background. Right when the child seemed to be calming down it would open its lungs up and begin to wail again. Rob got up and started down the aisle to escape to the bar car. He scanned the seats as he passed them, trying to catch a view of the beautiful girl again but all of the faces were covered by white bonnets.

When he reached the bar car he ordered two gin and tonics right in succession and watched the fruit trees pass through the window opposite. Children were such a pain in the ass, Rob thought to himself, it wasn’t worth it. All that crying and carrying on until they turned into teenagers and started to take money from your wallet when you weren’t looking. He was glad he had stayed single, keeping his freedom so he could enjoy his thirties.

His friend Travis hadn't been so lucky. After college, he and Rob had stayed close and continued to party on the weekends, staying up late at house parties and doing coke together in the booths at clubs. Rob had gotten into meth a bit during that time, doing it with guys from work and staying up for days at a time. He cut it out completely when he hit thirty. Travis's thing was pills which really got a grip on him when he started smoking OxyContin. His life quickly unraveled and he ended up in rehab where he met a woman who he continued to see when they both came out clean.

Rob didn't like her, she was a hippyish ex-raver sort of chick and said things like “hella tight” and wore hemp. He felt Travis could have done better. Rob would go to their house to watch the Chargers games, drinking beer while his two hosts stuck to soda. The afternoon seemed trapped inside the ghost of good times past, everything stuttered and awkward, with the woman just sitting on the couch not saying anything and the two men trying to talk like they used to.

Over time Rob just stopped going over at all, then he heard Travis and the girl got married and it wasn't long after that he saw a picture of their baby online. It had a fat little face, not ugly exactly, it just looked like any other baby Rob had seen. The tag on the picture said they named it Axel, a dumb name he remembered thinking, the chick had probably come up with it.

He wasn't feeling the gin like he should have so he ordered a shot of tequila, a double just to make sure the old latin woman tending bar would serve it right. He liked taking the train, not having to worry about anything while having a drink. He liked being in constant motion, shooting passed the sleepy little towns that nobody gave a shit about.

He finished the drink and ordered another, waiting for the old latin woman to give him some sort of look. She didn’t seem to care really, calmly pouring a double, and she didn’t seem to notice when he slipped awkwardly off the stool while raising the plastic cup to his mouth. Some of the liquor missed its target, ending up on his chin and down the front of his shirt. He wiped his mouth with the back of his fist and finished off the remainder before starting back towards the passenger car.

The Mennonites were settled into their seats when he got in, quietly chattering along in Dutch, some staring off out the windows. Rob had a good view of their faces as he walked up the aisle but he didn’t see the pretty one. Many of the women were plain, not unattractive exactly, just flat and dull looking.

Rob figured the women probably saw someone like himself, someone relatively young and professional looking with a good haircut, wearing jeans and blazer -they probably found themselves wondering what he could show them about the outside world they were all hiding from. He looked down at them as he made his way towards the back of the train car but none of them looked up or caught his gaze, they seemed cut off in their little bubble world and Rob found that profoundly irritating.

When he got to the back of the car the old woman who was sitting across the aisle gave him a little nod which he ignored. He collapsed into his seat and let out a long sigh, letting the liquor settle in so he could rest. As soon as he had his face propped against the glass of the window the baby began to cry again, right in the seat behind him. Rob sat up, cursing under his breath. Why the hell would they have brought the fucking kid to the back of the car? The conductor had clearly said: “"Couple's towards the front, single passengers towards the back”, that included idiot couples with screaming children.

Rob could feel the scowl dig harder into his face as the kid cried louder, it was like the little bastard could detect Rob’s anger. Stupid defenseless screaming creature, depending on ignorant hicks to raise it so it could grow up and have it’s hair cut with a bowl on it’s head or a fucking bonnet to cover it up. It was screaming at Rob, taunting him. All these religious freaks breeding out in the barns in the middle of nowhere like animals, did they think they had it all figured out? Did they think they were better than him? They were too young, too ignorant, with jaw beards and fucking bonnets.

Somebody kicked the seat, hard, to where Rob was violently pushed forward and his chain of thought was broken. He sat very still and startled in the seat. The baby was still crying, the train still moving, Rob could feel the blood and alcohol rushing into his face. If he was completely sober he might have let it go, might have written it off as careless, but in that moment the kick seemed a violent and bold assault, he was sure it was deliberate.

He stood up from his seat and swung around so that he was standing in the aisle looking down at the seat behind him. There sat a young Mennonite man, the one who must have kicked the seat, haircut and jaw beard like all the rest. Sitting next to him was the beautiful girl with the olive skin and bright blond lock dangling from underneath her bonnet. In her arms was the baby, puffy and red faced, and it was looking up at Rob like its parents were, completely silent with a cry stuck in it’s throat.

“Why were you kicking my seat?!”

Rob hadn't meant to yell but finding the beautiful girl there had caught him off guard and he lost his nerve for a brief second, flooding him with rage. He imagined the entire train car of people had turned, looking towards the back. He imagined the old woman across the aisle looking at him open mouthed.

The girl and the Mennonite man said nothing, they just stared up at him shocked and confused, like Rob was a crazy one. The only one who didn't look confused was the baby in the girl's arms. It stared up at Rob with dark little eyes.

“What’s the problem?” Rob said. “Do you have a problem? I mean, what in the fuck is this?!”

He felt frustration tightening up his legs and in his throat and as he stared down at the family he could feel the beginnings of tears welling in the corners of his eyes. It startled him and he took a step forward, into their space, looming over the girl. The man was up like a spring had shot him out of his seat, and Rob saw the fear widen in the man’s eyes, turning into terror.

Rob didn’t known what had happened, he just found himself on his back, looking up at the old woman from where his head lay in her lap. He was lost, like he had awoken suddenly from a dream, and it took a moment to remember where he was and who he was. When he felt the sting in his jaw he realized the Mennonite man had hit him.

He raised his eyes and looked up at the man, at the bowl of hair around his head and the scraggily red beard. He could see that the man was clearly trembling where he stood, the fear still wide and dumb in his eyes, like a caveman. The girl was still sitting in her seat, looking down at the baby in her arms, comforting it, the bonnet covering her face.

All Rob wanted was to escape. He got up and charged down the aisle, not looking at any of the faces but feeling their eyes peering up at him, all fear and anger. He descended the stairs to the ground level and stumbled into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. It was cramped inside but hidden, safe from all the eyes watching him. He wiped the sweat and panic from his face with a paper towel and caught his reflection in the mirror. He watched it for a moment, observing his own punched face, his own eyes, his own nose. There were wrinkles in his forehead that he had never noticed before and he hoped he could stay there in that little room until they got to his stop at the end of the line.

20: Crime SuspenStory

OUR STORY SO FAR: Detective Dela Cruz is one arrest from busting the McCarthy Mob up for good and now she's got it: bag man Oscar Rayne. But Rayne is a marked man and the men that want to kill him may be a lot closer than Claudia realizes. Click here to start from the beginning:  http://dublinsworld.blogspot.com/2012/02/part-one-crime-suspenstory.html 

BASED ON TRUE EVENTS

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot you.”

It seemed obvious enough but she figured she’d say it and put everything out in the open. Rayne looked more tired than surprised. He just stood there, seemingly to test her, so Claudia took a step forward and lowered the gun a bit. She kept a square look on Rayne as she addressed the entire room:

“My name is Detective Claudia Dela Cruz of the SFPD vice squad. I’m taking this man into custody.”

“Ain't no business of ours lady,” said the old red looking white man in the corner.

“That’s right sir, none of your business. So everyone, please, remain seated where you are.”

Rayne continued to watch her calmly. He didn’t appear to be worried but she could see a flash of confusion as he eyes moved along her, taking in this woman in the dress and loose fitting rain coat.

“Mr. Rayne, I’m a police officer. I know who you are, I know who you're with, and I’m going to assume you're armed. Why don’t you drop that bag and then place whatever weapons you have on to the floor next to it.”

He didn't hesitate as much as move very slowly. Claudia started thinking about a place she could shoot him. She had her eye on his knee cap when he finally pulled a revolver from his waistband and then leaned down, slowly, placing the gun on the floor. It wasn’t until he was standing straight again with his hands raised that Claudia could see a slight tightening in his face.

“We met at the party," she said.

He didn’t reply, just stared with his hands up. She waved the gun and Rayne walked around her, towards the door.

“Stop,” Claudia warned, and he did. She put the cuffs on him and then reached down and put his gun in the pocket of O’Neil’s rain coat before reaching down for the bag. When she got a grip on the handle and pulled it barely budged. She took a glance around the room, at the red faced man and the Asians with the dice on the bar. They all stared passively, only partly interested.

Claudia steadied the pistol on Rayne, wrapping her hand tighter around the bag’s handle, and heaved. She immediately felt the muscles in her back tighten up and strain. She tried not to grunt as she put her remaining effort into getting the bag off the floor and towards the door.

It was raining again when they got outside. O’Neil had pulled the car around and parked it at the curb. He was standing in front of it, struggling to light a cigarette before throwing it in disgust when Claudia and Rayne approached. He opened the back door of the Pontiac and gestured for Rayne to get in. Neither of the two men said anything, Rayne just lowered his head and got into the back seat.

Claudia motioned towards the trunk with the bag and O’Neil stepped over to unlock it.

“What’s in it?” he asked.

Claudia unzipped the top and glanced inside at the rolls of cash. She had never known money could weigh that much.

“Well that’s intresting,” she said. “Let’s get him back to the office and we can go through it all there.”

They got into the car and pulled away from Gold Duck, heading down Columbus. O’Neil switched on the wipers and the wet squeak filled the car. Claudia knew she should have felt a chill sitting in the seat soaked but the adrenalin had her whole body lit up. She watched the wipers clear the view of the street in front of them for a moment, then she turned in her seat and took a good look at the prisoner in the back. He was staring straight passed her, slightly bent from having his hands cuffed behind his back.

“What happened at the bar earlier? At the party?” she said.

Rayne said nothing, just stared over her shoulder

“Why did they break up the party and drag you out of there? Did you do something?”

Still nothing.

"Were you transporting that money from Gold Duck? Or were you stealing it? Depending what went down, we can probably help you. When we get to my office we can take a statement, figure out a way forward. What were you doing at Gold Duck?"

He stared off through the windshield, unconcerned. Claudia knew this one would take a little longer to break down than Rollins, it was good to get a head start.

“Once we have you processed we’re going back to that place and searching it top to bottom. What’s in that bag will get me a warrant. It’s time to decide if you're going down with the ship or if you’re going to let us throw you a life preserver.”

He seemed to break from his trance, his eyes shifting towards her.

"Where are we going?" he said.

"I told you, my office."

Rayne turned his gaze towards the driver. "Where we going Bobby?"

"Keep your mouth shut shit bird," the fat man bellowed. "You keep it shut or I'll come back there and teach you about respect!"

O'Neil was spitting up at the rear view, looking at Rayne like he was crazed.

"You know Detective O'Neil?" Claudia asked.

O'Neil turned in his seat, shifting his gaze from Claudia to the street in front of them, back and forth.

"He remembers me from our investigation. I told you, we were all over these guys. He's a fuck’n shit bird!"

"Where are we going Bobby?" Rayne said again. "I know it's not the cop shop."

"I told you -shut your fucking mouth!"

Claudia watched O'Neil's face go dark red with rage, she watched the spittal shoot from his lips. A terrible feeling spread up her gut and she could finally feel the cold.

"I’m going to call my partner now," she said.

O’Neil turned towards her, shaking his head in frustration.

"Hon, the batteries dead. Relax now. Let's head over and meet the van, they should be scoping out that paint store by-”

"Detective O'Neil, pull the car over."

He blinked stupidly, trying to gain his composure.

"Take it easy, the guy’s a shit bird,” O’Neil forced a grin as he spoke. “We can keep him cuffed and put him on ice. We'll meet up with our people in the van and square this all-"

"I said pull over!"

The only sound in the car was the squeak of the the wipers. Claudia was still turned awkwardly in her seat, watching the fat man steer the car, watching his face change from crimson anger to scorn. She could see his mind change, she could see him sigh with acceptance. She saw the decision being made as O'Neil reached with his right hand into his suit coat for the .45 cradled in it's leather holster.

"Don't-" Claudia heard herself say.

She pushed out from the seat belt and grasped the man's thick arm and O'Neil snatched her by the wrist with his other hand, trying to force her back. For a moment, no one steered the Pontiac. A car honked outside and brakes screeched. Claudia steadied herself by grasping the steering wheel, yanking it towards her, the car cutting sharply. O'Neil was in her face, pushing her away.

Before Claudia has a moment to even wonder about the all the glass showering down outside the windows, her head was slammed against the dashboard, knocking her cold.

****

Oscar had been surprised that the lady cop had even attempted to take O’Neil on, the man was three times her size. One of her elbows had caught Oscar in the eye when she leapt over to the driver side and began to struggle with the fat man. He had been worried the gun would go off and shoot him through the back seat, then he caught a glimpse of the storefront coming towards them at sixty miles an hour.

He dropped down flat on the seat as they drove through the glass windows and door of the bagel shop and he shut his eyes as they crashed through the chairs and tables, turning everything in their path to shards of wood and plastic.

The thick oak counter finally stopped the car's forward motion. Oscar's face was shoved into the back of the driver seat, he could taste blood in his mouth. His shoulder felt bruised and jammed in it's socket but he was alive and not much more worse off than he was before they crashed.

He dragged himself back onto the seat and stared up at the ceiling. There was the blaring of the bagel shop's burglar alarm and a wet snorting sound coming from the front seat that must have been O'Neil.

He figured it would be best to get out while he could and began to kick at the passenger side window of the back door. It took about ten kicks, a good deal of effort, and then it shattered. He dragged his foot along the bottom of the window to clear the jagged glass, then pushed his feet through while awkwardly pulling himself along the seat with his cuffed hands. I took all the strength he had to lift himself up and sea saw through the window.

He had a few small pieces of glass in his knuckles and fingers but he was standing upright and free of the car. He looked over at the carnage the Pontiac had brought to the little bagel shop on Howard Street. Pieces of wood that used to be furniture and glass that used to be windows and doors were all strewn about in a shining horrible mess. He looked through the gaping hole in the front of the shop and saw people crossing from the other side of the street. Soon there would be a crowd and then more cops, there wasn’t much time.

He walked around to the driver side of the car, kicking a piece of shattered counter out of the way so he could turn around and pull open the car door with his bound hands. He turned back and found O'Neil blinking up at him, the fat man's face smeared with blood from a shattered nose.

"Help me," the fat man said.

"Give me the keys."

O'Neil wiped at the blood and blinked, dazed.

"My foot's stuck, you gotta help me," he said weakly.

Oscar saw the cop's .45 was still stuck securely in the shoulder holster.

"Give me the keys and I'll get you out of there. There's people coming right now."

O'Neil nodded dumbly, wiping fruitlessly at the blood pouring from his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. He struggled to dig into his pants pocket with his other hand, grimacing in pain. Oscar peered down and saw that the front of the vehicle had compacted inward and O'Neil's leg was caught behind a broken mass of plastic and metal.

O'Neil dragged a key ring out, a high whimper escaping from his thick bloody lips. Oscar turned backwards again and leaned down so the cop could unlock the handcuffs. The fat man snorted and wheezed as he desperately fumbled with the cuffs until they fell from Oscar's wrists.

Oscar stretched his arms and rubbed the feeling into his hands, glancing back to the front of the store where a people had now gathered as they attempted to get a look into the carnage. He spotted two of them on their cell phones.

"It's alright," Oscar called out to them. "Everybody's alright."

He bent down to one knee and looked passed O'Neil to the passenger side where the lady cop sat slumped over with her head lying against the cracked passenger side window. She appeared to be unconscious and though it was dim inside the car Oscar couldn't detect any serious injuries to her face or head. It was possible she was alive, Oscar didn't have time to find out for sure.

"Get me out of this kid, I got to get the bitch out of here," O'Neil muttered.

Oscar turned his head at an angle, looking at the fat cop's leg, then reached in as if to get a grip on it before smoothly grasping the .45 and yanking it free of the shoulder holster.

"Oh c'mon kid, you don't got to do that,” O’Neil pleaded. “Just get me out of here so I can clean this up. Don't fucking leave me like this."

Oscar ignored him and pulled the lever at O’Neil’s feet that popped the trunk. He walked around and reached deep in to retrieve the bag before making his way back to the driver side.

"I need you to tell Leo that I'm leaving," he said. "I'm sorry things turned out the way they did but that's it pretty much."

O'Neil had stopped wiping at his nose, letting it bleed all over his tie and the front of his suit. He turned away from Oscar and sat back in the wrecked Pontiac, resigning himself to wait for what was coming.

Oscar shoved the gun into his waistband and gingerly stepped through the wreckage to the sidewalk outside of the bagel shop. A middle aged couple was taking it all in wide eyed while a group of young people dressed in their club clothes were taking pictures and shooting video with their phones. Oscar gripped the bag with both hands and pulled it up to cover his face.

"Everybody's alright," he said. "There's an ambulance on its way."

"Jesus, did you see what happened?"

"Yeah. An accident."

He walked passed them and into the street, making his way towards Market. He noticed the handle of the bag was wet and figured the knife wound on his forearm was probably bleeding again.

19: Crime SuspenStory

OUR STORY SO FAR: Oscar Rayne is on the run. The McCarthy Mob wants him dead and the SFPD aren’t far behind. Meanwhile, Detective Dela Cruz is unaware that she is riding shotgun with a cop on McCarthy's payroll and that death could be around the next corner. Click here to start from the beginning:  http://dublinsworld.blogspot.com/2012/02/part-one-crime-suspenstory.html 

Based on True Events
O’Neil knew the way, Claudia never had to give directions. They double parked across the street from Gold Duck and she looked out at the people wandering up and down the sidewalks, through the rain and neon of North Beach. She scanned the crowds for Oscar Rayne.

“Give me your phone so I can call Dan,” Claudia said.

O’Neil brushed the breast pocket of his jacket with his fleshy fingers but didn’t reach in for the phone.

“They got the van over at the paint store, what’s the point of checking in?” he said.

“I just want to talk to him.”

“I got to go in and get this son’a bitch. I don’t got any time to hand over my phone.”

O’Neil took a deep rasp of a breath as he rolled his window up. Claudia could feel the blood rising to her face.

“I’m going in,” she said, no trace of a question in her voice.

“Dressed like that?” he said.

“They won’t expect it.”

“They? We’re just here to apprehend Rayne. Who’s they?”

“This is McCarthy’s place,” Claudia explained, losing patience. “Rayne must be here in some connection to the crew. I’ll go in and flush him out, you watch the front for when he exits.”

“I can’t send you in there alone.”

“This is my case Detective. My collar. I appreciate your help, I do,  but I’m going to take the lead on this.”

O”Neil watched her, finally letting out a ragged sigh.

“Maybe it’s better this way,” he said.

“I’m glad you agree. Now, give me a weapon so I can go get this asshole.”

O”Neil labored as he bent down to his sock holster and handed over his .32 snub nose back up piece. He also gave her his raincoat, which hung off her like an untethered kimono when she got out of the car and began to cross the street. There was still a light rain but Claudia didn’t feel it, she just felt the criss cross pattern of the gun’s wooden handle as she reached forward and pushed the door of the Gold Duck open.

It was dimly lit inside the bar, at first she could only make out huddled shapes among the shadows. She took a deep breath and let her eyes adjust. As the place came into focus she had the realization that all the other eyes in the room were on her. Two old Asian men sat directly across from the door with dice lying on the bar between them and there was an old red looking white man in the corner, nursing a beer under the ugly painting of a topless tennis player.  The T.V sitting above the bar was showing a poker tournament and the four old men seated under it couldn’t care less, they were watching the woman in the giant rain coat and tight fitting dress.

****

The twenty seven thousand dollars felt a lot heavier coming down in the elevator than it had when he stashed it in the wall. Oscar looked down at the bag in his hand and wished he had taken the time to pick another. It was all black, except for a tacky pink peace sign printed on both sides. It looked like a gym bag bought for a teenager by a crazy aunt.

He moved the bag to his left hand and pulled the gun from his waistband. It was a very real possibility that the elevator doors would open and that would be it, he would be lit up at the end of the line. He stepped back into the corner, nowhere to really go, and pointed the gun at the door, pulling the hammer back with his thumb.

The  elevator let out a high shriek as it hit the bottom, the lower bowels of the city cushioning its drop.  Everything was still as he strained his ears, the gun thrust out in front of him, waiting, until the doors finally separated and revealed the striped brick wall of the passageway. He pushed up against the right door and took a look one way, then flipped around and scanned the other. The passage appeared to be empty.

He stepped out, wanting to run but forcing himself to take one measured step after another. He squinted into the gloom, waiting for someone to emerge around the corner, out of the dim end of the hallway near the stairway. His ears continued to strain. There was nothing but the faint buzz of the lights that lit the passageway four feet apart.

He walked by Charlie’s office. The poor bastard might have been coming around right about then but he would be groggy and tied up and not up and about for some time. Oscar would just go up the stairs, nod at Tek, and be on his way. By this time tomorrow he would be out of the country and finally able to rest.

It was dim in the passage but there was still a flash of light from the butcher knife as Tek leapt around the corner at the base of the stair, slashing wildly. The blade came down and caught the top of the gun in Oscar’s hand, otherwise it would have chopped the limb clean off.

The blow jarred up through his bones and Oscar lost his grip on the gun. He stumbled back as Tek raised the huge knife up with both hands again, taking another wild swing. It cut through the leather at the front of Oscar’s jacket and he could feel the sting as it pierced the skin on his chest, barely deep enough to draw blood.

He leapt back and the bricks of the wall dug hard into his shoulder blades as he slammed into it. He cursed and had to bend down to dodge another oncoming blow. The knife’s edge scrapped the brick and sent a burst of red dust into the passageway.

Oscar launched himself forward, catching his attacker square in the chest. This time it was Tek slamming into the brick and Oscar could feel the air punch out of the little man’s body, then felt the air leave his own body when Tek sent a sharp knee into his gut.

Oscar lost his hold and stumbled back, his lungs screaming. He looked out through the tears in his eyes and saw Tek reach down to recover the knife from where it had fallen onto the floor. Oscar scanned the passage for the gun, spotting it nearly ten feet away down the hall.

He glanced at Tek and found him coming again, the knife raised high with both hands. Still gasping for air, Oscar raised his own hands up in desperation. He caught Tek’s arms on the way down, but the little man ripped free and slashed again, weaker this time. The knife connected, the blade slicing deep into the meat of Oscar’s fore arm.

Oscar gripped Tek’s hand with the knife in it, ripping it from his own arm. The knife flew, sliding along the base of the passageway, and Oscar reached forward, forcing both hands around Tek’s neck and pushing, his weight forcing Tek to backpedal. Oscar could see the panic in the little man’s eyes as he grabbed at the hands around his neck, trying to pry them apart. Oscar was giddy with pain and anger, squeezing his fingers into the slippery flesh of the other man’s neck and pushing back, back.

Tek’s left foot stepped on the gun and he slipped, landing hard on the cement floor with Oscar on top. The little man’s body cushioned the impact, he was gasping for breath. Oscar dug his knees into either side, around the ribs. He began to pummel the little man’s face with his fists.

The punches came down hard, digging into the flesh of the cheeks, mashing the lips and  jaw. Oscar kept punching until both his arms were burning around the shoulders and his fists were numb, until he could no longer see Tek’s eyes from the swelling and the blood flowing from the little man’s head and the open wound on Oscar’s forearm.

Oscar stood up, wiping the sweat and blood from his face. His legs were unsteady and he leaned against the wall. He stood there, sucking breath.  Once he was breathing evenly his head cleared a bit and he could think again.

He took off his jacket and dropped it on the floor, then ripped the bottom of his shirt off. He rolled his sleeve up and tied the ripped cloth tight around the cut on his forearm. It wasn’t great but it would stop the bleeding. He put his jacket back on and looked down at his attacker. The blood was collecting around Tek’s head, his face no longer recognizable. Oscar hoped it looked worse than it was and that the man would live.

He collected the gun and the bag, picking up the six rolls of cash that had spilled out during the attack. The cut on his arm stung like a son of a bitch but it would hold. He would go straight to the airport, catch a plane to anywhere, catch another flight from anywhere to somewhere else and then maybe take a moment to get it stitched up. The most important thing was not to bring attention to it, not get questions asked.

He began to climb the stairs, one by one with effort. He was leaving behind a mess, two of his friends beat up, another dead in an alley way. All this time spent thinking about how he would leave one day with no trouble, no fuss- he shook his head as he continued to climb the stairs.

Oscar thought about the cop, the one that had caught them in the alley and shot Murph. If it hadn’t been for that man appearing out of nowhere Oscar himself would most likely be dead instead of Murph. This wasn’t the time to wonder but he couldn’t help himself. Where had the man come from? Had Judy called the cops? Had they been watching the whole thing? Oscar’s arm ached and he cursed the man and Murph and Dick and Leo and Vaughn and the whole bloody world.

He reached the top of the stairs. All he had to do was walk through the bar passed a couple of drunks, get outside, and that was that. The car was probably reported as a carjacking, he would leave it and flag down a taxi. He would take the cab to the airport, catch the first flight listed.

He swung the door open, the bag in his hand, the gun shoved back into his waistband. He glanced around the room, the old men all in place as they were, completly unaware to what had happened to their bartender down stairs. Oscar noticed the woman by the bar, with her back to him. She was between him and the door. He was making his way towards her, looking passed her, through the rain streaked windows, searching for the lights of a taxi.

The woman turned and looked at him -he knew her. She watched him approach, not saying anything, then she calmly lifted the black revolver and pointed it at him.