Bullets Are My Business (9781101616413) (5 page)

“Right.” She giggles. “How are you?”

“I'm doing—” I start to respond when two events unfold simultaneously: A black car squeals into the parking lot and the front door of the gym bursts open. As all of the gorillas inside make their way toward my general direction, I know that the ape has broken his word. Well, it appears that catching up is going to have to wait until another day. I look at Megan.

“I'm doing a whole lot worse than I should be right about now,” I tell her. The passenger-side door of the black car opens. I watch in awe as a massive, hulking beast of a man emerges from inside. They must've used a shoehorn to wedge him inside. I can only assume that this must be Bruiser. In his hand, he holds a sawed-off shotgun.

I reach out and push Megan in the general direction of my car. “Get in the backseat of the Lincoln and lay down.” Confusion spreads over her face, but she does as she's told. I can't see her disappear into the car, but I no longer care, so long as she's out of the way. Obviously Bruiser doesn't either. She's not gone for a split second before he levels the shotgun at me. I reach into my coat with both hands and unholster both guns as he pulls the trigger.

I leap to the side, narrowly escaping the shotgun blast. I fire my guns. Bruiser is a lot faster than I expect him to be. He dodges the bullets and spins toward me, firing the shotgun a second time. The bullets shatter the gym window behind me. As I hit the ground and slide, I'm glad that I wore my leather jacket. This would've hurt a lot more if I didn't. I come to a stop against a concrete parking bar. I look straight ahead of me and see the gorillas from inside. They're only a few feet away. I don't even have time to prepare as they advance on me. I roll underneath the car nearest to me and start firing my guns as fast as I can. All I can see is the spray of blood as the ankles of the men explode. This halts the mob for a few seconds and gives me just enough time to assess the situation. Get to the car. That's all I can come up with before they're on the move again. Get out of here.

Sounds like a plan to me.

I roll out from beneath the car on the side opposite the mob. I get to my feet and stay low. I'm disoriented. Before I can remember where I parked, the windows of the car I'm behind burst outward. The glass falls like hail. I slam my back against the car and scan the lot for my car. My eyes settle on the green Lincoln. It's a good thing I backed in: getaway parking. Two rows over and three spaces down. I can make it.

I remain leaned against the car for another moment, using it as a temporary shield. The wound in my arm from earlier in the day has reopened and is screaming like a banshee. My shirt is covered in blood. My face and hands are cut from the raining glass. It's nothing that can't be fixed if I make it out of this alive. I reload my guns and crack my neck. Here we go.

I spin off the car. The bullets fly from my gun. I can't see where they're going until they hit someone or something. Some of the gorillas fall, clutching at the pain I'm inflicting. One grabs his neck. Another wraps his arms around his gut. Another, his arm. I see the windshield of the black car spiderweb when a bullet hits it. Was it one of mine or one of theirs? I don't know. I can't stop to find out. I gotta think like a shark: If I stop moving, I'll die. I don't wanna do that today. Bruiser tosses his shotgun aside and pulls a monstrous handgun from his belt. He levels it at me and pulls the trigger. I move out of the way just in time as the bullet tears through the side of the pickup truck behind me.

Keep moving.

Keep moving.

I make it to my row. I'm all out of ammo. Can't stop to reload. What's left to do? I race toward my car as more gunshots start up behind me. They miss. So far so good. Only a few feet left to go. I just have to make it to my car. Then I'm in the clear. For now. I'm steps away from the car. I'm all set to get cocky.

That's when the bullet hits me in the thigh.

My leg jerks out from under me. I can see the sky and the front of my car at the same time. I feel my head collide with the asphalt. I can taste blood in my mouth. I know I'm on the ground but I feel like I'm flying. I can't stop moving yet. I know I can't. I roll onto my stomach and crawl toward the driver's-side door. The world is starting to spin and the edges of my vision have gone jet black. I can feel the blood from my head raging down my neck. I can't feel my left leg. I make it to my door. All I have to do is get inside. I reach out for the door handle. It feels like I'm underwater. Everything is moving so slow.

“We got him, Bruiser.”

The voice is coming from behind me. I roll onto my back. It's the ape from the front counter and two other meatheads. Game over. The ape looks toward Bruiser.

“What do you want me to do with this pile of shit?”

I can hear Bruiser saying something, but it sounds garbled, so I focus on something else. I slowly maneuver my right hand down my leg to my ankle. One last chance. My drop. I can feel it between my fingers.

“Bring him to me.” Bruiser's words filter into my head. The ape nods.

“I'm on it.” As he turns back to me, the gun releases from my ankle holster and I bring it up just enough to train it on the big man. It takes a second for him to comprehend and then his eyes go wide with shock. I force a smile.

“I don't have time to use my blade.” I fire the gun, one shot, into his genitals. He shrieks and falls to the ground, holding his crotch. The other two brutes lean in to grab me. I don't even give a shit at this point. I'm just glad I took that ape out. And all of his future generations. If nothing else, at least I know he got his.

Before the brutes get to me, the car door swings open. The two guys have leaned in just enough to catch the door dead on in the face. They stumble backward and fall over the ape in a heap. Megan jumps from the car and kneels beside me.

“Can you drive?” she asks. I try to say yes, but the words won't come out in any form of language that she's used to hearing. She grabs me underneath my arms. “That would be a no.” She pushes and shoves me into the car. I'm not really any help and her pushing is making the gunshot in my arm feel like a red hot poker. Bruiser fires his gun just as Megan jumps in the car and slams the door behind her. She fishes in my pocket and finds the car keys. Another shot. She's in the driver's seat firing up the car. She revs the engine. She throws the car in drive and slams the pedal down. The tires squeal and we shoot straight through the parking lot. We bounce over what I hope is a meathead, but I assume it's only a curb, and we're on the street. I can hear shouting and gunfire. It's fading fast. We're home free.

“Where are we going?” Megan asks. It sounds like she's speaking from the bottom of an ocean of static. I take as deep a breath as I can muster. As a rule, I don't trust anybody I come across. Everyone's always after something and no one ever does anything out of the goodness of their heart. Especially the women I encounter in this business. “Levi?” Megan's voice sounds scared and flustered. She did take out those guys that were going to put the hurt to me back there. That scores her some brownie points. Besides, I'm bleeding out pretty bad. Looks like my options are slim. It's either trusting her or kicking off. I suppose the former is easier than the latter.

“Downtown,” I muster finally, barely coherent. “Jardin . . . Flower shop.”

I slouch against the doorframe as Megan rounds a corner. My head hits the window and I'm staring at the passing scenery. Everything is gray.

Time Flies When You're Having Fun

“Levi! Can you hear me?”

I don't have any idea how long Megan's been calling me. It feels like I've been out for days. I raise my watch to my face. It feels like the devil is wrenching red-hot fire sticks into my arm. I hope I don't need surgery. Hospitals have to report gunshot wounds. Not that it would matter all that much if I was reported. The cops around here tend to look the other way in matters such as these. Especially if you give them enough scratch. Except that I wouldn't be going to a hospital anyway. I'd be going to some back-alley former doctor who's a practicing alcoholic these days. I don't have one that I use regularly, but it seems like that's what all the doctors who cater to my specific clientele are. Either way, I'd just as soon rather not have to go through the motions. It's a pain in my ass no matter which way you cut it.

Through the pain, I catch a glimpse of my watch before I let my hand drop down past my side and come to a rest on the floor mat of the car. Only fifteen minutes have passed since the gym. It feels like an eternity.

Megan is leaning over me, staring intently. I can tell that she's mortified. All of the adrenaline has rushed out of her system and she's no longer the hellfire wildcat that was behind the wheel. She's transformed back into just a regular young woman again. I feel like I could stare at her for hours. Especially with her leaning over me the way she is. That cleavage I was so intrigued by at the gym looks even better at this angle. As another burst of pain travels through my body, I realize that, no matter how much I'm enjoying the view, the problem with staring at her is I'm wasting time. I don't feel like dying in the front seat of my car. At least not now. Not here. And certainly not when an asshole like Bruiser's the one to blame. I clear my throat and I can feel my mouth fill up with phlegm and blood. I can't think of a time that it's ever good to have blood in your throat. I spit the mucus in my mouth to the floor of the car and inhale a deep breath.

“Go upstairs,” I tell her. My voice is barely audible and every word I speak is excruciatingly painful, but I can tell by her hypnotic nodding that she understands fully. “Second floor, first door. Knock three times, pause, knock two times. Get Jacks. Bring him here.” Megan keeps nodding, but she doesn't move. I start coughing. I feel like I'm being beaten with lead pipes. The pain is incredible. My entire body shudders. I get it under control quickly and draw a deep breath. It feels like I'm being inflated with a bicycle pump.

“Move it!” I can only muster a half yell, but that seems to be enough to get her in gear. She scrambles from the car, grabbing the keys from the ignition, and tears toward the apartment building. A cold sweat breaks out on my body. It doesn't help cool me down. I feel like I'm on fire. I can't do anything now but lay in wait and hope I don't get nabbed. That's the last thing I need right now. Knowing my luck, the only cop to show up would be a straight-and-narrow one who would slap a set of cuffs on me. I'd rather die than go to the joint. I close my eyes and try to focus on anything but the pain. It doesn't work. Everything I think of is spliced with images of the wound on my arm, or the glass beneath my skin, or the bullet lodged in my thigh, or what I can only imagine is a concussion. A shadow falls over my closed eyelids. I'm caught.

I open my eyelids. My mind is already racking itself looking for a response to whoever is looming outside the car and my arm is trying to make its way to my gun before I realize that I'm out of bullets. Why did Megan park in front of the building? There's a secluded alleyway out back. It would've been safe there. My mind catches up and I realize that I can't blame her. She couldn't have possibly known that. I wish I had been coherent enough to inform her of the alley. Too late. Not much else I can do at this point. I focus as best I can at the figure before me, but all I can see is a shadowy mess.

“I can explain—” I can't tell if that's me speaking. The voice I hear is weak. It sounds like it's coming from the bottom of a swimming pool. The shadow doesn't respond. It raises what I can only assume is a hand and I see a flash of green before it fades back to gray. The shadow drops something into the car that flutters and lands on my face. It's light. I figure it's paper. I blink just in time to see the figure move away, replacing the darkness with the gray autumn sky. What the hell was that? Who was that? What's covering my eye?

I try to lift my hand to grab it off my face. My hand won't move for me. I try even harder but it refuses to obey. This is not a good sign. I close my eyes again. The world is spinning. Another shadow falls across my eyelids. I slowly open my eyes again. I wish someone had told me when visiting hours were.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” I mumble. I can barely move my lips. My head feels light from the loss of blood. The door opens and the shadow plucks the paper from my face. It leans in toward me.

“You wanted me, you lousy prick.” I barely recognize the gruff voice. The shadow's facial features come into focus.

“Jacks.”

I think that Jacks smiles. All I can see is a white blur where his mouth should be. “Yeah, it's Jacks. We're gonna get you upstairs.” I nod and I can feel his hands grab me under the arms. I wince and my lips draw back in a silent snarl as the pain comes at me from every angle imaginable. Jacks doesn't seem to care. “Yeah, this is gonna hurt for a few minutes, pal. Get used to it.”

He drags me from the car. I didn't think that the pain could get more intense, but the second I'm on my feet, I realize that it can. This must be what it feels like to be struck by lightning. We move to the apartment door quickly. Actually, Jacks moves to the apartment door quickly. I'm being dragged in tow. I try to move my legs, but they won't work properly. They seem to be twisted together. Jacks mumbles a string of profanities. I stop helping.

The next thing I know, we're at the door to my apartment. The trip up the stairs is lost to me. The first thing I think of is Megan.

“Is she all right?”

Jacks bangs once on the door. “The gal you were with?”

I realize that he can't read my thoughts. Dammit. I do my best to nod.

“The gal you were with is fine. She's inside.” The door opens and Jacks pulls me through and into my apartment. He drags me to the bed and sets me down on my back. I don't want to get blood on my bed. It's a bitch to clean up and I don't want to get a new bed. I've finally gotten this one worn in. It's bad enough I got blood in my car. I try to get up. Jacks lays a hand on my chest and pushes me back down. I try a second time, but Jacks holds me in place.

“Blood . . . sheets,” I gurgle.

Jacks puts a hand over my mouth. “Shut up. That girl—What's your name, kid?”

The response comes from somewhere overseas. “Megan.”

“Megan already put some towels down,” Jacks tells me. “You won't get any blood on your blankets.” It's a good friend who can make sense out of incomprehensible babble. Maybe he can read my mind after all. My head lolls to the side. The gray is starting to creep back into my sight. I'm seeing tunnel vision. I feel like I'm going to vomit.

“Dickhead, don't you go on me now.” Jacks taps my cheek a few times. I move my head back upright. Jacks holds it steady and looks into my eyes. “The doc I use is out of state. Do you know any doctors?”

I search through the Rolodex of my fading mind. I don't know any doctors. I hate doctors. I shake my head. Jacks tightens his jaw. “Do you know anyone at all in the health care field?”

My rattled brain catches on something. “I know a ph. . .” I choke up on some blood. I clear my throat. “I know a phl . . .” The blood chokes me up again.

“What the fuck is a phl?” Jacks asks. I can hear his anger level rising. Patience was never one of Jacks's strong points. I grit my teeth and dig into my brain with everything I've got.

“. . . botomist,” I manage. I close my eyes, thankful that the word is out of my body. I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

“What?” Jacks says, I can feel his body shift as he turns his head. He's now speaking to Megan. “Did he just say botanist?” Beneath my eyelids, I roll my eyes.

“Isn't that a plant doctor?” Megan asks softly. I can't help but think that these two are idiots. They're probably thinking the same thing about me. At least I have an excuse.

Jacks turns back to me. “How the hell is a botanist going to help you?”

I shake my head, wishing I could slap Jacks in the face. I clear my throat again and take the most excruciatingly deep breath I can muster. I try to yell, but it comes out as a gurgle. “Phlebotomist.”

“Shit,” Jacks mumbles. “That makes more sense.”

“Is that going to help?” Megan asks.

I open my eyes a crack and see Jacks nodding. “It's going to have to do.” He reaches into my pocket and grabs my phone. I want to ask him if he's getting fresh, but I just don't have the energy to be a smart-ass. He flips my phone open. “Okay, what's his name?”

I groan. What is this,
The
64 Million Dollar Pyramid
? How many questions is he going to ask me?

“Asshole, what is his name?” I draw a blank. I'm fading faster than I expected. What's his name? This is like a high school exam I didn't have time to study for. The dog ate my homework. I clear my head and try to picture the phlebotomist. What is his name? As a squiggly lined picture makes its way into my head, I realize why this is so hard. It's not a guy, it's a dame.

“Buh . . .”

That's all I can remember right now. Even if I could remember more, I feel that's all I can eek out. It's slowly coming into my consciousness. I can hear my phone beeping as Jacks scrolls through the stored numbers.

“Was that a ‘buh' or a ‘duh'?” he asks Megan.

“I think it was a ‘duh' . . . with a
D,
” she tells him. I grit my teeth and shake my head. It must look like I'm having a spasm because Jacks grabs me roughly and holds me in place. I breathe deep again.

“Buh . . . Buh . . . ,” I say.

“Definitely a
D,
” Jacks says. If I had any energy left in my body, I would scream. Instead, I hum, letting the noise reverberate through my clenched teeth. I can feel Jacks staring at me.

“Bee,” I say, buzzing through my teeth again.

“Starts with a
B,
” Jacks says. My phone is beeping spastically as Jacks scrolls through the names.

“There are nine names in here that start with
B
and all of them are females,” Jacks says. “Are you sure this guy's name starts with a
B
and not a
D
?” Thank God there are no women's libbers here to see Jacks in action.

“Eck . . .”

“Beck?” Jacks continues scrolling through the names. “Like the singer?” I'm about to go into convulsions when the beeping of the phone stops. “Becky?”

I nod. Finally, a breakthrough. Jacks dials the number. “Your phlebotomist is a fucking chick? Who the fuck wants a chick doctor?” Gotta love misogyny. Jacks stands up and moves across the room. I can hear him talking. I can't understand what he's saying. The gray is taking over all of my vision now. I can barely see him. I feel a body at my side. A warm, soft hand rubs my cheek. It feels like silk against my face. Fading.

“You're gonna be fine.” Megan takes my hand. She doesn't seem to mind the blood I'm covered in. She holds my hand gently. “Help is on the way.” I give her hand a squeeze. It's half-assed, but it's all I can manage in my present state. It feels like I'm in a black-and-white photograph. Megan is smiling.

“Help is on the way,” Jacks confirms, hanging up the phone. “It'll be here shortly.” Jacks moves to my side and tears my shirt open. I groan, though it doesn't hurt at all. This is my favorite shirt. First it was my jeans, now my shirt. Dammit. Jacks doesn't give a rat's ass, he starts checking my wounds. He starts with the one on my arm, moves around to the one on my scalp, and finishes with the one on my thigh.

“You lost a lot of blood, my man,” Jacks tells me, clicking his tongue. “A lot.”

I try to retort but all that comes out is a raspy, clicking whisper. I want to make some sort of smart-assed remark but I'm too fucking tired to do so. Obviously I lost a lot of blood. I can feel my tank running on empty right about now. I try to acknowledge his statement with a nod of my head, but even that doesn't seem to be in the cards.

Fuck it. It was a rhetorical statement anyway.