Street Justice (37 page)

Steve struck with his left, catching Johnny off guard and popping him in the jaw. Johnny came back with his own left, that Steve blocked with his right. Johnny swung out with the pan again, Steve again stopped the stroke with the bottle opener, then extended his right, using the bottle opener to poke Johnny in the chest. Johnny stumbled back. He quickly got back on the balls of his feet and bounced, ready to get back to the fight.

Johnny feinted with the pan and as Steve went to again block the stroke, Johnny changed tactics and sent a left kick into Steve’s ribs. It was Steve’s turn to stagger backward. Johnny pressed his advantage and stepped in toward Steve and this time successfully brought the pan down on the side of Steve’s head, glancing off to impact on his shoulder. Fireworks exploded in Steve’s head, he staggered back even farther, stepping back out into the living room. He dropped the bottle opener.

Johnny continued to push forward, knowing his opponent was off balance. But Steve used his off balance to his advantage. He staggered back, which cause Johnny to rush in. As he did, Steve dropped into a backward roll, grabbed Johnny’s wrist, put his feet in Johnny’s chest and flipped him into the coffee table. In a wreckage of broken wood, Johnny scrambled to his feet without the pan. Steve recovered as well. Johnny charged, forgetting his training, now acting on emotion.

Johnny caught Steve in the midsection and continued to drive. The two men hurtled backward and Steve’s back was driven into the counter. Steve’s eyes bugged out as pain ping-ponged up and down his spine. Steve linked his two hands together and brought them down hard on Johnny’s back. Johnny lifted his head violently striking Steve on the chin. Steve’s head snapped back and Johnny started hammering Steve in the ribs. Steve felt a crack on his left side.

Getting his elbows into his sides, Steve slid along the counter until he could squeeze out from between Johnny and the edge. He moved to the middle of the kitchen, hands up, but elbows continuing to protect his sides. Johnny stepped in and swung a huge right hook. Steve stayed back until Johnny was over committed and came in with a downward left, catching Johnny solidly in the right eye. Johnny staggered left while Steve brought up his right knee. The resulting impact rocked Johnny back upright, then over to his right. He staggered and slammed head first into the refrigerator.

Steve moved over the top of Johnny, “Have you had enough? You’re good, but you’re down and beaten.” Steve had his right hand cocked and ready. Johnny just moaned. His vision was blurred with pain and blood. He looked up at Steve trying to think of a way to get back up. Steve had positioned himself well, there was no opportunity for a surprise kick or punch to do enough damage to give Johnny the room to get up.

Johnny’s shoulders slumped he collapsed to the floor. The side of his face pressed against the cool linoleum. A tiny bit of drool dripped from the corner of his mouth. Then he saw it. Tucked under the lip of the cupboards, out of sight of Steve, was the gun Adrian had knocked out of his hands. He wanted to grab it but knew he must bide his time. Steve relaxed when he saw Johnny release his tension. He stepped back and put his hand to his cracked rib. He breathed deeply and a stabbing pain wrecked him so he continued to take shallow breaths. He rubbed his eyes.

Johnny, who had been watching Steve from his periphery, snapped to action as soon as Steve’s hand moved to cover his eyes. He slithered forward and grabbed the gun’s barrel. Collecting the gun to him, he grabbed the handle. Steve heard Johnny shoot forward, away from him and realized something was not right. His mind ran a quick inventory of the room, even as he could not see it. Johnny rolled onto his back, swinging the barrel around toward Steve. Steve leapt back, up onto the counter, fully seated. Johnny blinked to clear his vision as he took up slack in the trigger. Steve reached his right hand across his body and grabbed a knife from the knife block. In one fluid motion, he pulled the knife from the block and hurled it at Johnny. Johnny pulled the trigger as the blade pierced his neck.

Johnny dropped the gun and his hands went to his neck. He withdraw the blade then looked from it to Steve. Steve was leaning crumpled on the counter, a plume of crimson spreading across his shirt. Johnny’s vision darkened and his grip weakened. The knife suddenly seemed to weigh an enormous amount. A sickening drowning feeling filled his chest, as blood from his severed carotid artery bled into the now open trachea. Johnny tried to scramble upright, to swim his way out of a liquid he was not submerged in. Then everything went black.

“You know you should still be in the hospital, right?” asked Adrian.

“No, no, you’re not getting out of your bet that easy,” Steve replied. The two men sat in Kelly’s, one of Steve’s favorite hole in the wall bars. The small rectangular room had a few chairs and tables scattered on the left side of the room. In the back corner was a small stage and a hallway leading to bathrooms. On the right side, where Adrian and Steve now sat, was a long bar made of dark wood. The front windows were boarded over other than a six inch slit in the top, where sunlight lost a losing battle to brighten the dark interior.

“I am not trying to get out of anything. I will pay my debt, we could just do it when you are more fully rested,” Adrian said.

“No way. I know you, you’d claim you have a case or the time wasn’t right. We’re both on leave right now, you have no excuse,” Steve countered. He gave the waiter a small wave then held up two fingers indicating Adrian and himself. Steve was a regular and the bartender knew the usual, a tall draft beer and a shot of cheap, warm, rail bourbon.

“Steve, you’re still bleeding, how many times in a day do you have to change that bandage?” Adrian indicated to Steve’s left shoulder, where Johnny’s bullet had struck him, as the bartender arrived with their drinks. Adrian continued, “And aren’t you on antibiotics? You’re not supposed to drink while on antibiotics.”

“An old wives tales. Terviseks,” Steve raised his shot glass. To Adrian’s credit he too raised his glass.

“Fine, heck, maybe your injuries will make you weaker, limiting your ability to drink. Maybe this will hurt a bit less,” Adrian conceded.

“You can always dream,” Steve said. After a few minutes of silence and a few sips of beer Steve said, “Too bad what happened with Russ and Mario.”

“I think they’ll do okay. My office is doing everything they can to let the judge and prosecutor know they helped us. We got their supplier in New York, a direct line back to terrorists in Afghanistan, so Sam is happy.”

“Yeah, but I can’t help but think that we failed them,” Steve lamented.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Russ came back to the States just looking for a job but no one would hire him. What the army prepared him for has very little practical application. Everyone wants to say they support the troops, but where are they when it is time to give an ex-soldier a job? Yeah, you’re going to have to give them a bit of training but they deserve it. Instead, it’s easier to slap a sticker on your bumper and dismiss them when hiring them might hurt the bottom line.”

“Yeah,” Adrian said, “And Carl’s still out there, slinging his wares and running the corner we helped clear out for him.”

“Yup,” Steve agreed.

“What are you going to do?” Adrian asked rhetorically.

Steve brightened up, “What are we going to do? Have another round.” Steve indicated another round to the bartended our started lining up shots and beers.

“But we haven’t finished these,” Adrian said, indicating their half full beers.

“Then you’d better get moving,” Steve replied as he lifted his beer and downed the rest.

“This is gonna hurt,” Adrian said, following suit.