39(S3E13)- Sometimes, Love is Throwing Her Out a WIndow

Episode 39

(Season 3, Episode 13)

Sometimes, Love is Throwing Her Out a Window

Afghanistan… Before

“Spaghetti”

Stone heard the word spoken through the headset on his ear right before the hard slapping noise and then the loud feedback.

He cursed under his breath.  The plan had been simple, use this hut and Stone for bait while Rockwell dropped them all at a distance.  They were down to four, which would have been a cake walk for Rockwell.

One of them, probably Shaky, had gotten wise and tracked Rockwell’s location.  Stone was officially on his own.  He did some mental math and decided that currently, there were three of them about to enter, the forth had to be dealing with Rockwell right now.

They would toss a couple of grenades in through the windows to disorient them and then they would come in the front door.  Stone had to hope they would use flash bangs, and not gas.  While flash bangs were awful and disorienting due to the bright phosphorescence and the loud deafening shockwave, tear gas was worse.  Its title was a complete understatement.  Yes, it did make you tear up, but anyone would tear up while their lungs and stomach spasmed uncontrollably wrenching their entire body in pain.

Stone backed himself into a corner, reloading his M-16 carbine and leveling it at the door.

****

Roman Estate… Now

Mikey’s car pulled up the long drive to the Roman’s estate; Joe in the front and Macklin in the back, as usual.  Mikey would just be happy to get this job over with.  Macklin had turned out to be more than a little insane.  Every minute lowered Mike’s survival rate.

Mikey’s hopes of a clean and easy last job dwindled and died at the site of the two back S.U.V’s in the driveway ahead of them and the profanity scrawled over the front door.  He felt as though he had walked directly into some low budget slasher film.

“This don’t look good.”  Joe said and Mikey had to agree.

They pulled to a stop and out stepped Macklin, whose clever eyes watched everything.  He drank in the scene and tried to sum it up in his head.

Just then, they heard more gunshots from inside.  It continued for almost a minute, an eternity for a gun battle, then silence followed.  Mikey had his .38 in this hand instantly.  He liked the classic revolvers in place of the big automatics.

Joe’s gun was in his hand too, a large .45.  “What the hell is going on in there?”

 

“Nothin’ anymore, I’d wager.”  Macklin spoke suddenly, his cockney accent making him hard as ever to understand.  They approached the front door and noticed the body.

A middle aged white man of good health, dressed in loose jeans and a tee shirt with a tweed sport coat lay on the front steps pointed away from the door.  Blood was everywhere having rushed out of his abdomen.  Mickey turned and looked into the house.  Just beyond the arch of the door sat a chair, a double barreled sawed off shotgun that looked old enough to have been used in the Civil War, sat pointing out.  Mickey new instantly what had happened.

“Trap door.”  Macklin muttered, beating him to the punch.

“Huh?” Joe said, less quick on the uptake.

Mickey answered his question.  “He had the shotgun rigged to the door, probably with some wire or rope.  The first guy through the door took a double blast to the chest.”

“Poor bastard.”  Joe muttered, looking down at the dead man.

****

Afghanistan… Before

The grenade came in the window and hit the floor.  Stone jammed his fingers in his ears and closed his eyes tightly.  If it was a flash bang, this would lessen the effects on him.  If it was tear gas, the men would find him puking his stomach out in the fetal position and it wouldn’t matter anyway.

The grenade detonated and his vision was filled with white light, even with them closed.  The detonation rattled the bones in his spine and sucked the wind out of him.  Everything on his body hurt at once and for a second, all we could think about doing was collapsing and resting.

He didn’t, however.  As the door kicked open, he mustered his strength, pulled the M-16 up to his chest and fired at the door, a long sustained burst.

The ringing in his ears made the gun fire only noticeable due to the kick against his shoulder and the flash on the muzzle barrel.

The first guy through the door was caught in the burst and twisted as red mist exploded from his body. As he hit the floor, Stone was pulling himself to his feet and twisting as the back door was kicked down and the second guy rushed in.  Stone pulled the trigger again and his remaining clip emptied into the attacker who fell back against the doorway.

The last attacker came in with his weapon up.  Stone had no time to reload.  He dove across the room as the machine gun bullets tore at the inside of the hut.  Stone drew his side arm and fired…

****

Roman Estate… Now

Reno was a good killer. Most other things in life, however, he was not so good at.  He had never been good with women, given his size and general ugliness, but he was strong.  After being so unsuccessful for so long, his carnal animal needs had taken over and he had started just taking what he wanted from the presumed weaker sex.

After realizing just how easy it was with his training and natural strength, he started doing it more and more.  This addiction had landed him in trouble with the law more than once.  Nevertheless, he always managed to get himself out of trouble with his connections and his back savings of money.

So, when the villain asked him to take care of the girl, Reno had almost laughed.  His old friend had given him a bonus and he didn’t even know it.  Reno had never before committed rape on the job, but he had never made a rule against it.  The opportunity had just never presented itself, like today.

Reno crept into the room with the girl.  It was some kind of large showing room for Civil War memorabilia.  The girl was wearing just a pair of panties and a white tank top, her bare feet were covered in blood.  The bodies of the other contractors lay strewn across the floor.  The girl seemed bothered by none of this, as she was moving back and forth between the bodies trying to pick out one of the guns to take.

 It was in this moment that Reno had a fleeting reservation about his next act.  Some small voice said to just kill her now, that this one was different.  That same voice had advised against his previous acts though, and Reno had never listened before, so why start now.

She seemed to decide on one of the dead men’s guns, an MP-5.  A small submachine gun with a banana clip and a front hand grip. 

Reno decided to make his move.  He reached out with his free hand and grabbed the girl’s hair, fluidly bringing up his other hand to place the gun to her temple.  She froze when the steel touched her milky skin.

“Drop it.” He ordered in a whisper.

She did as she was told like the good little bitch that she was.  Then again, they were all good little bitches with a gun to their heads.

The minute she dropped the gun, he put his into the back of his pants and shoved her forward into one of the broken display cases.  He bent her over and tore at her panties.  Reno was now consumed with the need to get inside the young girl to make her his.

It was this need that made Reno ignore the fact that she didn’t scream when shoved into the broken glass of the display table.  It was also this need which kept him from noticing the large piece of glass that she wrapped her fingers around.

So, when Reno took his hands off her to undo his pants, the girl turned and, with perfect accuracy, buried the glass deep into his neck.

He tried to scream but found only a gurgle.  He reached for his gun as he stared into her cold dead eyes.

Reno found his reckoning.

****

Afghanistan… Before

He stood for a second, his eyes filled with shock and surprise and then he fell backward.  Stone didn’t move, taking deep breaths to settle himself, trying to will his hearing to work again.  He then slowly pulled himself to his feet, he reminded himself that there was still one out there.  Shaky.

Almost on cue, Shaky walked in the back door, Rockwell in front of him like a shield.  Shaky’s sidearm was to Rockwell’s head.

Stone brought up his own weapon, but didn’t shoot.  “Since when do you take hostages?”

“I don’t, I’m going to kill both of you.  I just want to make sure you assholes die together.”  Shaky said, angrily.

“Yeah right, you kill him, I kill you.  You kill me, he kills you.”  Stone laid out the situation.

Shaky laughed.  “What a joke.  Your little pet psycho may be useful with a rifle, but that’s all he’s got going for him.”

“I’m in the room, fucker!” Rockwell said, feeling left out of the standoff.

Shaky ignored him.  “I’m going to blow your head off, then I’m going to kill this crazy asshole.  Then I’m going to take the gold you tried to take.”

“That gold will by a lot of man-ass,” Rockwell quipped.

Shaky continued to ignore him and Stone lowered his gun and smiled.  It was all so funny and so stupid.

“You giving up?  That is funny.”  Shaky said, trying to mask his confusion.

Stone had very few moments of pure clarity in his life and in all honesty, he liked it that way.  He had spent his life fighting and the constant fighting kept him from pondering the worst parts of life; death, morality, pets.  The madness he surrounded himself with was not an accident.  Even so, it was impossible to completely shield himself from moments of perfect understanding.  It came to him now in a wave of pain and he saw just how stupid this was.

A bunch of terrible people in a foreign country killing each other over someone else’s gold.  Gold which they had no way of smuggling out of the country, anyway.

“Just so damn stupid.”  Stone muttered.

Shaky was confused by this, but Rockwell gave a big toothy grin.  “I know, isn’t it great?!”

The question was rhetorical as Rockwell made his legs into rubber and put his left palm over the barrel of the gun as he did.  The gun went off and blew out Rockwell’s palm as he fell, but he managed to divert the bullet away from his body.

As Rockwell fell, Stone’s moment of clarity went with him and all that remained was the fight.  Stone brought up his sidearm and put two bullets into Shaky’s face.  The back of his head exploded, sending blood and brain matter back out the door in which he had come.

Just like that, it was over.  No drama, no twist, and just one last dead body.

****

Roman Estate… Now

Rockwell stared at the scar on his palm from all those years ago with Shaky and he waited for the mystery man to enter the door.

Rockwell checked the Scolfield.  He had one bullet left.  He almost regretted not picking up a gun from the dead men in the show room down the hall but this did make it more interesting.  The door to the office kicked open and Rockwell swung to fire but he was too late.  He heard the shot and felt the sting in his right shoulder.

“Mother fucker!” Rockwell yelled and dropped the gun.

“Damn Rockwell.”  Naplam came into the dim light of the office.  “You have slipped.”

Rockwell chuckled.  “Napalm?  You have got to be fucking me.  I knew it wasn’t Shaky, but you?”

Naplam stepped into the room further.  He was wearing black cargo pants and a black jacket.  He was lean and still fit, but he was firing the gun with his left hand.  That’s when Rockwell noticed the hook were his right hand should be.

Naplam nodded at Rockwell’s new shoulder wound.  “I just made it even.”

 

Rockwell stood to face him.  “I put a high powered rifle bullet through your chest.”

Naplam shook his head.  “Correction, you put a bullet through the M-16 I had in front of me.  The bullet diverted and took my hand.”

Rockwell shook his head.  “You would have bled out.”

Naplam smiled.  “You would be surprised what a belt and a whole lot of hate can get you through.”

Most wouldn’t have accepted that answer.  Rockwell did.  It made perfect sense to him.

“So, it was never Shaky, and no one hired you to take out the senator?”  Rockwell asked, knowing the answer.

Naplam smiled.  “No, I knew that if the senator knew Shaky was after him, and I leaked the right information to him about Rattlesnake, he would find you.  Then we could finish it.”

Rockwell smiled.  He was on cloud nine.  “I’m sorry, Napalm.”

Naplam was confused.  “I think it’s a little late for that.”

Rockwell shook his head.  “Not for the hand, for thinking you were just Shaky’s bitch.  You are so much more exceptional than that.”

 Naplam nodded and walked over to stand next to the desk.  He placed his gun on the desk.  “Let’s finish this dramatically.  We seem to share a flare for that.  First to get to the gun wins.”

Two gun shots sounded from down the hall and both turned for a second.  Naplam smiled.  “That would be my man Reno taking care of the girl.  Hope she wasn’t important to you.”

Rockwell darkened and Stone was suddenly next to him.  “I warned you, buddy.”

Rockwell turned back to Napalm and moved for the gun.

Napalm had no interest in the gun and left hooked him across the face.  The blow broke Rockwell’s lip and staggered him.  His fedora fell from his head to the floor.  Rockwell tried to back fist but Napalm was too fast and he trapped the arm with his left and brought the hook into Rockwell’s forearm.  Rockwell screamed in pain.

Napalm kicked Rockwell to the stomach then used his left hand to drive Rockwell’s face into the sturdy oak of the desk.  Rockwell’s nose broke and Rockwell slid to the floor, the fight draining out of him. Naplam calmly picked up the gun and pointed at Rockwell.

“That’s it, buddy.  Without Stone, you are just a whole lot of crazy.” Napalm said victoriously.

Rockwell then caught a sight out of his peripherals and grinned through the blood from his nose and lips.  “Well, there was one thing I had that Stone never did.”

Naplam decided to humor the mad man.  “Okay, I’ll bite.  What?”

“Good taste in women.”

Napalm heard the racking of the slide on an MP-5 and turned to see the strange small pale woman in ripped panties and a tank top.  Her feet, legs and right arm were covered in other people’s blood and she was holding a mean looking sub-machine gun.

Naplam turned to fire but Maude held the trigger down and emptied the gun into Napalm.  The last thing he heard was the laughter.

Rockwell and Maude laughed loud and in harmony.  It would haunt Napalm for the rest of his life, all 2.3 seconds of it.

Maude dropped the gun and walked over to Rockwell as Rockwell pulled himself to his feet.  Maude reached to kiss him but Rockwell stopped her with a finger.  Rockwell then bent over and picked up his fedora, now soaked in the blood of Napalm.  He put it on his head and turned back to her.

“Never kiss a girl without it.”  He said, then then two kissed deeply, drinking in the madness that they shared.

“OY!” The hard cocky voice woke them both up.  They turned to see Macklin, Joe and Mikey.  Mikey and Joe had guns raised.

Rockwell took a deep breath.  “You look different.”

“I am different, mate.”  Macklin said with a smile.

“We have business, I’m guessing?” Rockwell asked.

“That we do, mate.” Macklin said again, calmly.

Rockwell nodded then turned to Maude and whispered in her ear.  “Jim Creegan, Patti O’ Shaughnessy”

Maude looked at him confused as Rockwell seemed to move her backward around the desk.

Rockwell then stopped, smiled and kicked her in the chest backward through the window he had positioned behind her, sending her spinning down three stories into the crazed swirling waters below. Rockwell grinned as he watched the woman hit the waters and vanish.  She never screamed.

If the fall did kill her, he thought it would be fitting, her crashing into the madness of the river that mirrored her.

That mirrored him.

“Well that was interesting,” Macklin said, having watched the strange spectacle.

Rockwell turned and shrugged.  “Love can be weird that way.”

Macklin smiled.  “I can understand that.”

Rockwell grinned.  “Yes, I believe you do.  Now, can we get on with this shit?”

Macklin smiled and nodded.  “Oh yes.  Yes we can.”

TO BE CONTINUED IN SEASON 4

SEASON 3 ENDS HERE

 

               

 

38(S3E12)-The Villain

38

(Season 3, Episode 12)

The Villain

The villain had arrived in Ohio the day before to case the target.  That had been when he received the intel that Senator Roman had picked up Rockwell as a bodyguard.  It was then that he decided to get some help on this one, picking up six other contractors willing to take orders for a cut.

Now, sitting in the driveway to the dark Roman mansion staring at the words, ‘Welcome Fuckers! Come on in!’ written in sloppy bright red spray paint scrolled above the front door, the villain knew he had made the right choice.

“This is your friend?  This Rockwell?”  Reno was a Columbian national that the villain had done a few jobs with.

“Friend… no, I think not.” The villain responded as he stepped out of one of the two cars they had used to come here.

Reno was a short, stocky, tan man who seemed to sweat all the time.  He took a final drag off of his cigarette and tossed it to the asphalt driveway before stamping it out.  “I am surprised the senator let him do this to his house.”

The villain shook his head, he knew the truth.  “The senator, and most likely everyone inside, is already dead.”

Reno raised his eyebrow and gave the villain a hard stare.  “Then may I ask why we are here?”

The villain knew Reno’s concern came from a place of complete greed.  “You’ll get paid, I promise.”

Reno concerns faded away.  “So this man, this Rockwell, is he dangerous?”

The villain considered this, then shook his head.  “He’s a lunatic, but only really skilled with a gun.  If he had a rifle, we would be dead already.”

Reno narrowed his eyes at him.  “I do not think you would call so many of us if you thought he was truly harmless.”

The villain grinned but chose not to answer.  Instead, he sized up the situation.  The Roman estate was a big, three-story house that sat with its back overlooking a large river.  The villain couldn’t remember its name off-hand.  The house was dark and quiet, but ebbed with a dark energy that promised death and violence inside.  Like a monsters cave.

None of this mattered.  Rockwell was cornered, out-numbered and out-gunned.  They would flush him out and kill him.

The villain would finish what had started all those years ago in Afghanistan.

****

Afghanistan… Before.

“They have to be in there, Sir,” Napalm said as he hunkered down behind Shaky.

Shaky stared out over a small valley to the other side, where a small hut was built on the opposite incline.  The middle ground was farm land for the revered poppy plants, which accounted for eighty percent of the country’s economy.

The hut sat silent and foreboding.  Shaky and ten other members of Rattlesnake had tracked Stone and Rockwell across the country side to this hut.  They had been chasing them for a couple of days now.  The two rogues had to know they were coming.

“It’s a good place to make a stand.” Shaky said, agreeing with his second.

“So what’s the-” There was a sudden whipping noise, followed by a metal on metal noise and then a report of a fifty caliber sniper rifle.  Napalm lurched and fell forward, rolling down the hill into the poppy fields.

Rockwell.

Shaky’s mind raced in that second.  Sniper attack in the field causes an overwhelming confusion when you don’t know that it’s coming.  The common responses are to desperately look for the attacker or to drive to the ground and make yourself small.

Both reactions are death sentences.  The best reaction to sniper fire is movement.  People don’t realize how hard it is to hit a moving target.  Shaky also knew the gun that Rockwell was using was big and heavy and a bolt action.

“Down the hill! Get into the poppies!” Shaky screamed.  “Now! Now! Now!”

The remaining nine men seemed to hesitate.

The report of the rifle sounded again and a soldier called ‘Bulldog’ fell forward, his head having basically disappeared.

The men responded now and broke into a chaotic run down the hill.  Shaky followed as they went.  He knew it would take them three, maybe four seconds to clear the fifty or sixty yards of downhill distance to the cover of the fields.  He also knew it took Rockwell at least a second to rack the slide on the bolt in the large gun.  Rockwell would also be shooting from the hut, which was five to six hundred yards away, an easy shot for a sniper of his caliber if they did not move.

 

The rifle sounded and Shaky scanned his men.  Sure enough, one of his boys had fallen forward into a roll down the hill.  Rockwell’s aim had been off, the man’s ankle and foot came loose as he rolled and flipped way from him, the large round having hit him above the knee and severed the bone, muscle, and skin.

The remaining men hit the poppies and dove to their bellies.  The poppies grew only to an average man’s waist at its tallest.  There was silence, with the exception of the screaming of the soldier who had lost his legs.  Shaky kept trying to remember his name but couldn’t.  He cursed his lack of memory, as it was why he had forced them to have code names in the first place.

The man’s screaming got louder and louder and Shaky became angry.  At least Naplam had died silently. Shaky pulled his side arm and scanned the brush for the screamer.  He found him, took aim and put two rounds into his head.

Silence followed.  “From now on, new rule, if you are hit, die silently so that the rest of us don’t have to waste ammo to keep our positions hidden.”

No one answered and Shaky took the silence as understanding.  Now he had to think.  Something was bothering him about those shots.  The placing and the angle at which they came in.  Suddenly, it came to him.

“Turbine,” He called for one of his men and Turbine answered.  “I want you and the rest of the men to low crawl to the hut through the fields.”

Turbine hesitated then called back.  “What about you, sir?”

Shaky frowned.  “Don’t you worry about me!  Follow your damned orders, killer!”

“Yes sir!” He yelled back and Shaky heard the remaining seven soldiers began to crawl through the fields toward the hut.

Shaky had a sniper to hunt…

****

Roman Estate… Now

The villain finally decided how he wanted to proceed, given who he was up against.  “You guys head in the front but be careful, he’s going to be ready.  Me and Reno are going to shimmy around the back and try and get on the deck and come at him from his flank.”

Reno looked at his belly then back to the villain.  “I don’t know that I am the shimmying type, my friend.”

The villain smiled.  “You are today, let’s do this.”

The villain and Reno went around toward the back.  The other four headed to the front, two of them were armed with MP-5 submachine guns and the other two had Mac-10 Oozies.  The villain was armed with a standard Kimber and Reno also opted for the precision of a Glock 9mm.

As they approached a small chunk of land which is was possible to get across to the deck the shooting around front started.

Reno looked in the direction as if he could hear through walls.  “Why did you bring me this way, my friend?”

The villain began to inch across the ledge.  “Because I like you, Reno.”

Reno looked at the small ledge then the twenty foot rocky drop into the river then back to Napalm, “Sure you do.”

****

Afghanistan… Before.

Shaky heard the gunfire from the hut as his remaining men charged the front.  He had crawled south while his men moved forward, coming out of the poppy fields and circling around behind the hut and up the incline.

He had realized after the last volley that Rockwell was not in the hut.  He was firing from the top of the hill behind it.  Stone would be in the hut and taking shots from the windows to distract while Rockwell dropped them from a safe distance.  It was a good plan.

Shaky’s sixth sense had been right again and now he just waited for Rockwell to begin his support fire. Shaky would then know exactly where Rockwell was.

Sure enough, the rifle sounded, dropping another one of his boys from a distance.  Shaky then heard Rockwell rack the bolt and with that, it only took him a second to find him ten feet away crouched on the hill, lying flat on his belly, his gun held up on a tie pod looking for another shot.

Shaky crept up behind him, reveling in how easy it was to get the drop on the man without Stone to cover his back.  Rockwell seemed to hone in on another target and Shaky stepped up behind him and placed his side arm to the back of Rockwell’s head.

“Tag.” Shaky said.

“Spaghetti,” Rockwell spoke one word and Shaky realized instantly he had a mic on and was coordinating with his partner in the hut.

“Mother fucker!” Shaky said as he pistol whipped Rockwell’s temple and pulled the mic off his ear.

Shaky switched it off and new he was too late.  Rockwell had already signaled Stone.  Stone would now know that Rockwell was down and he was on his own.  Shaky shrugged.  It didn’t matter whether Stone knew or not, he was outnumber and outgunned.

It was about to end.

****

Roman Estate… Now.

The villain and Reno pulled themselves onto the oversized deck, which stretched out over the water. The shots from inside had come and gone intermittently.  Reno and the villain drew their guns in order to prepare for what they found inside.  The villain then broke a hole in the glass slide, then unlocked it and pushed open the door.

They entered cautiously into the kitchen, both had their guns up.  They suddenly heard footsteps above them on the second floor, followed by a quick spray of machine gun fire.  The villain signaled that they were going to head upstairs.  They found a staircase from the kitchen up and then climbed the stairs to get to the second floor.

The villain moved through a hallway and came to a corner.  He peeked around it and saw a glimpse of Rockwell, moving into a weird large show room.  He could no longer see Rockwell but he heard him talking to a woman.

“Damn fine job, Sexy.”  He said.

“Are any of these guys Shaky?”  She asked back in a soft voice that seemed to mask a madness.  She would have to be mad to be with Rockwell.

The villain almost laughed at the mention of Shaky.  It had been so long since he had heard that name.

There was silence for a second and the villain considered jumping them right then, but before he could Rockwell spoke again.  “No, that mother fucker is still lurking somewhere.”

“What do we do next?” The girl asked.

“You stay here and hide.” Rockwell said.

“The fuck I will!” She yelled back in anger and Rockwell shushed her.

“This one’s out of your league, hot stuff.  You hide and let big poppa take care of this one.”  The words were followed by a groaning and lip smacking noises and then Rockwell passed out of the doorway and headed down a different hall in the opposite direction.

The villain turned toward Reno.  “Deal with the girl.”

Reno nodded and moved out to stalk his prey.  The villain also faded into the shadows.  He was hurting Rockwell for the last time.

37(S3E11)-Rematch

37

(Season 3 Episode 11)

Rematch

“This is fucking, stupid!”  Harry reiterated, pacing back and forth while Jim tapped his knuckles, hands and wrists.  “You can’t fight a girl!”

Jim eyed him.  “That is not a girl, that is a female force of nature.”

They were in the bathroom of what used to be a church.  The building was currently being rehabbed and was in complete disarray.  This was how the fight circle worked, though.  You couldn’t spend two nights in the same place or the cops would find you.  The building was perfect.  There were always noises coming from the large building while it under went construction.  No one inside would think twice about all the screaming and yelling that went into a fight.

Harry shook his head.  “You’re not getting this-”

Jim cut him off, standing quickly into Harry’s face.  The suddenness of the movement forced him to jump back slightly.  “No, you’re not getting it.  This is not about the money, it’s about a demon in my mind with her face on it!

Harry gulped, recalling his courage.  “What are you talking about?  This is just a paycheck, man.”

Creegan realized that Harry was lost to this cause.  He turned and walked out toward the fighting area, wearing only a pair of blood-stained jeans. The fight are was a cleared area were the pews used to be. It was a large open area and the fight fans had made a circle while they bet furiously.

They roared collectively as they saw Creegan walk out, not so much for him but for the fact that the fight was coming.  As he approached, they parted and let him in.  He entered, turned and waited.  Soon the crowd roared a second time and out came Patti.  She was also wearing blood-spattered jeans and a red stained tank top.  Her hair was wet and matted to her head.  She looked like an animal.

Hate and something else stirred in Creegan at the site of the Irish Amazon, his hardest fight and his best friend, all in one.

The crowd closed in the gutted church’s second floor, around the two fighters.  Someone screamed “No more bets”.  That would be the only notice to fight that they would get.

The two stared for a second but there were no words.

They approached and the crowd roared.  Jim liked to fight from the inside.  He appalled punches.  They were strong but the puncher did as much damage to their hand as the punched.  Patti has well aware of this fact but she did not share the same aversion.

Creegan tried to move in fast and ate an unholy right hand to his temple.

The blow was like a shotgun.  He had remembered her punches being weaker when they had fought almost a year ago, and she had been wearing brass knuckles back then.   The blow took Creegan completely off guard and he hit the floor.  The crowd screamed and began the five count.  “One! Two!...”

Creegan shook it off and pulled himself back to his feet.  No sooner was he upright when Patti was on him, a series of jabs striking his chin and nose.  Creegan retreated but couldn’t get away fast enough.  Patti came inside and drilled a hard left uppercut into Creegan’s ribs.

Creegan felt the blow in his intestines and decided that he needed to act or he was going down.  Creegan came down with a hard left-hooking forearm, driving the hard part of his wrist into Patti’s ear. The blow stopped the fight’s momentum in a heavy way.  Creegan quickly placed his hand around the back of Patti’s head and brought his knee up into her face.

Patti’s head kicked up and she stumbled, blood trailing from her lip.

Creegan stepped in and forward kicked in an attempt to boot her in the face, But Patti side-stepped the foot and right-hooked his inner calf.  Creegan yelped and fell to the right and landed awkwardly.  Patti stepped in behind Creegan and punched him directly in the back of the head.

Creegan’s head rocked forward and he fell, running to try to maintain his stance.  Patti charged him and he felt the anger rise.  The beast rattling the cage had broken free.  He roared and charged her back, hitting her dead center of her abdomen.  It was a perfect football tackle and it took all the wind out of Patti’s sails.

Creegan picked her up on his shoulder and rushed backward.  They collided with the unsuspecting crowd.  Seven or eight people all went down in a mass and the remaining crowd became confused with what to do.

The crowd that had been knocked down in the mass tried to scramble out of the fight zone.  Creegan lost track of Patti in the chaos.  He rushed to his feet and felt a presence behind him.  He turned and brought his fist into a desperate right-hook.

His blow knocked out a man named Steve Philips.  He was a factory worker from the east side. Steve, lacking the hardnosed fight training of Creegan and Patti, went down like a sack of potatoes and the crowd silenced.  Creegan stared at the man, hitting the ground, momentarily forgetting about the fight.

One lone crowd member said the word.  “Damn.”

Patti charged out of the crowd breaking the silence.  Creegan, however, was ready.  He stood and in the same motion brought his elbow directly upward in a sweeping motion.  The blow connected with the bottom of Patti’s chin.

The blow shattered one of Patti’s front teeth and blood poured out of her face instantly.

Creegan stepped in to bring a left forearm, but Patti ducked the blow and drove her right hand up into Creegan’s sternum.  He wheezed with the blow, and Patti brought up a left hand and collided with Creegan’s eye, leaving a gash above his eyebrow.

Creegan fell backward, his back hitting a plaster wall.  Patti charged forward, cocking her hand back to destroy her opponent but at the last second Creegan ducked and she sent her hand through the weak wall.  She howled in pain and Creegan grabbed the back of her head and drove it forward into the wall, implanting it in the drywall.  White powder fogged up and he pulled her head back to slam it forward again.

Patti swung her head backward and drove the back of her head onto Creegan’s nose.  Creegan grunted and took a step backward.  Patti turned with a huge overhand right.  It was Creegan’s turn to dodge.  He ducked the blow and stepped in to front-kick Patti in the solar plexus.  The blow sent Patti backward and through the wall, crashing to the other side.

Creegan stopped and leaned up against the wall next to the hole.  That had to be it.  He gasped desperately for air as the blood leaked into his eye and from his nose.

Suddenly, he was struck in the back of the head by what felt like a car.  Patti had punched through the drywall into the back of his skull.  He staggered forward, the blow stunning him.  Patti came through the hole like a rabid dog, her nose and left eye were swollen but the fight still ebbed through her.

Creegan turned and jabbed, resorting to the punch to buy time and keep her at a distance.  This didn’t work.  She walked through them as if they were nothing and hit him in the right side, the blow colliding with Creegan’s wounded eye.

Creegan’s legs became noodles and he staggered backward towards the pulpit.  Patti followed him and, never letting him get a chance to get his footing, she hit him with another right-hand.  Blood went everywhere and a tooth sailed to the floor.  Any real fighter would tell you that once someone is wounded, once you find a chink in the armor, you pound it until the opponent drops.

If Creegan could remember the last right-hook, he would have said it felt like a freight train hitting him in the face, but he could never remember that punch, just the sweet blackness that followed.

****

Creegan snapped awake and everything hurt.  His face was swollen and numb and his body ached.  He moaned and tried to pull himself up to a sitting position.

Things came back to him slowly.  He remembered he had been in a fight and red hair, but that was it.

“So, you are awake.“  Harry’s voice spoke to him as Creegan realized he was back in the bathroom where he had prepared.

“What happened?” Creegan groaned.

“You lost.”  Harry said with disappointment in his voice.  “I told you not to fight a girl but man if you were going to, you have to win!”

Creegan ignored Harry as he remembered the fight.  He remembered everything.  The rage in his stomach boiled over as he remembered what Maggie had done to him and for the first time since the last time he had left her in that garage, he let himself be angry.

That bitch had tried to kill him.

She had used him to destroy two crime lords and put herself in their place and she had done it all without any consequence other than his punch a year ago.

Then he remembered Patti.  He remembered the way she fought, the way she moved and Creegan began to feel something else.

Need.

With that realization came a perfect sense of clarity that Creegan had not had for almost a year.  He wanted to fight.  He liked the pain that reverberated through his beaten body.  It made him feel alive. He wanted to be the bad guy for once and not the victim.  He wanted her.

He suddenly realized that Harry was still talking.  “Wait, what?”

Harry frowned at having to repeat himself.  “Look you lost to a girl.  I’m going to have to let you go, man.”

Creegan suddenly started laughing loudly.  Harry was confused.  “Hey, I mean it.  You are going to have to find another guy to find you fights.”

Creegan stood suddenly and Harry jumped back, startled.  “I think I will manage.”

Creegan stormed out of the bathroom.  Everything hurt on his body but he had to get to her.  He had to find her as fast as possible.  Creegan moved to the bathroom where she had dressed and tried to open it.  The door was locked.

Creegan stepped back and kicked it open.

The door swung open and banged against the far wall.  Patti was washing in the sink with her top off, just a wet sports bra.  She turned when the door opened and smiled.  “What took you so long?”

Creegan grinned back and slammed the door behind him.  They went to each other and kissed hard, their broken faces screamed in pain, but they couldn’t stop.

They didn’t stop, until they were both satisfied.

 

36(S2E10)-Wrath

36

(Season 3, Episode 10)

Wrath

Now

Kate Menlo climbed the stairs to her empty, west side apartment.  She had not looked forward to the journey since Liz had died, nearly two years ago.  She missed her so much.

After the shooting she had gone into a tail spin of depression.  All her friends and the numerous therapists had told her it would get easier and that eventually, the pain would go away.

They had been half right.

The pain had subsided but it had been replaced by an all-consuming numbness; white noise that seemed to block out the other sounds of life.  She had tried dating but no one had ever seemed to add up to the one she had lost.

Liz.

She sighed and tried not to dwell on the absence of life that she would find inside her apartment as she slid the key into the lock and opened the door.  Inside however, she found much more than the usual dead air and darkness.

She didn’t notice him until she had pushed her door shut behind her.  She turned from closing it and he took a deep drag on his cigarette and the embers lit up like a small flare.  She froze and then her face turned ugly.  “You.”

“Oy, Sis.  How are you?” Macklin said, his cockney accent cutting the silent air.

****

2 Hours before…

“He’s in there,” Mikey said.  “And he has been in there since your stunt in New York.”

Macklin took a drag on his smoke.  “How many are in there?”

Joe fielded this question from the passenger side.  “Not sure.  He owns the bar, after all.”

The man they were speaking of was Charlie Donavan.  He had been Thomas Marren’s partner almost two years before.  After the shooting he had opted for early retirement and bought a shithole bar in Cleveland Heights on Cedar Road.

White people did not go in this bar.  Most of the patrons of the place were active or ex-bangers and would be packing.  It was suicide to go inside.

“Let’s go get a hotel room and some sleep.”  Mikey began.  “We have been driving through the night and could use the rest, and we will look at it with fresh eyes in the morning.”

“Not happening, mate.”  Macklin chimed in, matter-of-factly.  “You boys stay here.”

“Okay, you proved you are a bad ass,” Joe began.  “You go in there, they will kill the shit out of you.”

Macklin grinned.  “Wait here.  If I ain’t back in five minutes, shove off.”

With that, Macklin pulled a foot long Billy Club and a hunting knife out of his bag and stepped out of the car.

****

NOW

“They let you out?” Kate asked, standing up straight, her own cockney accent less noticeable after the years in Britain.

“I done my time,” Macklin replied, standing.  He actually stood a couple of inches shorter than his fair haired, younger sister.

No one in the family was stupid enough to call him the runt, though.

Kate took a couple of steps forward, almost welcoming what was going to come next.  “So, what do you want?”

Macklin frowned at her.  “You know what I came for, love.”

Kate nodded and rolled her head before lashing out and punching Macklin square on the jaw.  The cigarette flew from his mouth and he stumbled backwards over the coffee table.

“You think I was going to make it easy for you, huh wanker?” Her cockney accent returned in a rush of hate and rage.  She came down over him as he stumbled, grabbing the nearby lamp, bringing it down on Macklin’s head shattering it.

“You thought I was gonna just let you waltz in here an’ murder me?” She screamed as she raised her hand to bring it down.

“Get offa me, bitch!” Macklin drove his foot into her stomach, winding her and sent her crashing backward into the dining room table.

Macklin pulled himself up, the lamp having cut his forehead, blood now leaked over his tattoo and right eye.  “It’s your fault, Kate.  You brought her here, took her away from me and got her killed!”

Kate laughed loudly as she picked up the vase on the table and hurled it at her older brother.  “You’re insane!  Bloody Insane!  You scared her so badly that she couldn’t even be with men anymore!  I picked up the pieces.  I made her-”

Kate was cut off as Macklin, having swatted the vase aside, hit her with a brutal right hook.  A tooth sored across the apartment and she stumbled, rocking back against the table, stunned.  “You shut your god damned mouth!  You took Liz from me.  You took her across the pond so that it would be that much harder to find her when I got out, and then you and her got on that sodding train and she died!  This is your fault!”

****

One Hour and fifty four minutes ago

Macklin walked directly in the front door and everything in the bar stopped.  Three bangers sat at a corner table around Donavan who looked up, confused.  The bartender scowled.  “We ain’t open yet.  Come back in four hours.”

“Or don’t come back, cracker.” One of the bangers said and they laughed.  Donavan did not laugh, he just watched the small white man with the strange tattoo.  Macklin ignored the jibes and centered his attention.  He started to walk toward the table.

“Hey, mother fucker.  The man said get lost!” The man who had taken the shot said, his voice layered with growing concern as he started to go for the gun in his belt.

Macklin slid the club out of his left sleeve into his hand and flipped the knife to face front in his right. Before anyone could respond, he hurled the knife, underhanded with perfect precision, into Donavan’s chest.

“Holy shit!” One of the bangers yelled with a dear in the headlight look.  The right banger grabbed his pistol, but as he brought it up, Macklin tossed the club up and caught it with his now empty right.  He had closed the distance to the table and brought the club down on the man’s wrist.  The blow broke the bone and pinned the hand to the table.  The pain from the force of it hitting the table forced the man to clench his fingers.  The gun fired twice.  Both bullets hit the banger across from him in the chest before he could even start to go for his gun.

Macklin brought the Billy Club up and backward into the banger’s face, crushing his nose and sending him sprawling backward over his chair.  The last banger had gotten to his gun and brought it up toward Macklin’s head.  Macklin was faster, moving around the man’s arm and trapping it between the club and Macklin’s own arm.

Macklin noticed the bartender rising with an old-school shotgun.  Macklin redirected the trapped banger’s arm and applied pressure.  The man fired the gun three times, the second bullet took the bartender’s head off.

The bartender’s body fell behind the bar.  Macklin pulled hard and felt the wet pop of the bangers’ arm breaking at the elbow.  The banger screamed in pain and fell to the ground.  Macklin turned and hit him three times, hard powerful downward strikes, the last cracking the banger’s skull and spraying Macklin with blood.

Macklin turned toward Donavan who was sputtering through the blood that pooled in his lung slowly drowning him.  He made sure to make eye contact.  “Roughly two years ago, you and your partner, Marren, failed to save the only woman that will ever matter to me.  Today your debt is repaid.”

Macklin waited for the light in his eyes to dim and die then he turned and walked out of the bar.

Two down, two to go.

****

Now

Macklin picked up Kate’s head by the hair and slammed it, face first into the table.  “You don’t get to live!  None of you do!”

Macklin pulled her bloodied and broken face back from the table and threw her backward, sending her crashing through the table.  “Those two pig cops who failed to save her.  The one who brought her here and survived in her place, and not the man who killed her!”

Macklin picked up Kate by the collar and dragged the bloody mass toward the window.  He seemed to calm for a second.  “Sorry Kate, I know you loved her, but I can’t let it go.  You have to know that.”

“I don’t give a fuck, Mack.”  Kate coughed through the blood that was her face.  “You better find him though, and you better hurt him.  Hurt him like he hurt me.  Like you hurt me.”

Macklin nodded.  “I will Kate.  I promise.”

“Then get it the fuck over with, you psycho prick.”  Kate said this as she spit blood up at Macklin.

With that, Macklin threw her through the fifth story window of Kate’s apartment.

One to go, he thought as he watched his sister collide with the street below, face first.

Macklin pulled a cigarette and lit up.