The gritting of my sole on bumpy asphalt seems more perceptible in my ear than my own scream and heartbeat exceeds both.
Dim alley with a singular light made the whole walk their fortress. The one at the front is the lookout, the car awaiting the VIP to arrive at the back door. Even if it's just one man in the driver seat, in a cramped vertical space like this is enough to lock the area under his gaze.
But what if, he sees an Asian fellow in a plain white shirt, a set of mags, and a pistol dangling dangerously under his arm running towards him with all the hell's horror in his eyes and a coarse cry? Warning that the Russians are coming.
Apparently, he does none but leans outward and turns his head back, face as conflicted as you'd imagine. Left hand on the window frame, right hand clearly on a gun.
I only pray the opium house got thick enough walls otherwise I'd be pulling off to my own amusement.
"Who the fuck are you?" He asks in Chinese, not even hiding the bewilderment in his tone or the semi-auto on his thigh, finger in the trigger guard.
"I...Kirin... he and..." I purposely stopped my words every few syllables with loud exhalations to slow done my pace upon his alerted eyes and moving shoulder through the rear mirror. "He told me to come here."
"Lao zhi, you with him?... I've never seen you before." I feebly raise a hand up to the man in suit with rapid questions. The short breaths are real, the paranoid, almost hysteric tone is me letting the third wave of my adrenaline have its work done to look like I ran the actual marathon. That part sells the act a bit too well as he starts sizing me up and stops at the gun in my holster.
"He was.... he was at that underground pig stead earlier... told me there to keep an eye out the vendors that stood down the cargos and said....." As his brows and facial expressions start to writhe, I deliberately lower my voice little by little...
"Son of a dog, out with it!"
I swallow the breath and quicken my words letting the factor of panicking overtake the breathlessness.
"He said he's got another job for me tonight and...if he doesn't call at 9 then I should see him at the Jiu Lou...." I tilt my head even lower as I place my hand on the thighs, eyes darting to the side mirror of black and white and an unmoving street...save for a flash of shadow at the base of my vision, moving along the wall and row of parked cars on the left.
"Then why are you here?" Steadily, I take another step forward without hesitation to his left arm hanging out the car window in a subtle way to keep our distance.
"He called 20 minutes ago, told me to swing by this...whatever the hell this shithole is. See if there's any trouble." His neck's barely in my arm's reach. "Then he called again. Right after I reached his dial tone a minute ago..."
Considering the old bastard's knees, another 20 seconds should suffice. I sniff a breath in as if reminiscing or gathering strength.
"It was chaos on the other side, shots. Shots fired. He screamed through the phone telling me to warn you guys to get out of here. He said the Russians are all out tonight, and they're out for high profiles and they caught winds of this place...."
"Wait."
A shift.
A twitch around every muscle around the eyes. And his eyelids dropped till those eyes in the dark are but a viscous slit.
"Who do you think is inside?" He shoots the question like a whack of chains.
"What?... I don't fucking know. I'm just his contact around the lanes..."
With a lift of his right arm, the gun on the dashboard is now as plain as the intent behind the veil.
"You don't know." A movement by the right corner of my vision, someone dashed between the space of a red convertible and one covered by a tarpaulin. "You don't know because Kirin doesn't either you dim fuck. And what's up with your hand hmph?" My line of sight uncontrollably shakes to my right palm and the base of it runs a line of red.
A tinge of shiver runs down my spine over a second for two reasons. First, Igor had made it to the pavement about four meters away behind an old Japanese import. Second is the decision driver made at roughly the same time.
So much for a chat.
His right hand moves first, the gun in the dashboard gets dragged under in a violent motion with his eyes bulging.
One step. Quarter of a meter away. Thank the lord he didn't dock to the passenger seat.
I swoop into the driver's seat the instant he raises the gun through window frame as my left arm shoots forward catching the slide of his hammer-fired, crude fucking iron, rough on the hand but the space between the hammer clocked is good enough to fit my left pinkie. Across that quarter of a second, the thought of warning his pals became an afterthought, and that was the worst mistake of his life.
My left arm twists the gun counterclockwise as he tries to pull them back. And he screams.
"Kuai....."
"Gan ta ma de!" I holler with all of my lungs breath as the volume surpasses his initial warning before my right hand covers it with four fingers hinging his jaw and my wrist pressing down on his nose bridge like a muzzle for dogs but whimpers from both his reddened eyes and mouth are still perceptible.
"How many times do I have to tell you!"
I roar with the fuse of actual anger, fear and adrenaline mixed together to cover the sound of his gibberishes. Pulling his left-hand knuckle by knuckle out of the window, dragging his face backward making it harder for him to utter with layers of thick cotton pressing into his mouth.
"It doesn't matter who the hell am I, the point is the message. Fucking hell, you think I want to be here?" Lowering my voice down two notches and quickening my words for I don't want to wake the whole block yet. Especially not those windows on the second floor.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Beep.
It was sharp, it was out of place, I've heard it hours ago.
I was trying to dislocate his right wrist but as I catch his left shoulder sinks downward while the arm tries to fish something out under the car door I decided on a more radical choice.
With one last forceful drag over his pistol in hand, I raise my left foot and stomp it in place between my shoe and window frame, the hem of my trouser got lifted up just enough to show the hilt of my dagger's sheath on ankle. The bloat of his iris, as I pull the shrift steel in a single swipe. Hammer grip in left palm.
Back, and forward to his open throat by yanking his face back. His body reacts in dramatic thrash of twitches, pokes, kicks and he had much fight in him or maybe it's just a seizure. But all's gone to the other end as I pull it out sideways. The spill of blood was bad, they rain in two trajectories as a layer of blackened hue starts coloring his white shirt collar, some went straight to the wheel and dashboard and just about the entire interior. I hold him in place for a few seconds longer remaining in this ludicrous pose until it stops after what felt like a bothersome eternity.
Slowly, I let his head fall like a lid to the drainage of his throat covered by his chin. Wiping off the blood on my dagger before sticking it back in the sheath. I pull the gun away from his left palm which lost all strength long ago and place it on his thigh where a puddle of blood fills the dent of the ergonomic seat.
Red blankets the inside. I reach down where his left hand was on. On the door's cup holder is a portable radio with its screen bright. As I retrieve it Igor past the passenger side's window with the rifle forearm in left grip, right hand rounding a circle in the air while striding like a Sunday stroll in the park.
Eventually, he takes position a foot away from the corner of the alley and the unmarked van glides past the turn 30 meters behind us.
The fellas get off on foot with their shoulders rubbing the windows of parked cars and closed rolling doors through the last 10 meters, jogging silently through the seam between gutter.
By the motion they started moving as soon as I made my move on the driver.... shit, half of my shirt was already stained before going in.
Alek double parked on the other side with lights out and leaning comfortably back.
Igor's by the corner to the next SUV with diligent eyes, a stockless rifle looking like an extension of his body. Muzzle points at the ground.
The mute... Nikto takes point with Budimir right behind him. Har at the end. They hunched over the tattered concrete wall. Cold and crude iron in hand, the lantern moves without the wind.
Feeble lights cast 4 masked shadows into 8 as they lengthened between walls. The view from the middle is poetic this way, everything speaks of killing in their bleak name.
All in position, and by the inch of breath.
Looking down the radio in my hand, the thought that we've already lost the initiative shifts in my mind like a nodding grin. Thinking there are a couple dozen of muzzles pointing at the double door grows and along came another daring. I twist the turner on the walkie talkie.
"Hou-mn..... they're around the back...." I choke my breath short as I speak in muffled voice through the radio. A sizzling static comes out almost immediately along with a few Chinese dialects I don't recognize nor am willing to bother as I throw it back in the driver seat.
Blood of my own and the driver's made my bandage soaked and spongy and so did my right sleeve. I squeeze it tight and bring out the balaclava to put it over my head as I walk past the SUV to take place behind Har who gave me a quick glance all over and a hesitant frown by the seam of his mask.
Nikto's rocking a heavy jacket with many pockets, Budimir's in a full black track suit with the zipper all the way up to his throat, Har's in a deep blue jacket with the collar flipped to both sides like folded envelopes. All wearing a ski mask even though witnesses aren't intended.
***
I unholster the Italian 9mm in left hand, the new grip ain't making it easier on the large frame but the extra weight feels damn reassuring.
Clink, clack
The sound of bulky machinery came at the front as Nikto clocks the first shell in the chamber. Everyone's got their eyes on the overarching, red double door between lanterns and plugged windows. But the only guy in bulletproof gear got his right fist in the air still.
We wait with hearts invigorated.
We wait in heed of his every little flinch as Igor closes his back on the wall.
We wait through the longest count to five.
Agonizingly slow, he raises the fist by his ear and opens it.
Hear.
Three fingers retract.
The rifle.
A fist.
Stops.
Pulling it downward.
And go.
His hand returns on the trigger, as Igor's shoulder rises and falls and stops.
In the first instant, he rolls into the corner, shoulder as anchor, right foot forward, muzzle up.
In the second, it starts.
Three shots of 7.62 crack the night sky open in the confinement of a muffled alley, it's not deafening but it is terrifying as each shot makes everyone's grip tighten on their piece.
Three shots all companies by a dull bang like knocking on a wooden door before the shoutings are apparent to our ears. In Chinese and Cantonese but way too vague to comprehend. Another series of shots ring, but too is way too quick to be the sluggish Kalashnikov....just as the thought manifests, so does Igor's gunfire again tearing through the night sky like the whistle of a race in an open field, the Qins inside heard it just as we do.
Four more shots amidst the 9mms or 40s but each rifle round made the other noises die out, then came a different bang. A rigid noise followed by someone's screaming and it stretches on for the next four seconds of blazing gunshots as at least three arms firing at the same time and the scream dies out a little at each muzzle flares from the alley until it all ceases permanently. We can hear the screeching noise pampered by cries and sucking in the air. Until it was muffled, not by rifle shots, some cloth perhaps.
That was ten seconds, and another passed linking to the next...I pat on Har's shoulder while leaning close on the door I can feel the vibrations of noises coming out from the blocked windows. He turns back at me, eyes damn red with all the excitement. Petrified to the bones like those eyes are black, open wounds on surgical beds. And before I could tell him it's now or never the mute beats me to it.
A slug pummels the hinge of the right double door, a step across the space in between, Budimir take the lead and kicks the door open as Nikto rocks an empty shell out and does the same to the left door. In goes Budimir, pistol formerly raised forward looking more like a cop than a wannabe, at this moment none of them are. For this particular second, they're soldiers in mind.
Nikto kicks the door to the left open for better entry, the pump looks damn small but bulky in his hand. Last goes Har with the stock against his shoulder, barrel aligned with his sight as the shouting starts inside for a single second before another shell drops on the floor.
I crook my neck and pop a joint as Har disappears inside as well, funny how I only realize he's probably only 165 cm.
When my turn comes, I keep the pistol further from my body than usual posture and.....
Is that Igor?
The son of a bitch strides out of the corner with a grin that's not fooling anyone as even in this viability I can tell his left arm's soaked, with a fresh hole tearing off the edge of his sleeve as blood stains the iron of the Kalashnikov and a grey triangular shape racket on his vest.
"Lee, Ты сукин сын! What did I tell you about first impressions?" Two skips and a toss, the bastard had me reacting at the last second as a 2.5-kilo botched work flew to my face.
I barely reacted in extending my right arm to catch and before I knew it, he was already at my arm's reach with the functional hand gripping my collar with a forceful pull. "17 rounds left, hey. Hey! Listen, you might be right with his one... Get them out if things go south." He reeks of iron and adrenaline as those eyes descend into the same emotions I keep seeing tonight, exhilaration and mortal fear. Only it has fused into the state he's in.
The grin grows as he lets go of me and walks off, right hand arduously pulls out the Jenkins and once again descends into the alleyway.
Another series of pistol gunshots echos through the gate. I let go of all emotions and questions and stick the pistol back in the holster, put the wet bandaged hand against the grip of the still warm gun barrel. Jumping across the red threshold of the double door. Work it is.