FMJ BLT: $14.50
The deli place was at the end of a long alley in a cluster of bar-grills and glass hotels, squeezed between two convention centers off the highway. Luke was parked in the back next to the outside seating area with his SIG rattler, a short assault rifle chambered in .300 blackout, in his lap. He had the seat rolled back into the shade and was near invisible thanks to the tint.
The smell of onion rings and citrus-flavored Friday lunch cocktails came in the cracked sunroof, along with echoes of loud brags and laughs from people who made enough money to vacation in the Maldives three times a year, but didn’t have the sense to order something other than bad quesadillas and sour mix margaritas from restaurants whose greatest achievement was keeping its customers from realizing it was a chain.
Luke hadn’t eaten since those drive-thru breakfast burritos around eight. He hoped they’d have time to run in and grab something after they killed the guy.
Philip was the only person at the outside tables, sitting near the edge of the patio with his back to the SUV. He fully expected just to drop Paul when he sat down, but there was no reason not to give Luke line of sight just in case. He ordered a grilled chicken club sandwich with potato salad and a beer from a waitress with pupils shrunk by roxy. Her eyes reminded him of neon green pickle slices, so he asked for some fried ones.
He lit the half-smoked cigar and thought about what he would say to Lindsey after it was all over. A different server came out to remind him that you couldn’t smoke anywhere in this god damned state anymore. Philip killed the stub on his heel before the poor bastard was halfway across the tables.
“My food done yet?”
“You— uh no, not yet. You can’t smoke here, Sir.”
“Alright.” The silence begged for a crow caw or something. The guy walked back across the tables and ran into a chair on the way and the sound bounced around in the alley. That would have to do.
“Blondie ever check back in? Did she tail him?” Philip said behind his beer.
“Nope. If she did, she hasn’t told me.” Luke said in his ear.
“Guess she’ll miss all the action.”
“You kinda cut her out on this one.”
“She’s the one who wanted to ride solo. And what was I supposed to do, sit around and wait for her to sneak in the air vents?”
“Might have been nice to have some backup if he doesn’t come alone.”
“What, you scared of a little shooting?”
Luke didn’t respond. Someone somewhere had brought out a sizzling plate of fajitas and the smell was demanding all his attention.
Paul had his driver drop him off in the grocery store parking lot down the alley from the restaurant. He walked as casually as he could and pretended to text. He glanced up at the tables and saw a guy in a black tracksuit and a Burberry trench. All money, no class. There was his client all right. He took a right at the restaurant and went through the brushed steel door.
“Think that’s him going inside,” Luke said.
Philip looked up from his food and watched the guy with faded frat house features stroll into the door like he was coming home. He had on a stained light blue oxford and khaki slacks with a pale gold tie.
“Good disguise for an area like this,” Philip said.
“Go hit him and let’s go.”
“Nah, give it a sec.”
“What? Shit, I’ll do it.” Luke unbuttoned his suit jacket and started to tuck the Rattler under it.
“No, you won’t. He’s coming to me. Just wait. You might spook him.”
“You haven’t been on this end of things in a bit, man, but let me tell you. Shit never stays this chill for long.”
“Here he is,” said Philip.
Paul opened the glass door and looked across the tables, and the guy in the tracksuit waved and smiled. Something clicked in his mind, and he remembered seeing him at one of Davis’s parties months ago. That didn’t mean this couldn’t be a setup, but it made him feel a bit better. Still, he would let the guy talk until he felt comfortable enough to make a deal. He waved back and walked towards the table.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
A car turned the corner and came down the alley on Luke’s left. It was a high-end sedan with two finance bros in the front seat, but he switched the Rattler from safe to auto and folded out the stock just in case.
Philip watched Paul weave through the seats and pushed the fried pickles across the table with one hand and switched the safety off the pistol in his pocket with the other. He could taste the payday.
It all happened in under two seconds. The car pulled into the handicap spot next to Luke and two men stepped out with MP5 submachine guns raised. Luke had no choice but to fire through his window, filling the cab with casings, smoke, and glass as the sound dampening kicked on in his earbuds.
Philip’s table exploded in a burst of glass and food. Paul went leaping sideways and Philip put two rounds through the restaurant windows. When he turned back to yell at Luke, he saw two men collapse next to a car that hadn’t been there a second ago, and Luke stepping out of the SUV. Philip wiped beer and ranch off his face and looked around. People inside the restaurant hopped around and dove under tables, or stood staring like they were already dead. Window glass glittered on the ground and his beer streamed towards some crack in the concrete. At the edge of his peripherals, Paul’s foot disappeared behind a booth as tires squealed down the alley.
A black truck flew out of the grocery store lot with a man standing out of the sunroof. His face flashed and Philip dove for cover as bullets cracked through the tables.
Luke braced his rifle on the hood of the SUV and opened fire. Thirty caliber rounds put big white circles in the truck’s windshield and the shooter dropped out of sight.
Philip popped up and emptied his mag into the bench seating Paul had disappeared behind, visualizing the bullets taking him in the chest. When sound returned to the earbuds, Philip heard him scrambling across the sidewalk.
“Fuck you.” He dropped the empty pistol and picked up an MP5.
Luke slapped in a fresh magazine as the truck barreled down the alley. He fired half the mag and the windshield turned solid white. The truck swerved to the left and slammed into a parking space behind a work van. Luke took a step back from the SUV and listened for the truck’s doors. In the silence, broken in places by screams bouncing in the alley, another engine roared.
A fiat 500 jumped the curb in the front parking lot and sped through a row of little two-seat tables between the restaurant and a yogurt shop at forty miles per hour. It took a sharp turn around the corner of the building and crashed through the tables towards Philip. He dove behind the blood-splattered sedan Luke had lit up a few seconds ago.
Three gunmen got out of the Fiat and Philip flipped the MP5 to full auto. He held the trigger as he stood up then leaned into it and dumped the mag in a single controlled burst. One man dropped dead and the other two vanished behind the car. As Philip looked for another mag on the body next to him, someone behind the Fiat let loose with an ungodly rate of fire and he ducked back behind the engine block on one foot. Rounds slapped off concrete and thunked through the car.
“They miss me. They miss me.” He recited the mantra in his head, slid the driver's seat of the sedan forward, got it into gear, and wedged the gas pedal down with the empty MP5. The car hopped the curb, crashed through the tables, and slammed into the Fiat. The gunfire died with a metallic crunch.
Luke had taken cover in the front seat and saw a guy with a short-barreled AK step out from behind the van. Luke fired through the passenger window and got him three times in the face, then climbed over the console and hopped out the center door on the driver’s side. He got low and kept his feet behind the tire and aimed around the engine block. Another shooter moved down the sidewalk around the front of the van, aiming at the SUV’s passenger side. Luke’s Rattler snapped five times and the shooter stumbled and face-planted onto the sidewalk. Somebody down the alley yelled “Jesus!” like they had just seen a touchdown.
Philip shouldered the other MP5 and scanned the restaurant through jagged window frames. Lots of whimpering and whispering to 911 dispatchers. Paul was nowhere to be seen.
“Shit!”
“Where is he?” Luke loaded a fresh magazine.
“In there, I hope.”
“I’ll get him. Get in the god damn—”
Luke took one step towards the restaurant and two cars screeched into the parking lot on the other side of the building. Gunmen poured out and tables erupted in bursts of fries and soda and honey mustard. Luke and Philip got low and returned fire. Philip emptied his mag and put a panel of wall between him and the shooters.
“Moving!” he yelled and ran for the SUV as Luke covered him. He swung open the driver-side door and returned fire between the door jams. Luke fell back and slid into the passenger seat. When his Rattler went to work, Philip hopped behind the wheel, backed out to the right, cut it to the left, and floored it down the alley as Luke put more fire through the restaurant. He turned a hard right around the corner while Luke reloaded with a flurry of sharp movements. As they came out from behind the building, bullets struck the SUV like hail.
“Fuck!” Philip yelled. They sped out of the lot and stopped on to the access road with the grass slope at the bottom of the lot between them and the shooters.
“He got in a car!” Luke yelled. “A grey sedan.” There was blood on his hands.
“You hit?” Philip asked. Luke ignored him and raised his weapon towards the lot. A grey Nissan zoomed onto the street ahead of them.
“Fucking catch him!” Luke yelled. More gunfire cracked from the lot and Philip peeled out. A stray bullet bounced off Luke’s chest plate and clattered across the dashboard.
“Why didn’t you have them armor these god damn windows!” Philip yelled.
“I always have to shoot out of them!”
Someone leaned out of the sedan and let off a burst that put three small white circles in the glass. Philip’s heart skipped a beat.
“At least you let them armor the windshield.”
Luke dropped his seat back and rolled into the center row. He pulled a net down from around the sunroof, stood up in the middle of it, and opened fire.