A hot desert evening in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Sergeant Ramon Vega was driving his black Tahoe down Central, chugging what was probably his third Bang energy drink of the night, not that they helped much anymore after ten years of chugging them down on graveyard shifts.

With police response times for violent crimes averaging forty five minutes, private security is a booming business in Albuquerque, and Vega worked for one of the biggest in town having already made over twenty stops this night since six pm, and was only getting started. Thankfully most of the calls were easy. Not many transients or regular customers wanted trouble when i arrived. My six foot three inch powerfully built frame, heavily scarred head, and the dead stare that comes from working too long in prisons usually enough display of presence to give the majority of small time trouble makers second thoughts.

The center console mounted radio beeped crackled slightly as someone keyed in.

"Eleven eighty two to metro" called a newer standing guard officer I had briefly met earlier that night practically yelled. The enthusiasm of youth making me grimace.

"Go for Metro eleven eighty two" replied a board sounding female voice. Probably Bennett, counting down the days until she left the graveyard dispatch life for her dream Astronomy job.

"I'll be ten, seven from Golden pride restaurant, have a quiet night." Setting off a groan from Vega that was echoed by every other Officer and Dispatcher working that night.

"Fucking rookies." Vega practically growled rubbing the stubbly part of his closely cropped hair.

"Ten, four Officer White. At twenty three hundred hours" a clipped tone called back. The use of his name, and title instead of man number as an indication of being in hot water with a dispatcher, the equivalent of a god to us Officers, probably going well over his head.

Shaking my head at the next red light I pulled up my dash mounted tablet to direct message Officer White unit to unit.

"Do not ever use the words "quiet night" on the radio. It's bad juju!"

And then immediately after.

"Also better bring some watermelon sour patch kids next shift for Bennett, never, ever piss off the Dispatcher. She runs your life for eight to sixteen hours."

He couldn't reply to a supervisor but hopefully the kid would learn. Hopefully my night won't get too shitastic.

I should have known better than to think those words. No sooner than the words were echos in my inner monologue the radio squealed again.

"Metro to Sam one ten, I need an immediate response to a silent alarm at the Central and San Mateo Walgreens for an Alarm call. No further information at this time."

"Copy metro. I'm seventy six from Central and Jerard." I sighed picking up speed, my black Tahoes supercharged police interceptor motor roaring, and flipped a U turn.

In less than five minutes with some lucky green lights. I arrived at the shit show that is Walgreens San Mateo.

The place was always in some state of trouble and would benefit greatly from an actual armed guard, rather than the loss prevention group they hired to call us in an emergency situation.

I pulled up to the entrance an elderly loss prevention "officer" outside the store nursing a busted lip. They didn't even have guard cards, or any training. Just folks paid twelve bucks an hour to take notes on a notepad and call our company when people tried to get violent about being asked for receipts

"What is going on Valley?" I ask hurriedly seeing his busted lip, as I get out of the car. Using his company name since they didn't give name tags

"Four subjects dressed in black jeans, blue hoodies and wearing Purge, like the movie masks, grabbed the cashier and a manager's young son and ran off into the abandoned store next door."

He said quickly and concisely, making me pause to look at him. Late 50's but runner fit, all lean and sporting a tapered fade haircut with what was left of his are gray hair.

"Retired Air force quartermaster" he said blandly as if he had seen the look a million times. "Please help the kids"

"Ill do my best man." Knowing better than to make promises I couldn't keep. "See any weapons?"

"One had a fire axe, one had a Harbor Freight machete. The other two had pipes" he said.

"Copy. Stay here to let APD know when they decide to show up" pulling out my radio and running toward the abandoned adult video store and calling dispatch to relay the information the pleasantly astute loss prevention officer had given. Also demanding radio silence and backup ASAP.

"Sam one ten to metro, be advised we are ten three, four armed subjects abducted a child and employee. Blue hoodies, white face masks. Fled south into the adult movie store. Notify APD and EMS."

The building in question was one of our clients so I had full authority to enter and conduct business. I entered the building, pieing the door. My springfield nine millimeter up in low ready position. TLR spotlight illuminating the immediate area showing nothing but rows of empty wooden shelving.

"Universal protective services. Anyone inside, declare yourself come out, hands where i can see them please!." I yell into the dark echoing shelves.

"Fuck, Fuck, FUCK." Was the only reply to me.

"Don't even trip. He is only a rental cop!" In a faux whisper loud enough to carry to me.

Sounded like the far back corner. I didnt hear the kid or the cashier. That started to get me very, Very upset. I took a deep breath whispering

"Memento mori."

Anger would just cause mistakes. Clear head now. Angry later. Trying my best to remain stoic and calm.

"Look guys i just want the kids, let them go we can look the other way on whatever you stole. That back door is welded shut. No exit that way. Only through me. Let's work this out so no one gets shot. Where are the kids?"

"They are fucked. Travieso and Casper have them. He is loco as fuck on a regular day. He is fiending bad today."

"Yeah ill take my chances with you over him."

"Travieso, and Casper? As in Leroy Montoya and Anthony Sanchez?" I asked. My stomach flipped. Both of them were regulars in the prison I had worked at for years. Sick individuals who were only out because of the ineptitude of the NM District attorney losing evidence. Rape. Murder. Disfigurements were all on the table. Hell one had pushed his own mother from a moving vehicle during a car chase to distract the police.

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"See. Even the rental cops know what's up with them."

Indeed I did. And FUCK that. Not tonight. Immediately deciding talking was done. I came around the shelf, I had been moving steadily closer to the voices. Policy and good sense said or wait for backup, but standing by while two young ones were in the hands of some of the most violent offenders in a state known for violent crime and drug use was not going to fly with me. Maybe I have a hero complex, whatever.

I could hear the voices arguing and talking about splitting up on the other side of the seven foot tall wooden shelf, I holster my weapon, having turned the light off when moving in to not give away my position. Braced my feet and shoved on the shelf knocking it over onto the two cursing men. I could hear their muffled cursing and yelling, groaning.

Apparently they never heard of terrain advantage I thought. Or the "what if game." Thinking of old instructors yelling about paying attention to all possible outcomes when clearing buildings with furniture that could be used as a weapon, especially while standing still in a combat situation.

I immediately walked around to the other side, and more gently placed a second shelf on top of the first. They were down, no need to be too rough. I just needed to make sure they wouldn't be able to come up behind me later. I didn't have enough cuffs for all these idiots.

I entered through the dirty, blue employee-only labeled door behind the desk into a back storage room filled with boxes, my brain immediately taking stock of the area. Boxes upon boxes stacked up halfway to the top of the undecorated concrete walls, Probably filled with unsold adult films, or toys. Two couches. One red emergency exit welded shut after being kicked in too many times by transients looking to escape the cold. A red mop bucket. One stairwell up into an office of some sort. One bathroom. I cleared the bathroom to ensure no one would sneak up behind me. Then headed as quietly as my large gear covered body would allow.

I got to the top of the stairs taking a moment to observe what was going on. Two hispanic males were arguing out of sight of a barren room. A large brown, empty, wooden desk was the only decoration of the far wall. The walgreens employee and the small child were cowering under the desk.

The employee I knew was a tough Colombian, Arabic, mix young woman. Brown skin, brassy hair with dark roots. I vaguely remembered her mentioning letting her hair grow out from too many botched home dye jobs.

She clutched the small boy, no older than 5. Wearing small cargo pants and a black panther long sleeve shirt. I knew the girl was a tough girl for having a small build. Often fighting with homeless men and women trying to bull rush over her to get behind the counter to steal cigarettes from behind her counter, and winning.

I didn't have a visual on the two males. I couldnt make out the words of the muffled spanglish argument they were having. I took a chance.

Using the laser on my TLR weapon light tried to get the attention of the Employee. She immediately noticed then looked at me. She shook her head silently, eyes wide.

I mouthed silently and clearly as i could.

"How many? Where?"

Again head shaking and clutching tightly at the boy. She looked from me over to the right, and left. Then she screamed at something i couldn't see. Apparently one of the brothers had seen her and lunged, grabbing her by the hair and putting a machete blade to her neck. The other brother, Leroy, I guessed by his height. Tearing the boy from her and stabbing the tip a buck knife into the boys shoulder making him scream out in pain and terror.

Something in me broke at the sound of that scream. It unfortunately wasn't a new sound to me. I had been a private security contractor in shit holes all around the earth and had seen and done some terrible things. Children being hurt was top of the fucking list for sleepless day inducing nightmares. I immediately saw red, my normally stoic face turning into a mask of pure rage.

"Put! That! Childl! Down!" I bellowed.

"Fuck yo…" was all the man got out before I fired three times into his face. The boy fell to the ground in a screaming heap, covering his ears, putting his face down into the concrete floor.

I felt bad about the physical and emotional trauma. But I would take scared and alive ten times out of ten compared to the alternative. He shouldn't have been there. Hell neither should I. I was a security guard, not a cop. But people needed help and I was the only one available to give it. Damn hero complex again.

I turned to get a bead not the other man who ducked down behind the employee the machete drawing a thin line of blood under her jaw as they struggled for position.

"You killed him!" The man behind the mask screamed.

"Yeah." I replied eloquently.

Don't make the same mistake your brother did Anthony let the girl go. Drop the weapon."

Then the man did something highly unexpected. He laughed. And i knew id missed something.

Suddenly the crack of a small caliber pistol behind me sounded out and a burning pain in my right arm at the bicep just under my shoulder and the cook of my elbow. Blood spurted out from a wound right where a nurse would draw blood and I could feel it flowing down the back of my arm as well already curving at my elbow.

I spun back and dropped to my knee trying to reorient myself on the third attacker apparently the old quarter master had miscounted, or Montoya had stayed behind here while the goons went and did the work. I guessed the latter since he was wearing blue jeans and a ref jersey of some sports team with a number thirteen on it, instead of the blue hoodie and mask. A second crack of the pistol going off. The distinct whizzing whistle of a bullet flying past my ear. Too close.

I switched my firearm to my weak hand, locking my elbow straight out. The usually seamless motion practiced for thousands of hours for this occasion was slightly awkward and slow in the face of actual injury, Montoya had jumped out of the way and dodged out the doorway I had come in.

I turned my attention to the employee and Sanchez. He had knocked her down and had the machete raised, high over head ready to split her head open in one powerful blow. I again punched out my left arm straight. Pulled the trigger awkwardly four times. Two bullets hit him in the shoulder and lower back. He turned his mouth foaming, eyes wide, pupils all but pinpricks, chest heaving and he lunged.

I had heard a few times that meth was originally the Nazi super soldier serum. I believed it. Tiny old men high on meth could wreck entire stores and require entire squads of police to take down. I really didn't want to see what the big, young, and physically fit gang soldier could do while high as a satellite on the stuff.

I raised my gun again. Too late. He awkwardly side slashed my left arm cutting a diagonal slice from the outside of my elbow deep into my forearm. I lost my Springfield, fingers numb from the blow. I put my foot on top of it. Watching Sanchez as he prepared another massive blow with his back swing.

I stepped into him, getting inside the effective range of the machete and bull rushing him in a desperate shoulder charge slamming us both into the barren desk. I fumbled with the front thigh mag pocket of my five eleven cargo pants pulling out a knife. My fingers struggle to flick the damascus blade out. Struggling to hold the hilt of the boker gent in both hands.

I drove the blade into the dazed Sanchez's thick neck. Over and over until he finally stopped moving. Blood spraying out from both his severed artery and my own bleeding wounds and the momentum of my swinging hands. I didn't even want to think of the diseases his blood was likely transmitting into mine. His last act of revenge.

I turned to the young employee, abandoning my Boker as i didnt trust my numb fingers to manipulate the catch to close the folding blade. Seeing she had already regained her feet and had gone to check on the boy. She was a tough kid. My eyes blurred and my head swam. I shook my head as much as i dared. Not yet. Still one more i told myself. I swallowed hard trying to get moisture into my dry throat.

"Get the boy. Ill walk you out. Montoya is out there somewhere?" Is what I meant to say. I'm not sure how it came out, my throat ragged and tight. I reclaimed my Springfield, exchanging mags with a fresh one from my belt. Putting the used one into a cargo pocket, not wanting to expend energy putting it back into the tight kydex pouch at my waist.

I turned to the only exit and saw a flash of movement in the doorway. The sharp crack of the small caliber derringer in Montoya's hand and the louder retort of my nine millimeter going off one after the other. I felt burning in my collar bone just above where my vest rested against my sternum. Fucking figured. Montoya's lifeless body fell backward down the stairs like a doll abandoned by a careless child. The blue syntech round had drilled a hole perfectly between his eyes.

Somehow with both my arms fucked I had made the shot. I smiled a macabre bloody rictis of a grin. as I dropped to one knee. Dropping my Springfield carelessly. I had done all I could. The kids were safe. My body just didn't have the blood to go any further, an engine with no oil.

The Walgreens employee had the good sense to take the boy and get the hell out. Didn't even look back. I watched as she fled down the stairs. One long slow blink. I saw myself in the reflection of a highly polished left shoe. I looked rough. Covered in blood. A red spot slowly blooming from a hole in my sternum area. A gash on my forehead. Hadn't even felt that one… wait reflection? Shiny shoe?