American Criminal (33 page)

    Fuck.  

    Burnside kept track of where the gunman went and loaded a fresh clip into the MAC 10. He crept to the rear of the parked truck and aimed toward the dark doorway where the gunman had sought refuge. After several tense seconds of waiting, the gunman left his place of cover and fired at the truck. The bullets ricocheted harmlessly off the truck’s rear bumper, so Burnside took careful aim around the corner of the truck and fired. The silhouette dropped.

    More firing erupted from farther down the alley, so Burnside retreated to the front of the truck and ducked behind the grill. He saw that Joe and Tommy had advanced to the opposite wall and were standing tensely holding their assault rifles. They took turns turning the corner and firing down the alley.

    Burnside guessed that his magazine was almost empty, so he checked to make sure his back-up pistol was still stuffed into the back waistband of his shorts. It was. He stayed low and crossed the two-foot gap between the truck and the wall. Safe behind cover, he checked the MAC 10’s magazine. There was only about half a clip left. He had to make it count.

    Burnside heard boots slapping against the pavement and saw four gunmen dressed in black running up behind Joe and Tommy.

    “Where the fuck have you been?” Joe asked, turning toward the men.

    “We held back because we didn’t want to hit your guy there,” a tall, muscular, black man carrying an UZI assault pistol said as he pointed the barrel of his gun toward Burnside.

    “Before we knew it, that crazy bastard was standing next to the alley. We figured he had things under control.”

    “We were waiting for him to get the job done, so we could move in,” A short, stubby white kid with a shaved head said. The other two remained silent, clutching their assault rifles. One of them was a middle-aged, balding gangster with a big pot belly hanging over his belt and the other was a wiry young guy with dark hair. They all wore black.

    “All right, fair enough,” Joe said. “But we need to get moving. We can’t get held up here. Is your driver still in the Hummer?”

    “He’s parked back there,” the black man said, pointing down the street at the gray Hummer parked next to the sidewalk.

    “Tell him to block the alley. We can’t risk the Columbians trying to break out,” Joe said.

    “You got it,” the black man said, waving to the silhouette behind the wheel.

    The tires screeched as the Hummer raced away from the curb and screeched again as it slid across the pavement and grinded to a halt in the street in front of the alley. The black man gave the driver the thumbs up and the driver exited the vehicle and ran down the street toward the parked black Hummer – the getaway vehicle.

    “You and your team need to move down the alley ASAP,” Joe said to the black man.

“We’ll cover you.”

    “Okay, we’ll move,” the black man said, holding his weapon tensely as he watched Tommy firing down the alley.

    When Tommy ceased fire, the black man ducked and ran through the five foot gap between the truck and the right-hand wall. The other three gunmen followed, ducking low. Ray turned the corner and fired through the two-foot gap on the left side of the alley to give them cover. When his clip was empty, he tossed the MAC 10 under the truck and pulled his 9MM out of the back waistband of his pants.

    The alley appeared clear, so Ray ran over to the truck and vaulted over the side into the bed. He landed on the bloody body of the man he shot earlier and rolled off him. He had to shove aside another body to clear a space for himself. To his chagrin, Ray realized there were three bodies sprawled in the large truck bed with him. One was collapsed near his feet and the other two flanked him on each side. The metal under his body was slick with blood. 

    Ray raised his head slightly and peered over the tailgate of the truck. He could see the limo’s bright headlights shining at him from several hundred feet away. He wasn’t going to waste his fire on the limo at this distance.

    So far, the Columbians hadn’t opened fire on the four gunmen running down the alley toward the limo. They were probably waiting for the gunmen to get closer. That’s what he would do.

    Burnside watched the silhouette of the black man duck into the doorway that the Columbian gunman had used for cover before. Another gunman ran ahead fifty feet and dropped into a sunken stairwell.

    Gunfire erupted suddenly from the limo and the remaining gangsters were caught in the open and cut down. The short, stubby guy took half a step backward and dropped in a puddle of blood. The gangster with the big belly tried to duck behind a trashcan, but the Columbians’ bullets knocked it over and filled him with holes. Bullets ricocheted off the pavement next to the sunken stairwell, but the gunman hiding there stayed low.

The black man stepped out of the doorway and fired toward the limo. He ducked into the doorway as bullets ricocheted off the brick wall beside him.

    Ray heard bullets ricocheting off the tailgate he was hiding behind. If it had not been reinforced with armor, he would have been ripped to shreds. Ray stayed low as he searched the truck bed for the Columbians’ automatic rifles. He discovered an AK-47 wedged between the body to his right and the truck frame. He pulled the body toward him and freed the weapon. He stayed low as he checked the clip and discovered it was full. He shoved his backup pistol into the back waistband of his shorts.

    The thundering continued as the Columbians in the limo exchanged fire with Joe and Tommy at the end of the alley. Ray froze as more bullets ricocheted off the tailgate. The Columbians were obviously heavily armed and the limo was providing great cover for them. Ray knew the limo was bulletproof, so unless Joe or Tommy could hurl a grenade two hundred feet, they were shit out of luck.

    Ray still didn’t dare lift his head above the tailgate. He used his free hand to search the blood- slicked body on the right and found two extra clips on his belt. He removed them and placed them in his back pockets.

    An impasse ensued as the Columbians exchanged sporadic gunfire with the gangsters. When the Columbians let up to reload, the gangsters in the stairwell and the doorway opened fire. Joe and Tommy took over while they reloaded.

    This is going nowhere. Someone needs to make an executive decision.

    Ray waited for the Columbians to reload and vaulted over the side of the truck bed. He quickly took cover behind the brick wall and prepared to fire around the corner. Bullets ricocheted off the pavement where Ray had stood moments before.

    “Nice weapon, hotshot!” Joe shouted from behind his place of cover at the opposite brick wall.

    “Thanks!” Ray shouted back. “The previous owner didn’t want to give it up, so I had to convince him!”

    “Burnside, you crazy fuck!” Tommy shouted as he reloaded behind the brick wall.

    “I’ll take that as a compliment!” Ray replied.

    “You would!”

    “I have a plan!” Burnside shouted above the roar of automatic weapons fire. “Cover me when I make my move!”

    “His move? What the fuck is he talking about?” Tommy asked Joe.

    “It looks like he’s making it now,” Joe said as he watched Ray dart across the gap to the front of the truck.

    “I’m taking this piece of shit for a spin!” Ray shouted to the gangsters as he pointed his AK-47 at the truck.

    “What the fuck is he talking about?” Tommy asked.

    “I think I know what he has in mind,” Joe said, turning the corner and firing.

    As Joe fired a vicious barrage at the Columbians, Ray stayed low and darted through the gap. He pulled open the driver’s side door and dove into the cab headfirst Unfortunately, Ray found it was crowded inside as he landed on the dead Columbian in the driver’s seat. Ray dropped his AK on the floor and pressed his weight onto the dead body so a stray bullet wouldn’t hit him through the smashed rear window above. Ray flinched as gunfire blew the open driver’s door off its hinges. He pressed tighter against the dead body as more bullets whizzed above him through the smashed rear window.

Ray painstakingly repositioned himself between the dead occupants and pushed the driver’s dead weight through the open door. The body rolled off the seat and hit the pavement with a meaty thud.

    Ray heard Tommy shouting, “Burnside, you crazy fuck!” but he didn’t respond.    

    Staying low, he opened the passenger door and shoved the other bloody carcass through the opening. This time, he darted his hand out and closed the door before it was blown off. He had the cab to himself, so he lay across the front seat and took several deep breaths as bullets continued to whiz by above his head.

    Ray cautiously reached down to the ignition and felt for a key. It was still there, so he turned it and fired up the engine. He clutched the gearshift, pulled it toward him, estimated where reverse was located, and clicked the shift into place. He could hear Tommy shouting something, but he couldn’t tell what he was saying above the roar of gunfire. He was becoming used to tiny splinters of glass spraying down on him as bullets passed through the smashed rear window. It felt like bees were stinging him on his head, neck, and back.

    Ray ignored the pain and stayed low as he straightened out the wheel. He remained crouching on the floor of the truck and reached his right hand over to the gas pedal, while he kept the wheel steady with his left hand. He pressed down on the gas pedal with his fingers and the truck began moving.

Showdown

    Ray pressed down on the gas pedal and heard the engine rev as the truck accelerated. Glancing up, he saw the building walls passing above his head. He kept the wheel straight and let up on the gas whenever he felt the truck slip to right or left. The gunfire intensified as the truck closed on the limo. 

    Ray gritted his teeth and listened to the seemingly endless bullet barrage pounding against the tailgate until he estimated he was close enough. He let up on the gas and turned the wheel to the left, causing the truck to swing around diagonally with the passenger side facing the limo. The gas tank was on the driver’s side, so it would be shielded by the bulk of the truck. The missing driver’s door didn’t matter because it was facing away from the limo.

    Burnside ignored the bullets ricocheting off the truck’s metal hull as he crawled toward the driver’s side opening. Staying low, he dropped lightly to the pavement and took shelter behind the truck next one of the rear wheels. He thought he would go deaf from the constant thunder of machine guns and the metallic pings of bullets striking metal. He made sure to keep his feet behind the wheel so he wouldn’t get hit by a stray bullet ricocheting under the truck.

    Ray heard the gunfire let up, so he peeked his head around the tailgate and spotted the limo’s headlights thirty feet ahead. He pulled his head back in time to avoid getting it blown off.

    Ray glanced behind him and saw the gangster, who had been hiding in the doorway, running toward him in a crouched position using the truck as cover.

    I never turn down backup, but what I really need are grenades.

    Ray glanced toward the end of the alley where Joe and Tommy were taking cover behind the brick wall. He saw Tommy’s head pop out and he waved for him to come over. Tommy’s head disappeared behind the wall.

    Come on, Tommy, what are you waiting for?

    The truck was still taking a beating from the Columbian’s automatic weapons, so Ray didn’t dare rise up and fire back. The truck lurched slightly as the reinforced tires on the passenger side were finally penetrated and deflated. The black gangster arrived near the truck’s front wheel unscathed and glanced toward Ray.

    “We can’t do anything without grenades!” Ray shouted to him.

    The black man glanced behind him to look for Joe and Tommy. They were nowhere to be seen.

    “Fuck it!” the gangster shouted to Ray. “I didn’t want to live forever anyway!”

    He turned and ran back the way he came, staying low. Ray watched with amazement as the gangster avoided ricocheting bullets by ducking and weaving until he reached the end of the alley. Ray breathed a sigh of relief as he watched him disappear behind the brick wall.

    Several seconds elapsed and then Ray saw two crouched figures emerge from behind the brick wall and dart down the alley toward him. He recognized Joe and the black gangster as they got closer. Tommy appeared around the corner and fired a burst from his AK to cover their approach.

    Suddenly, Joe went down. He dropped his M-16 and clutched his ankle as he hit the pavement. The black man stopped and attempted to help him, but Joe waved him on. Seconds later, the gangster was ducking behind the front wheel. He held up a grenade in his right hand and grinned at Burnside. A second grenade was clipped to his belt.

    “How good are you at baseball?” Ray shouted to the gangster above the roar of gunfire.

    “Basketball was always my game!” the mobster shouted back.

    “Then give me the grenades!” Ray shouted as he placed his AK on the pavement to free his hands. 

    Ray stayed low as he crossed the open space under the truck to reach the gangster. The mobster handed off the grenades and Ray returned to his position by the rear tire. Staying low, Ray moved several feet away from the truck, brought his arm back in an under-hand swing, and slid the grenade under the truck. He returned to the rear tire and waited for the explosion.

    The explosion went off like a thunderclap and the gunfire from the limo ceased. Ray brought his arm back like a pitcher, raised himself above the truck bed, and threw the second grenade over-handed at the limo’s front windshield. He ducked behind the truck again as another explosion thundered from the direction of the limo. There was no return gunfire, but Burnside could still hear distant gunfire coming from the adjacent alley. Ray picked up his AK from the pavement and glanced over at the mobster.

    “On the count of three!” Burnside shouted.

    “You got it!” the mobster shouted back.

    Staying low, Ray darted around the rear of the bullet-riddled truck and fired his machine gun at the limo’s smashed front windshield. The gangster circled around the front of the truck and fired at the same target. There was still no return fire. Burnside and the gangster unloaded their magazines into the blown-out windshield.

    When his clip was empty, Burnside shoved in a fresh one and circled around to the back of the limo. Two blood-splattered Columbians were stretched out on the pavement behind the trunk. Gunfire was still echoing from the second alley. Ray glanced left and saw the black gangster place his weapon on the limo’s hood and then attempt to squeeze his body through the large gap in the cracked windshield.

    The limo was parked at the intersection of the two alleys with its rear-end providing cover from the intersecting alley. Ray ducked behind the limo’s trunk, popped his head up, and gazed out at the other alley. The silhouettes of four large trucks were scattered throughout it. Two of them were smoldering, burned-out hulks. The closest truck appeared intact and Ray saw three Chinese Triads using it as cover to exchange gunfire with gunmen on the roof. The truck was parked at an angle, so the gunmen couldn’t hit the Triads behind the truck bed. Burnside had a perfect shot.

    Ray set his AK down on the limo’s trunk, aimed toward the truck, and placed the closest Triad in his sights. He hesitated. It seemed more like a slaughter than a gunfight. The Chinese gangsters had their backs to him as they fired up at the roof. Sweat broke out on Ray’s forehead.

    This isn’t survival. It’s an execution.

    Ray tried to will himself to pull the trigger, but he couldn’t do it. He took a deep breath and tried again. He couldn’t shoot someone in the back, even the enemy. He was startled when the limo’s back door flew open and the black mobster stepped out holding a large silver briefcase.

    Fuck. No choice.

    Burnside pulled the trigger and watched bullets ricochet off the truck bed to the left of the closest Triad gunman. He had him dead to rights and could have gunned him down in cold blood. The gunman turned toward him and fired back wildly. Burnside heard bullets ricochet off the brick wall behind him. Now it was a fight. Ray took careful aim and gunned the Triad down.

    The remaining Triads bolted down the alley. They must have realized they were in an indefensible position. Ray saw one of them gunned down by a roof sniper while the other kept running until his silhouette disappeared behind one of the burning hulks. There was more gunfire from the roof, but Ray couldn’t see if the Triad was hit or not. Maybe he even got away.  

    Ray turned toward the black gangster holding the briefcase.

    “Are we all set?” he asked.

    “All set,” the gangster said, grinning as he lifted the silver briefcase, one-handed, as if he was doing a bicep curl.

    “Then let’s get the fuck out of here!” Burnside said as he rose from his shooting stance and ran down the alley.

    The black gangster fell in next to him. They halted when they reached Joe’s crumpled body on the alley floor. Joe was applying pressure to his ankle wound with both hands, but blood was still seeping through the gaps between his fingers like red syrup. Burnside had dealt with gunshot wounds before when he was on the force.

    Ray used his formidable strength to literally rip the t-shirt he was wearing off his back. His huge bicep muscles rippled as he tore the shirt into strips. He bent down next to Joe.

    “Joe, on the count of three, I need you to take your hands away,” Ray said. “I’ll use these to bind you up.”   

    Joe’s already pained expression pulled down into a deep frown as he stared down at the blood seeping through his fingers.

    “I’m hit pretty bad. I don’t want to fucking bleed to death,” Joe said through clenched teeth.

    “Don’t worry. I’ve done this before. Ready? One, two…”

    Joe removed his hands from his ankle and Ray quickly wrapped the strips of shirt tightly around the vicious wound, stifling the flow of blood. Ray tied off the improvised bandage like an expert and lifted Joe to his feet.

    “I can’t walk, man,” Joe said. “There’s no way I can put any pressure on this ankle.”

    “Who said anything about putting pressure on your ankle?” Burnside asked as he got to his knees, lifted his right arm, and gestured for Joe to lie over his shoulder.

    “You’ve got to be shitting me,” Joe said.

    Burnside heard police sirens wailing in the distance. He guessed that all the action starting from the first shots fired to the ending with the dead Triads took place in under five minutes, but that was still plenty of time for the local police to mobilize - even in this rundown area.

    “You have no choice. Climb aboard before the cops get here,” Burnside said in his most commanding cop voice.

    Joe rolled his eyes and leaned over Burnside’s shoulder. Burnside grunted and stood with Joe’s body slung over his shoulder. The black gangster’s eyes widened with amazement as he watched Ray carry Joe’s two hundred pound body across the alley at a fast walk. When they reached the end of the alley, Ray let Joe down and Tommy helped him to drag Joe over to the waiting black Hummer.

    The black gangster got into the front seat while Tommy and Ray maneuvered into the back with Joe between them. The wailing police sirens were becoming loud and sounded like they were almost on top of them. Guido hit the gas and the tires shrieked as the Hummer pulled away from the curb. The sound of the sirens was coming from the right, so Guido took a left down the side street they had parked on earlier. He began negotiating the maze of tenement buildings as if he had driven the route many times before.

    “Guido, it looks like you’re familiar with this route,” Burnside said as he reached into his pocket for his cigarettes. 

    “We did a couple dry runs, so I know the area pretty well,” Guido said.

    “Just get us the fuck out of here,” Joe snarled between clenched teeth.

    “You got it, boss,” Guido said, turning the wheel sharply as he swung the Hummer onto a shabby side street.

    Burnside felt his body pressing into the right-hand door from the pressure of the turn. He pulled a spare pistol clip out of his pocket and rummaged around for the cigarette pack beneath it. When he found it, he took it out, lit a cigarette, and handed it to Joe.

    “This should help you take your mind off it,” Ray said.

    “Thanks, brother,” Joe said, taking a deep drag and blowing out gray smoke.

    Ray cracked his window and lit another cigarette. Tommy also lit up. As the sound of wailing sirens faded into the distance, Ray felt the calming affect of the nicotine rush. He realized he was just starting to come down from a massive adrenaline high. He held his free hand in front of him and saw it tremble slightly.

    “I knew I should have booked the no-smoking Hummer,” the black gangster said, smiling over his shoulder as he hit the button to roll down his automatic window.

    “Richie, shut the fuck up, you fucking health nut,” Tommy said, blowing a cloud of smoke toward the black man in the front seat.

    Richie coughed and gave Tommy the finger. Tommy grinned at him like a Cheshire Cat.

    The Hummer took sharp corners and careened over sidewalks as it drove from street to street, tires shrieking. Ray almost lost his cigarette out the window during several turns. When they reached a busy avenue with traffic, Guido edged the Hummer into it and blended into a line of cars waiting at a stoplight.

    The stoplight seemed to take forever to turn and the gangsters took deep, nervous drags from their cigarettes while they waited. Eventually, it turned and Guido followed the line of traffic away from the tenement district. Soon, they found themselves in the heart of the commercial district heading north towards Beverly Hills. The silver briefcase gleamed on the seat between Guido and the black gangster like priceless, ill-gotten pirate treasure.