Street Justice (3 page)

The bum drifted down the small hallway toward the dingy kitchen and said, “Now why don’t we just drop the nice man…”

“Get out of here,” Mack repeated but this time rather than move farther back he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled a well-worn .45. The chrome barrel had scrapes and scratches on it. The wooden inlay on the handle was smooth from handling. But there was no doubt the piece would still do its job. Mack held the piece at arm’s length with a steady arm. The hole in the barrel didn’t waiver a millimeter.

The bum put his hands up, “Now let’s be cool man, what’s going on here?” The bum spoke in a soft, mellow voice. While his raised hands and quiet voice gave the initial perspective that he was threatened by the gun, he never stopped drifting forward to the doorway.

“Stop,” Mack said, then in a louder more force full voice he repeated, “Stop.” A small bead of sweat appeared on Mack’s temple.

“Yeah, man, I got ya’,” the bum agreed in the same mellow voice, never dropping his hands or slowing his progress.

“I said stop,” Mack was shouting now. The tip of the barrel started a small twitch side to side. The bum continued to drift toward him, now at the doorway. Mack suddenly pushed Adrian toward the small sink, and pulled the trigger on the big gun. The load bark filled the tiny space, the flash of the muzzle searing his retinas. A small whiff of smoke clouded the room which now smelled of burnt gun powder. Mack quickly blinked away the colorful dots in front of his eyes, trying to see the bum's body. As the dots shrank the panic in Mack’s brain grew. The body wasn’t there.

In the same moment Mack had pulled the trigger, the bum had reached the doorway. He’d seen Mack brace his right foot to push Adrian to the left. He’d watched in slow motion as Mack took a deep breath and tightened his grip on the gun’s trigger, taking up the minute amount of slack. In an instant he launched himself through the door, leaping--not straight, but to his right--toward where Adrian’s body had eased to the ground, slowed in its decent by Adrian’s somewhat functioning legs.

The bullet wanged against the still dogged door. The bum tucked and rolled, springing to his feet and pivoting toward Mack. In the fraction of a second it had taken for Mack to realize the bum wasn’t a heap on the floor, the bum was up and ready to fight. But Mack had other ideas. He turned and ran to his right, away from Adrian and the bum, toward a second door which led out of the galley and down into the ship.

The bum took a half step, then stopped and knelt down next to Adrian, “Hey, buddy, how you doin’?”.

Adrian was starting to recover faster now and with the help of the bum was able to stand. He gave his head a small shake and his vision leapt from the tunnel and back to reality. He turned and focused on the bum who was grinning back at him with a broad, white smile. He still stunk though. Taking a second look Adrian said, “What are you doing here?”

“Did you miss me?”

“Not at all, Steve, not at all,” Adrian said wrapping the figure in a quick hug.

“Yeah, and I’m sure you had this all in hand,” Steve said with a slight wave of the hand, gesturing around the room. Steve returned the hug then took a step toward the small table.

“Something like that,” Adrian chuckled, “Seriously, what are you doing here?”

Steve surveyed the table, righted a shot glass that had gotten overturned. He reached over to one of the tiny benches and retrieved the bottle which had come to rest there. He unscrewed the cap and poured himself a shot. In the same smooth motion he’d exhibited while dodging Brian, he slammed back the shot and poured another. “You want one,” he offered to Adrian.

“Oh no,” Adrian said, his stomach rolling at the idea.

“Fair enough.” Steve whipped the second shot down and set the shot glass on the table again.

“OK, now can you tell me what you are doing here? How did you know I was going to be here?” Adrian pursued.

“Actually it was Sam who knew you’d be here. Apparently you aren’t as stealthy as you think with your undercover assignments. Plus, you being you, you still filed all of your paperwork,” now it was Steve’s turned to let out a laugh, “Really?” He looked over at Adrian.

“Paperwork is an important part of any investigation.” Adrian straightened up a bit.

“We can argue this later, if you don’t mind. Now what is this all about?”

“These guys are smuggling gooey ducks,” Adrian said, straightening his shoulders a bit.

“Really? I’m about to go get in a fight over clams?”

“What can I say, some folks just like a good fight,” Adrian spread his hands, palms up.

“Well then, let’s take this fight from good to great. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to go look for tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumb,” Steve replied.

“By all means,” Adrian said as he swept his hand toward the door Mack had left through, “Go right ahead.”

Steve downed the second shot then swept out the door. Adrian, head still pounding, gingerly walked toward the tiny hallway. It took him a few tries to open the door in his weakened state, but finally got the door un-dogged and he stepped out onto the deck. The briny air felt refreshing and his head started to clear.

Meanwhile Steve exploded through the portal Mack had left through and poured down the tiny metal steps. He knew Mack could be around any corner, waiting for him but figured Mack would want to put a little distance between himself and Steve before planning any sort of ambush. Bursting from the door at the bottom of the stairs a bullet wanged against steel wall showering Steve with tiny sparks of hot metal.

“
I
guess he didn’t need that much distance
,” Steve thought to himself as he instinctively leapt toward a tall cabinet bolted to the wall. The cabinet wasn’t great cover, it was fairly thin so it wouldn’t take much of a shift in angle to uncover him and for all he knew it was empty and an empty cabinet would only be optical coverage as a bullet of any size would tear through the thin metal and straight at him.

But he also knew that ducking back into the stairwell was a worse idea. The thin walls that would provide him cover would also be his coffin. The stairwell would allow Mack to camp out at the bottom. Then if he had any contact with Brian he could easily send him around to the top to flush him out right into Mack’s now ready gun sights.

No, the key to success was moving and speed. Pausing for one moment, he identified the room as an engineering room, a place for the mechanics to work. If they broke apart at sea they couldn’t simply pull into the local auto parts store and pick up a new piece, so the shop was well stocked with metal, black lathes, machining tools and other heavy duty manufacturing items.

He identified his next move, a medium sized generator stored near a work bench. With a large lunge, Steve leapt from his precarious hiding spot, rolled across the rough metal deck and popped up perfectly on the balls of his feet behind the generator. He heard two distinct reports, from different areas ring out. That meant either Brian had joined Mack or Mack had recruited more help. It didn’t bother Steve either way. He knew where they were and now he’d take the fight to them.

Adrian stood on the deck and took a deep breath. He thought about heading back in and back downstairs to lend a hand to Steve but knew he’d be more help here, stopping anyone’s retreat. He moved toward the gangplank and took up refuge behind a collection of pots, rope and worn canvases. His head was still aching but now it was more of a dull pressure where the brain met the spine. His vision was clear and he tucked himself into a nook where he had a full view of the deck, sacrificing some coverage. In the end, he doubted anyone would make it out from under decks to his position.

With his right hand, Steve slid a Smith and Wesson Model K from a shoulder holster on his left side. Repeating a mirror image of this move with his left hand he withdrew a Colt .45. He took a quick moment to glance at the two guns. The Smith & Wesson was finished in a dark gray designed to reflect no light. The Colt was silver though not chrome with a worn wooden handle. Both guns showed extensive nicks and scrapes on their finish, however a trained eye would notice that anything that moved or affected the guns performance was honed to mechanical perfection.

Steve had used these two guns for many years, mostly in similar situations. He was right handed, and while he could outshoot most with either hand, he was still a bit more accurate with the right hand. So he carried the lighter Smith & Wesson in that hand. Its smaller caliber, and correspondingly smaller kick, meant it was easier to fire repeatedly while being accurate. However, it lacked stopping power and could punch through fewer objects.

That was where the big Colt came in. The .45 was more the brute force weapon. From experience Steve knew it was the tool to slice through car doors, walls and most anything labeled bullet resistant rather than bullet proof. Both guns held extended clips though Steve never fired unless he needed to. Taking a quick breath, Steve leapt straight up and onto the generator.

Two more rounds clanged through the room. One clipped the right side of the generator, the other shot past the left side and slammed into the far wall. They hadn’t expected him to come over the top, so they saw movement and fired where they expected him. Two shots rang out in near unison a fraction of a second later as both gunners corrected their aim, but Steve was already long gone.

Without slowing Steve hurdled off the top of the generator. The room was filled with a variety of wooden crates storing replacement parts, bins of metal blanks and large pieces of equipment. Bounding from the generator, Steve landed one foot on a wooden crate, the next foot caught the edge of a bin holding two foot sections of metal pipe. The following transition brought his foot down on another wooden crate. The line took him from his spot behind the generator, to just about bisecting the two gunmen and then past their positions meaning he was now behind them.

He allowed his knee to buckle and landed firmly but controlled behind the crate. A single shot rang out, Steve moved toward it without hesitation or pause. The gunman who hadn’t fired was moving to put objects between himself and Steve. The one who had fired either hadn’t thought about it or was too brave for his own good. Ducking past another large metal machine that Steve couldn’t identify and another cabinet led Steve into a small opening with the Smith and Wesson leading the way.

Tucked into the back corner, which would provide a great defensive spot had Steve still been on the other side of the room, was Brian. Steve guessed once locked out using the door to the kitchen he’d decided to come through the back door only to have it closed by gunfire. Brian’s gun was out, his back was against the crates and his eyes searched wildly. Steve saw his eyes flick toward him, his brain realized who it was and his arm started to move. But Steve’s bullets were already on their way. The double tap volley entered Brian’s body and it went limp. For a heartbeat, the light still flashed in Brian’s eyes, but only for one heartbeat.

Steve never saw Brian pass, he was already moving. Mack was still around and now he didn’t know where he was. Still the best option was to move. As he was thinking he needed a direction, he noticed a door at the back of the room. Either Mack was already heading that direction and Steve could cut him off or it gave him a good place to start his sweep. Steve ran in a crouch with a speed most men couldn’t run while fully standing. Left, right, right, left, right, left, left. Steve zipped around the crates in as random a pattern as he could, always keeping the Smith & Wesson in front of him.

Two obstacles from the door, Steve noticed a cabinet, much like the one he’d hid behind after entering the room, against the right hand wall. The doors were slightly ajar and it was dark inside. But it was the open door that bothered him. Shipmen were particular about closing and battening doors. Especially in an engine or engineering room. His mind mentally highlighted a line between the door and the opening, and knew it would be an easy shot.

Steve doubled back upon himself and threw his body back the way it came, just as a bullet stitched a box behind him. Tiny splinters exploded and peppered Steve’s left side. Before he hit the ground, Steve fired two rounds toward the opening in the doors. Whether by accident or planning, Mack moved the doors at just the moment and the two .387 rounds rang against the metal surface, creating pretty silver craters but not doing any damage.

Steve hit the ground with a thud on his right side. Through a stroke of luck he could see the doors to the cabinet and let the Colt loose. Not knowing exactly where Mack was, he didn’t worry about being efficient with his bullets and fired off a half dozen. The first bullet blasted through the door doing little, but the second bullet hit home and Mack started to pitch forward. The muzzle flash created a strobe effect as if taking a picture of the scene. The momentary pictures showed the cabinet, the room, but as Mack’s body fell it almost appeared as if it was trying to escape as it moved out of the frame. Steve popped up and moved immediately toward where Mack had landed. Mack lay there, with his head cocked back at an impossible angle. He’d fallen into a space between the cabinet and the closest crate which was big enough to fit his body, but not his head into. If he hadn’t been killed by the Colt’s bullet, he was certainly dead now.

Steve stood up and headed back up into the ship’s kitchen. He headed back through the tiny hallway and out to the deck. As he cracked the door, he saw Adrian sitting on a mountain of fishing gear. Making a pistol with his thumb and forefinger, he threw open the door and said, “Pwew, pwew. You’re dead.”