Friday, July 31, 2009

The Big Bust-Up (final chapter first draft)

The split second before kicking in the office door with her blood covered foot she thought about Otis. She thought about what they might've done to him, about what state she might find him in. She thought of how much his respect meant to her. It was not often in this vicious world that any spared a kindness for any one else, even less so respect, especially for a woman. Men had this sick need to exhibit power, not just possess it and women frequently became the canvas upon which these mad painters choose to share what little they've seen of existence. Her thoughts turned to an Otis bloodied and beaten and she could think of nothing but the bullets in her gun and how good it would feel to put one into every bastard she came across between here and the only man she had ever given herself to. All these thoughts flashed through her brain then immediately vanished as her fighting instincts took over and she began her bloody walk through what she assumed would be her final deadly mile. The offices were quiet, almost deceptively so. She knew that something awful lingered just on her horizon and the calmness of her surroundings seemed duplicitous. She imagined dozens of gunmen lurking under desks, behind filing cabinets and walls. But nothing happened the entire way to the rear exit of the office which led into the processing plant, the place where all the meat got cut up.
It would have been foolish to just bust through those doors and into the waiting rain of metal that lay beyond. Though she was sometimes flighty and prone to make mistakes she was never foolish, not where her survival was concerned. She looked around the office to see what she might be able to use. She smiled. She grabbed one of the rolling chairs closest to her and plopped down into it. She gave it a good spin, testing its weight bearence and balance. She stood up and put the confiscated gun in her armpit. She tested the weight of a few filing cabinets before settling on one that she could both lift and that the chair would support. It wasn't that difficult to put the filing cabinet in the chair but the arm that she'd been shot in started pumping fresh blood and that made her a bit light-headed. The noise from the machinery thrummed loudly and probably masked most of the noise she had made, but she doubted it.
The men beyond the door knew she was coming, and though it had taken her little to no time to complete her strategy she was curious why no one busted in on her and shot her full of bullets? It was probably ego. The man in slacks looked like that kind of a person. He must have been supremely confident in his position as a gangster to be so cocky. He probably thought he inspired an indefatigable terror. Most gangsters did. Show a little brutality and suddenly you think you're powerful. She knew the truth of that though. You can kill a brutal person just as easily as you can anyone else. They aren't bulletproof and death takes all comers.
She set herself behind the filing cabinet and gave a push. The chair rolled easily and kept a straight enough course, straight enough for what she needed. She backed up ten feet then ran with the chair ahead of her. As the cabinet and chair crashed through the door she had a frightening thought. What if the man in slacks had run off? What if she'd just wasted her time and the one chance she had at taking him easy?
The hail of bullets pinging off the sides of the metal filing cabinet at least gave her reassurance that there were still some bastards yet to kill. She had stopped at the doorway after the chair and cabinet broke through. She used the few seconds she had to survey the positions of the gunmen. There were six. Two on each side of the doors and two in front. They had sub-machineguns and let loose for a full five seconds before realizing what they were shooting at. That was more than enough time for her to shot the two on her left and dive for cover behind a big metal desk. The two gunmen directly in the path of the rolling chair had to dive out of the way to avoid getting hit so she used that distraction to take down the two others on the right side. She scrambled over to one of the SMG's the nearest gunman to her still clutched in his dead hands. The remaining thugs were scrambling to get up and return fire when she popped up and sprayed them with death. And then their was one.
The man in slacks was standing up on a platform by one of the large processing vats. Hung on a hook by chains over the vat was Otis, bloody and beaten. The man in slacks smiled and waved at her the control switch held in his hand.
"I see that you're good but how good are you really? Do you think you can make it up here in time to save him?"
She gripped her weapon until her knuckles turned white, but she couldn't hold back her smile. Otis was still alive! He looked like they had kicked the hell out of him but one eye still opened and looked at her with awe. She knew then that she would give up everything for this man, she had risked a hellfire of bullets and blood to get revenge and the gods had smiled on her. Her man was still alive! And all that barred her way was a pompous little Englishman who watched Scarface one too many times. He had no idea how good she was with a gun.
He smiled at her with a greasy desire.
"I know what you're thinking. Maybe you can shoot me somewhere and my hand won't press the button, but you're wrong. The nerves in my hand will contract and down goes your boyfriend like so much lunchmeat. Not really what you want is it? But not to worry, I can see you've got some worth and I'm willing to work out a deal." His grin told her what kind of deal that would end up being.
"What do you say?"
She looked him dead in the eye as she raised her weapon and fired at the power generator. There was an explosion of sparks and the resulting smoke set off the fire alarm, but all the machines turned off and slowly wound down. The look in the man in slacks eyes gave her the second greatest pleasure she had yet experienced.
"Wait I..." were the last words he ever spoke on this earth and then his head fell apart under the stream of bullets from the SMG in her hands.
Under the blaring red lights and fire sirens she pulled Otis to the platform and unchained him. She held him gently for a moment then held his face in her hands. He would have scars and probably lose his right eye. He looked up at her with his one good eye and softly coughed up words that let her know he would be fine otherwise.
"Hey hero, don't we have a plane to catch?"
She laughed loud and kissed him hard. Before the cops or firemen showed up she carried him out the back way and into the daylight of the street.

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