Page 71 of Chubs

“Yeah, because that’s my biggest worry in this world. But, since I’m stuck here with you and would rather not smell you soaked in piss, I’ll take you to the bathroom. Warning you now, though, that if you give me any bullshit, I’ll shoot you in the fucking dick.Capisci?”

“Yeah, asshole, I understand,” Les states.

I ease into the doorway of another bedroom while listening to the sound of the handcuffs jingling. When Les passes the door cuffed in front, I prepare to attack. The agent comes into view but inexplicably turns suddenly to face the room I’m standing in. Our eyes meet, his showing shock, and I lunge.

Slamming into him, I drive his body hard into the opposite wall of the hallway, enjoying the whoosh of air that leaves his lungs. Throwing an elbow at his face, he ducks it, and throws a punch of his own. It lands against my cheekbone and drives me back a step. Before I’ve recovered, he throws another. This one lands hard against my ribs. Then I get a few in on his body.

Les throws his cuffed hands over the agent’s head and bends him backward, giving my punches a clear path. The agent doesn’t give up, though, even outnumbered. The house takes damage as the fight rages on, and I know we need to end this and get out fast. When the agent finally drops to the floor, I see our chance.

“Drop him, and let’s go,” I rasp out, and Les immediately pulls his hands over the agent’s head.

Moving quickly to the back door, I exit and turn to find that Les isn’t behind me. Stepping back inside, I spot my brother rushing through the kitchen with a laptop and phone in hand. I reach out and take the items from him before heading back out the door. As my feet hit the ground, I hear a single gunshot. Whirling, I watch in horror as my brother faceplants in the doorway.

Pulling my handgun, I step over my brother’s prone body and fire once into the house in the direction of the last place I saw the agent. When another shot rings out, and the doorjamb shatters near my head, I drop low to keep Les behind my body. Seeing a flash of movement and knowing the agent is moving down the hallway, I fire again, this time at the wall. Hearing his grunt of pain, I know the bullet has struck home. Walls are seldom good cover, as he just found out.

Stepping around the corner, I find the agent laying on the floor, gripping his left side. I slam my foot on his hand then kick the gun out of his reach. Picking it up and tucking it into my waistband, I make my way back to my brother.

Les is struggling to get to his feet, so I wrap an arm around him and help get him standing. Bending, I pick up the laptop and phone I’d dropped when the shooting started. Then I get my brother moving. I force myself to only think of ways to get away and not about Les’s injury. Pulling him along, I move as rapidly as possible.

We make it to my bike, and I get myself and Les on it before starting it up. I lower Les’s arms over my head and around my waist, hoping he stays conscious during the ride. Still not having spoken, I hit the throttle, roaring away.

Once we’re a few miles away, I slow to avoid drawing attention. Staying away from highways and the interstate, I use smaller and less traveled roads until we reach the hotel. With quick movements, I get Les and I off the bike and into our room. Laying him on the nearest bed, I speak for the first time.

“Where are you hit?” I ask while barely breathing at all the blood covering his clothes.

“Head.”

My stomach bottoms out, and my knees begin to shake. Flipping on all the lights in the room, I turn back to my brother. Les has his cuffed hands up and cradling his head, so I gently pull them down. His hair, head, and face are caked in blood, but I don’t see active bleeding. I grab a washcloth, wet it, and start cleaning off the blood while hoping it’s not serious. When I finally locate the wound, I breathe in relief.

The bullet must have deflected or hit at an odd angle because it didn’t penetrate his skull. It’s deeper than what most would call a graze, and it’s going to leave a hell of a scar along his temple, but Les can live with a scar.

“My fucking head is splitting in half,” Les mumbles.

“It nearly did get split in half, but you’ll survive it.”

“Hurts to even open my eyes.”

“Then don’t,” I answer with a laugh.

“Your only brother is shot in the head, and you’re laughing?” Les accuses indignantly but in a quiet voice.

“Relief-induced laughter. Sorry, brother. I’ll get you some Tylenol. Then I have to go move the bike. I don’t want it sitting out front in case someone got a description,” I explain.

“Need something stronger than Tylenol.”

“It’s the best I can do for now. I need you to stay awake while I’m gone. I shouldn’t be long,” I say as I set a bottle of water and Tylenol on the nightstand.

“Okay.”

Checking myself in the mirror, I change my hoodie to one that’s not covered in blood and wash my hands before leaving the room.

I ride the bike for a few blocks until I find a place to park it. Before jogging back to the hotel, I cross the street and enter an all-night gas station type mini-mart. Walking the aisles, I pick up items we’ll need to lay low for a few days. Luck on my side, I spot spray cans of paint. Buying a few bright red ones, I pay for my stuff and leave. After I check on Les, I’ll return to the bike and change its color.

I find Les in the same position as when I left, except that he’s placed a pillow under his head. Unpacking the bags, I help him sit up against the headboard and realize he’s still cuffed.

“Good thing nobody busted through the door while you were gone. They’d have taken one look at these cuffs and gotten the wrong idea of the kind of man I am,” Les jokes while I work on the locks.

The handcuffs unlock, and I toss them aside. I grab another bottle of water and hand it to Les, watching him closely. His movements appear normal, and my worry lessens a little more. Grabbing the first aid kit, I disinfect the wound, then place a bandage over it.

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