Page 30 of Shockproof

“It seems like the special is the same ol’ same ol’. Securing the target served in a tall glass to be garnished with an ice cold kill you cherry on top.”

Exactly as predicted.

No one who isthis goodat what they do would ever leave loose ends.

That’s sloppy.

Sloppiness makes it easier for you to get caught.

Eliminated.

And while eliminating whoever is trying to eliminate my woman ismymission, being eliminated themselves is not theirs.

“You’ve got a member of Guns and Roses about to knock on Heaven’s Door,” Blu announces prompting my next actions to take motion.

“Bob Dylan,” I needlessly correct while snatching up the baking soda, cayenne pepper mix to be thrown into the bag.

“What?”

“Bob Dylan wrote the original version for the moviePat Garrett and Billy the Kid.” Putting the items inside and sealing it closed is what happens next. “I think it definitely belongs on the list of the greatest westerns of all time, but Angel Cake begs to differ because it doesn’t feature Eastwood.”

“Everyone knows if Eastwood’s not in it then it doesn’t count.”

Irritation over the asinine comment clashes into determination to focus on the task at hand. “We’ll finish this fuckin’ convo at the bar.”

“Affirmative.”

Leaning slightly around the edge of the wall gives me a clear view of the knob being jiggled. I toss the chemical compound in that direction, retrieve my weapon, and cautiously watch as the handle is shot off to grant the intruder access to the building. Unfortunately for him, mere seconds after he opens the door, the Ziploc bag explodes sending a toxic mixture similar to that of pepper spray and tear gas into the air. The black masked man thoughtlessly inhales a large mouthful, not only choking himself, but leaving him open for an easy kill. Knowing he’s got on a protective vest – at the very least – has me firing off a round straight through his Adam’s apple. Blood gushes from the created hole adding to his suffocating status which causes him to lose the hold on his weapon. It crashes to the ground at the same time I pierce each of his thighs with a bullet, hitting the femoral arteries to ensure he bleeds out.

From the front of the room, a secondary entry is executed, and I instantly lower myself to be unseen behind the bar, still gripping the bottle of Wilcox.

“Perimeter breached,” announces one of the men. “Package is insight.” The shortest pause is presented prior to another statement. “Affirmative, sir. Faxon, secure the package. Tompkins you’re with me.” I slide myself over into my defensive position. Wait for additional movement. “Remember, locate the target, confirm identity, and then eliminate.”

Sudden coughing sounds inform me of Tompkins’s location like I planned. “Fuck!” More hacking noises reverberate around the room. “We’ve got…gas?” Another round of poor attempts to breathe precede. “Poison gas! The shit burns my eyes! I can’t-” Groans of agony increase alongside his footsteps. “Fuck, Horgan! I can’t see shit!”

The proclamation is my cue to toss the bottle up into the air next.

“Located!” shouts one of them, pushing them to both turn the same direction and fire.

Poor situational awareness results in them each clipping one another in the shoulder. Their momentary disorientation allows me to slide out into the broken glass pieces where I promptly unload a round into Tompkins’s knee, whip my weapon in the opposite direction to fire one into Horgan’s groin muscle, and snap it back to the first assailant just in time to send what should be a kill shot through his right eye. Rather than wait for confirmation of his demise, I rotate my firearm and aim it once more at Horgan, delivering a second bullet to his ankle, needing to keep my discharges low to avoid turning Consuelos – who I can’t see due to her escaping her confines – into a casualty. He grunts and grumbles and staggers. Fumbles his grip on his weapon. I shift my focus slightly upward, preparing to clip his arm, when his entire frame is forced forward courtesy of the aforementioned freed woman kicking him in the back of his knee. In tandem, we each squeeze the triggers to our guns. His round – to no surprise – ricochets off the side wall – missing me entirely – while mine soars through his open mouth, piercing his uvula during its trajectory. Blood sprays on the petite female near him and just as the projectile wedges itself into a framed photo on the far wall, she stomps her foot on the back of his neck and unloads three slugs into the side of his skull.

I shift my body and stare upward at the same time Consuelos states, “Greatest western of all time has got to go toEl Topo.” She keeps her weapon pointed downward at the corpse she created. “Alejandro Jodorowsky is fucking legendary.” The offhanded shoulder shrug threatens to have me crack a smile. “I mean yeah, I do stunt work now, but I used todreaaammmmof being in an Alejandro Jodorowsky classic.”

“Yeah, experimental film shit isn’t somethin’ I’ve ever really gotten into.” Aiming my firearm at the door is followed by her doing the same. “But pump enough tequila into the situation, and I’m a lot more willin’ to try.”

“Aren’t we all?” Consuelos good naturedly jabs back.

“Look who almost missed bar trivia with us,” Blu playfully announces while pushing his zip tied captive forward. “I made sure he cancelled his ride share so he could stick around.” Another hard shove sends the assailant straight towards me. “His mouth may be sealed now but before it got that way, he wanted me to tell you thatDead Manshould be on the greatest western list, too.” Amusement is thrown in my direction in the form of bouncing eyebrows. “Pun unintended.”

“Blu.”

“Fuck, alright, fine. Great pun very much fuckingintended.”

“Mediocre.”

“Fuck you. That shit wassuper clever.” He forcefully nudges the masked individual onto the nearest barstool. “Sit.” My best friend lifts his own pistol to press against the person’s forehead. “First round is on you, buttercup.”

The three of us rotate our positions so that I’m directly in front for interrogation, leaving them to assist from the sides. “Consuelos,mask.”

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