Frank Zafiro - Blood on Blood

His knees go all shaky and I give him another hard left hook to the side, same place the first one landed. I put everything into it because the opening was there and I knew it would land.

He lets out a loud grunt and a yelp. He doubles over.

I take a slow step back.

He’s turned sideways to me now and stays bent over. His face is one big grimace.

This is over. Enough is enough. It is Mick.

It’s over, but I’m not done. One more, just for old time’s sake. I want him on the ground. I come in close and low, giving him an uppercut of my own.

He’s still bent over at the waist when he finally goes over and he catches the edge of a booth on the way down. On the floor now, he tries to get up to his knees but he can’t. Tries again and can’t. Then he just kind of curls up and gets still. I think he’s probably got one or two busted ribs. I watch him for a second more but he ain’t moving.

I realize I got to get the fuck out. I can’t believe nobody has called the cops yet. Probably too good a fight to watch. Plus, real fights never take too long. This ain’t a fuckin’ movie.

I scan the room, looking at people square in the eye and moving on to the next.

“We’re both cops here, both undercover, so be smart and don’t get yourselves tangled up in this shit. This is a department problem and we’ll handle it. There’s two marked patrol units on the way.”

They all just stare at me with big eyes.

I take out a big wad of money and lay it on the lunch counter, next to that I lay two fifties.

The cook is looking at the money and the dollar signs are ringing in his head. He could give a fuck about the mess and his waitress on the floor.

“Cookie, first pile is for damages and the people with food on them. Plenty enough there. Plenty, and then some. The two Grants are for you and Kinky over there. For…you know, like, mental hardship.”

One more look over at Mick. This crazy shit might have worked out best. Probably bought me even more time. He still ain’t moving much.

But I am. The bank is less than two blocks down. My legacy is waiting for me.

Mick

Everything hurt. My head, my side, my hands.

“Officer? You all right?”

I exhaled, and even that hurt. I kept my breathing shallow and blinked. Why was he calling me officer? I wasn’t a cop any more.

You was never one of us. Never a cop. Not for real.

“He’s a detective, asshole,” said another voice in a thick Chicago accent.

“How do you know that?” came the first voice again.

“He’s in plain clothes. ‘Sides, the other cop said they were detectives.”

“No, he said they were undercover.”

“Only detectives go undercover, dumb ass.”

“Like you know.”

I gave my head a little shake. Explosions of light and pain greeted that action, but things came into slightly better focus. I was lying on the diner floor. I could taste blood in my mouth. Several people stood over the top of me, looking down. Some had concern on their faces, but most just looked curious.

“You all right, detective?” asked a man in a Member’s Only jacket. His thick Chicago accent betrayed only marginal interest in my well-being. It was like he only wanted to know so he could round out the story he was going to be telling his buddies at the neighborhood bar later tonight.

“Fine,” I said, but my voice sounded funny to my ringing ears. There was a thick quality to it, like my internal software hadn’t reset to the point where the fine motor skills were running at a hundred percent.

“You don’t look fine,” Member’s Only said.

I was tired of this conversation already. I shook my head again, and this time the fireworks weren’t as pronounced. Everything started tumbling back into place. Jerzy. The earrings. The password.

The bank.

I pushed myself to one knee. The slicing pain in my ribs sent shock waves through my entire body. I needed to see a doctor. Probably get a CAT scan, considering the sledgehammer force of Jerzy’s punches. At least get these ribs taped.

Later.

After.

I grabbed onto the edge of a booth and pulled myself up to my feet with a grimace. There was a slight fluttering of “awwws” from the assembled group.

“You might want to wait for the ambulance, mister,” Member’s Only said. “That other cop hit you pretty hard.”

Other cop? I knew she was talking about Jerzy, but where did she get the idea he was a cop? Then I realized he must’ve lied about it to help cover his escape.

“No time,” I grunted. “How long ago did he leave?”

“A couple of minutes, is all. Less than five.”

I could hear sirens in the distance. Police, not ambulance. Maybe they were for me, maybe not. I couldn’t wait around to see.

“When the uniforms get here, tell them there’s a dope deal gone bad three blocks over.” I pointed in the opposite direction of the bank. “Tell them they’re looking for Officer Harding.”

“That’s you, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said. Then I turned and staggered toward the door.

The chill April air cleared my head just a little more. I was able to churn myself up to a fast, shuffling walk, but when I tried to break into a trot, the pain was too much. So I lowered my head and walked on as fast as I could. People streamed past me. One lady was in mid-sentence when I slipped by her, saying, “It looks like it’s over there,” but whether she meant the diner or something else, I couldn’t say.

I didn’t dare look back over my shoulder, just in case some inquisitive uniform cop happened to be looking my direction at the same time. I had to get to the bank.

Behind me, the sirens drew closer. A few moments later, I heard the screech of tires skidding to a stop. By then, I was too far away to hear any voices or even if there was a crowd formed making tell-tale crowd noises.

I kept on.

No one stopped me.

As I passed a beauty salon, I glanced to my left. My reflection stared back at me in the big glass window. Except for a small smear of blood on my lip, I didn’t look that bad. My hunched over, shuffling gait was the only thing that looked suspicious. Purposefully, I slowed to a normal walking speed, forcing myself into a regular stride. Twinges of pain leapt up anew with every step and I could tell that I was walking slower than usual, but not so slow as to attract attention. Especially at two blocks away.

I wiped away the blood on my lip, then reached up and touched my ear. The skin and cartilage felt hot beneath my fingers. The entire side of my head throbbed in counterpoint to the stabbing pain in my ribs. I spit into an empty doorway, leaving a red splotch on the steps.

Suddenly, I was there. Bank of America. Blue and red lines painted above glass doors. I pushed the door open and went inside.

The bank was huge, taking up several floors. I shuffled over to a directory and looked for safe deposit boxes. It took me several passes down the list before I realized it was under Member Services.

Fourth floor.

I walked carefully to the elevators. I passed an ancient security guard armed with a revolver, but he didn’t give me a second glance. The bell dinged and I got on.

As soon as I stepped out onto the fourth floor, there were arrows pointing me the way. I arrived at the safe deposit desk in short order. No sign of Jerzy anywhere. He’d only had a two or three minute head start on me, so even if you figure he ran up here and I had to walk, he was what? Four minutes ahead? Five? How could he be inside so quick?

I got my answer a moment later. A short, rotund man in a nice suit appeared at the counter as soon as I did. “May I help you, sir?”