Anthony Smith - All the Young Warriors

Mustafa must've seen it coming. His eyes went wide. He glanced towards the door, then back to Bleeker. He lurched forward, grabbed Bleeker's head, held it to his torso.

"It's okay. You can do it. Okay."

Bleeker let go. A long tortured moan, muffled by Mustafa's body. Upping the volume and rage, pouring it out. More, more, more, until he ran out of breath and his muscles ached and that was that. Mustafa loosened his grip, patted Bleeker's shoulder.

"You okay? Gonna be okay?"

Bleeker sat back against the wall, wiped his eyes and nose with his sleeve. Said, "Yeah" between sniffles. Said it a few times. He felt his body crawling back down into the cold, the familiar restraint of a true Minnesotan. It was an eruption, that was all. Pushed to the surface, ejected, then turned to stone.

Mustafa again. "You alright?"

"I said I am."

"Come on, man, take a break. Lie down for a while." Mustafa got off the bed, reached down for Bleeker's arm. Bleeker pulled it away.

"Said I'm fine."

"Cool, cool."

Mustafa's pocket buzzed. He pulled out the phone, checked the number, and answered. "Yes?"

Listened for a bit, nodding, answering, "Hm" and "Um hm". Some Somali that Bleeker knew. "Okay". Then a grin. "Okay. He's fine? He looks good?" A sigh. "That's good."

Bleeker rolled to his knees, got off the floor with the help of the wall and desk. It sounded like they were about to make their move.

The conversation got more complicated, so Bleeker tuned out. He hoped Adem would lead them to Jibriil. He hoped to get through this without having Mustafa on his bad side. But if Adem was lying or holding out, Bleeker wouldn't hesitate. Kid deserved as much punishment as his friend in that case.

His sweat on the clothes and the smell of the soap mixed into something like dying flowers. He took in a deep breath. Going to kill somebody soon, that was all there was to it.

Mustafa closed the phone behind him. "Adem's arrived. He had some sort of bodyguard with him, but Warfaa doesn't know Jibriil. Could be him."

"Most likely."

"We'll find out. He says Adem looks okay. Nothing wrong from his point of view."

"Okay. Well…let's do it."

"One more thing."

Bleeker raised his eyebrows, turned around.

"Iles is there, too."

*

TV: loud as it could go.

Mustafa: shouting as loud as he could, tucked around the corner so the guard wouldn't be able to see him when he came through the door. Holding his chair leg.

Bleeker: standing in front of Mustafa so the guard could see him. Giving as good as he got. Barking.

The guard, through the door fast, this time with Carl in tow. Ready to kick ass.

Bleeker grabbed the first guard by the hair and yanked hard, dragged the bastard all the way to the bed. He shouted, "Carl!"

Mustafa got it, already had the chair leg swinging before the ex-Marine got past the corner. A shot to the mouth. Lips split, blood flowing. Carl had to stop in his tracks. Mustafa aimed the next one for his nose.

Connected. Carl went down. Mustafa was on him, kicking his head, then reaching down, pulling out the Taser while Carl's hand flopped around, trying to find it. Mustafa searched more. Shouted, "Just the Taser, nothing else!"

Same thing from Bleeker. He'd already wrapped the guard's hands with phone cord, hit him on the head with the phone to make him stop squirming. Searched all over and came up with the Taser. That was it. "Where's your gun?"

Guard shook his head.

"You're a fucking mercenary! Where's your gun?"

"No, no, really. No guns on guard duty. Tasers only!"

Bleeker heard the buzz before he realized that Mustafa had pumped some volts through Carl. Payback. But it left them with one less gun.

Bleeker ran to the hallway. His guard was already screaming for help. Another couple of guys out in the hall. One on his radio already. Shit.

He heard the chair leg back at work, Mustafa telling the guard on the bed to shut up as he gave him a few knocks.

If these guys in the halls only had Tasers, too.

One went for it. Bleeker gave him the juice. Dropped him to his knees. Bleeker rushed forward, kept the juice up till he was right on the guy, kicked him forward, lifted his shirt and grabbed the Taser.

He got himself turned around in time for the radio guard's prongs to catch on and slap him like a lightning strike. Holy shit it burned. Made his hands tighten on the Taser, had to be sure not to pull the trigger. He needed that gun. His other hand, fingers curled, nails biting into his skin. Teeth biting his tongue.

The radio guard's gaze went past Bleeker, then the burn stopped. Guard was backing up, trying to fire his Taser again. Mustafa ran past Bleeker, chair leg ready. The guard fired. But Mustafa swiped at the air in front of him, wrapped up the barbs and the wire with the bat, slung it aside, and kept on towards the guard, grabbed him by his shirt and threw him down hard on the floor beside Bleeker. Held out his hand. Bleeker's Taser. He handed it over.

He shot the guard in the ass. The tik tik tik tik noise giving way to the man's high-pitched whine, grinding teeth.

Mustafa said, "These things got three charges on them. Get his and you'll have a shot left."

Bleeker picked the barbs off his shirt. One had broken his skin, made him bleed. He made his way to the Taser on aching hands and knees, finally got it, cleared the wires, and tried to stand up.

Mustafa was behind him a second later, lifting him to his feet. "The stairs."

"He called on the radio. They're already headed up."

"Don't care. We've got to try."

There was a stairwell at the far end of the hall, and they slammed through the doors, ready to shock anyone waiting. No one yet, but they heard noise below.

Bleeker said, "Didn't we just do this back in the Cities?"

Mustafa didn't answer. Checked over the railing. Pulled his head back quickly. "They're going to be coming from both sides, elevator and stairs."

More noise below.

They looked at each other, nodded. Headed back into the hall. The elevator was dinging. They got there in time for the doors to open and see four golf-shirted guards with guns ready. Before they could say a word, Bleeker and Mustafa let the Tasers go to work, then hopped one on each side of the doors. Lots of clamoring and yelling in the elevator and the tik tik tik tik tik tik of the electricity. The doors began to slide shut. Mustafa shouldered them open, fell in, Bleeker behind him, grabbing heads and slamming them against the walls of the elevator. The doors slid closed again. Two of the guards were still in shock, while the other fought hard. Bleeker grabbed a wrist, pushed the barrel of the pistol out of his face. Mustafa had grabbed one from a shocked guard.

The elevator lurched and Bleeker found the panel. All the buttons were lit. They were going up before going back down. No way. No fucking way.

Bleeker's guy clamped his free hand around Bleeker's neck. Squeezing tight. He couldn't take much more. He pulled his head back, broke the grip. Slammed his head forward, forehead to forehead. The guard dropped his gun. It clattered to the floor. Bleeker dove for it. Someone was grabbing his collar, nearly ripping the shirt off his back. Someone stepped on the back of his hand. He kicked at a leg or a face or-

The elevator dinged. Third floor. The doors opened. Bleeker turned to see more guards try to rush in. Everyone got slammed against the back wall. Mustafa got one of the stunned guards up on his knees, then standing, sort of, and shoved him against the new wave. They parted and the guy fell to the floor. Bleeker got wise, stood, his foot on the gun, and pushed another one to the doors, almost off. He caught his hands inside on both sides, tried to stay in. Mustafa was kicking, Bleeker was prying the fingers off. A guard behind Bleeker was biting his leg, trying to get the gun from under his feet.