David Hosp - Among Thieves

The lunge would have been effective had Kozlowski not anticipated it. It was aimed straight at his abdomen, which in most circumstances would have maximized the likelihood of catching him. He’d set his feet, though, and he stepped back and swiveled his torso effectively, twisting just out of the knife’s reach.

Once he was sure he hadn’t been cut, Kozlowski knew the fight was over. The lunge had put Sullivan off balance, weight forward, head down. He was an easy target.

Kozlowski grabbed his wrist with his left hand, just below the knife, and pulled it forward, throwing the man even farther off balance. Then he swung his knee up hard into the outstretched arm, hyperextending the elbow. He was hoping to hear the pop of ligaments and cartilage, but he wasn’t that lucky. It was enough, though, that Sullivan gave out a pained scream and dropped the knife.

Kozlowski raised his right fist and brought it down on the back of Sullivan’s neck. So much of the man’s weight was forward that he fell to the ground on his stomach at Kozlowski’s feet. “Didn’t they teach you to fight any better than this in Walpole?” he asked. “You must’ve gotten your ass kicked up there every day, huh?”

“Fuck you!” Sullivan screamed. He scrabbled toward the knife, which had fallen just a few feet away. Kozlowski cut him off, though, and brought his foot down on the man’s wrist with all his weight just as he was reaching for the weapon. Sullivan screamed out in pain. He recovered quickly, though, and rolled onto his side, swinging his free hand at Kozlowski’s crotch.

The blow glanced off Kozlowski’s thigh, missing its mark. It was close enough, though, that Kozlowski decided it was time to end the matter. Still standing on the man’s arm, he reached into his coat and pulled out his gun. As Sullivan struggled on the ground to free himself, Kozlowski leaned down and put the muzzle against his cheek. Sullivan went still instantly.

“Looks like six years went by too fast for you to learn anything, Mikey,” Kozlowski said. “Shame. All that taxpayer money wasted.”

“Just do it, piece of shit!” the man yelled. “You ain’t even a cop piece of shit no more, so do it! Put a bullet in my fuckin’ head an’ you go off to the fuckin’ MCI! Let’s see how you like it on the inside, I’m sure they’ll love your ass in there! You ain’t shit anymore!”

Kozlowski raised the butt of his gun and drove it into the man’s forehead. The man let out a cackle. “Do it! Muthafucka do it!”

Kozlowski put the barrel of the gun back to the man’s cheek and pulled the hammer back.

“What’s your angle on this?”

Ballick had finished drinking from his thermos, and he lit a cigarette. Finn looked around at the ancient newspapers on the floor and the half-rotted wood in the studs on the walls. He wondered how the place hadn’t burned down. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. You’re a hot-shit lawyer. You can pick and choose your clients. Devon ’s got no fuckin’ money, so what the fuck you care what happens to him?”

“He’s a friend,” Finn said.

“Bullshit. You two weren’t even friends back in the day. I’d bet ten large you haven’t talked to him in a fuckin’ decade. Besides, Devon ’s got no friends. So what’s your interest?”

“He’s got a daughter. I’m trying to help him out.”

“You fuckin’ his daughter?”

“She’s fourteen.”

“Makes me more curious about your answer.”

Finn shook his head in disgust. “It’s not like that. Her mother split. If Devon goes in, she’s got no one to take care of her.”

“So what? How’s that your fuckin’ problem?” Finn didn’t answer. “Well, fuck,” Ballick continued, “if it’s the daughter you’re worried about, give her my phone number. I’m sure I could find work for her.”

“Doing what?”

Ballick shrugged. “She’d make more if she was a little younger. The hard-core perverts think of thirteen as some sort of a fuckin’ cutoff. Still, if she’s cute and she looks young enough, she could lie. Girl like that under the right circumstances can make a shitload of money.” He smiled and his eyes grew smaller.

“Don’t talk about her like that.”

“Like what? I didn’t make this fucked-up world, I just work here.” Ballick shook his head in mock pity. “Girl like that, that kind of background and fucked-up parents, she don’t end up with me she’ll end up with someone worse. Why not me?” He chuckled.

Finn leaned in toward the table. “Maybe I need to be clearer. Stay away from the girl. If I find out you’ve been anywhere near her, I swear to God…”

“You swear to God what?” Ballick asked. He’d lost his sense of humor. “You threatening me, Counselor?” He opened the desk’s top drawer and pulled out a revolver, put it down on the desk. “Let me explain something to you: I got a lotta shit to worry about in my life. You ain’t any part of it. You got that? You wanna come in here and tell me what to do? You wanna threaten me? Maybe I should be clearer. I ever see you again and you won’t have to worry about Devon ’s kid anymore, ’cause I’ll put a bullet in your fuckin’ brain. That clear enough? You ain’t a part of this world anymore; don’t go playin’ like you are.”

“Stay away from her. I’m serious.”

Ballick stood. “No, I’m fuckin’ serious.” He picked up the gun and pointed it at Finn. “This conversation’s over.”

Kozlowski’s finger trembled, tightening on the trigger. “Get the fuck up.”

Sullivan got to his feet. Kozlowski twisted his arm and faced him toward the side of the building. “Hands on the wall,” Kozlowski said. “You’ve done this before, spread ’em.”

Sullivan assumed the familiar pose, leaning forward on the building. “What the fuck you gonna do? Arrest me?”

Kozlowski kicked at the man’s feet. “Farther apart, asshole.” He stuck the barrel of the gun into the man’s back and bent over as he used his free hand to frisk him. His hand slid over the blood and fish guts that covered the apron.

“You can’t arrest me,” the man taunted. “You’re not a fuckin’ cop no more.”

Kozlowski straightened up and put the gun at the base of the man’s skull. “Who said anything about arresting you, Mikey? You been in twice already. Consider this my own version of the three-strikes rule.” He pushed the gun harder into the man’s head, until his face was rubbing against the building’s raw wood siding.

“You can’t fuckin’ kill me!” the man yelled.

“No? Why not?”

The door banged open and Finn stepped out. Ballick followed him, holding a gun. He looked at Kozlowski. “You see what I mean?” he said to Finn. “Once a cop, always a fuckin’ cop.” He raised his gun and pointed it toward the back of Finn’s head. “Okay, if you’re the cowboy, I guess that makes me the fuckin’ Indian. You wanna play?”

“It’s not my fault,” Mikey pleaded with Ballick.

“Shut up, you worthless piece of shit. What do you think, cop? Should we waste ’em both?”

Kozlowski uncocked his gun and lowered it. Ballick did the same.

“Too bad,” Ballick said. “For a second we both had a chance to do some fuckin’ good here today.”

Kozlowski grabbed Mikey by the back of his shirt and pulled him off the building, then shoved him toward Ballick. “Maybe next time.”

Ballick looked at Mikey. “Thanks for keepin’ an eye on this guy.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie.” Mikey barely got the words out before Ballick whipped the gun around, catching him in the face with the butt. He went down instantly.

“I said shut the fuck up.”

“Let’s go,” Kozlowski said to Finn.

Finn nodded and the two of them started walking toward their car. “Hey lawyer-man!” Ballick called out. Finn turned. “You should get to know your fuckin’ client a little better. He’s playin’ you. Swear to God, he’s playin’ you better than I’m gonna play his little girl when she shows up on my doorstep lookin’ for food.”