Victor Gischler - Gun Monkeys

“You stay put.” I kept the revolver on him. I couldn’t afford to be too curious. The shots would bring the sirens soon enough, but I had this gut feeling that there was more going on here than the after-hours strip club routine. I tried the briefcase, but it was combination locked with a three-digit code. The initials A. A. in gold.

I waved Myron out from under the table. “Open it.”

“Sure, pal. You got it. I’m cooperating, see?” Myron worked the combination, flipped the latch and reached into the case.

I saw his shoulders tense and twisted away from him just as his fat hand came out of the case with a snub-nose revolver. He fired once where my midsection had been. I felt the hot kiss of the slug glance along a rib as it passed through my shirt and jacket. My side grew warm and wet with my own blood.

The.38 jerked in my hand three times. The bullets sprouted red across Myron’s chest. He twitched once and fell across the table, slamming the briefcase closed. Locks clicking shut again.

I checked myself. The wound stung like hell, but it wasn’t too bad. I kicked Myron away from the table and grabbed the briefcase. On my way out, I passed over one of the dead suits. A brassy hint of metal sticking out of his jacket caught my eye. By all the rules, I should have hauled my ass out the back door a long time ago. But some strange little tickle in the back of my brain made me stop and poke my nose into things that were none of my business. My job was done. I should be gone. But that little tickle.

I bent and shoved back the suit’s lapel, revealing the shiny hunk of metal pinned to his vest.

It was a badge.

My heart shifted into passing gear, and I swallowed hard. A quick check revealed three more badges on the others. I’d just pulled the plug on four cops. This wasn’t in the game plan. Not by a long shot. I pocketed one of the badges, picked up my automatics. And left Toppers through the same door I’d come in. Benny and Bob looked impatient.

“Christ,” said Bob. “We almost left you. Get in the van, and let’s get out of here.”

“Listen, guys, something’s fucked up,” I said.

“Something’s always fucked up,” said Bob. “Let’s talk about it in the van.”

I flashed him the badge, and his eyes got big as hubcaps. “I took it off one of the marks in there. There’s three more just like it. Somebody’s not telling us everything. The shit’s going to hit the fan. I just thought we should get ready to duck.”

He looked unhappy. “Goddamnmotherfuckshit.”

“I think we’d better go someplace. Figure this out.”

“The monkey cage.” Benny’s suggestion.

“No,” I said. “I know where. And we can get some breakfast.”

I held a handkerchief to my bleeding side as I climbed into the van. The angry song of sirens chased us into the fading night.

The sun was just percolatingthrough the trees when Benny parked the van in front of the two-story house in Winter Park. I made the boys wipe their feet on the way in.

“That you, Charlie?”

“It’s me, Ma. I got Bob and Benny with me.”

“Hi, boys. I’ll have food for you in a minute.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Swift.” Bob.

“Hope we’re not disturbing you too early.” Benny.

Ma made a noise in the kitchen like that was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard.

Two things: Ma never slept, and there was always something working in the kitchen.

I stuck my nose in the air. A quick sniff was all I needed: eggs, coffee, Canadian bacon. Ma had probably been up an hour, getting grub together for me and Danny. Ma was small and frumpy and motherly with flecks of gray in her auburn hair.

“Let me get a shower, Ma, and I’ll come down for a bite. I’ll get Danny up too.”

“He’s up,” said Ma. “Punching that bag again behind the garage.”

Danny had retreated home after quitting college again. He was supposed to be at Clemson University getting himself educated, but he thought punching the heavy bag and trying to talk Amber out of her clothes every night was a better use of his time. Ma was crazy with the whole situation, and I was supposed to sit down for a brother-to-brother ass-chewing session. I hadn’t had a chance to get around to it.

“It’s too early for boxing,” I said.

“You let him alone. Let him punch. He’s a good boy.” Ma said that because Benny and Bob were listening. When it was just family, Danny was making her “nutso.”

“I’ll get cleaned up.”

“Good. You look like a mess. I’ll feed these boys.” She led Benny and Bob to the kitchen table.

I dragged myself into the upstairs bathroom and slumped heavily onto the toilet. I made a point of taking the briefcase with me. The night’s work had finally seeped into my muscles during the van ride, and I ached all over. I peeled myself out of the bloodstained shirt and went to work on the wound. It was shallow and ugly. I fished the first aid kit out from under the sink. I wiped the wound clean with water first then gave it a second going over with the hydrogen peroxide.

I turned the shower on as hot as I could stand it, bathed, dried, and bandaged the wound. I probably could have used a stitch or two. I made up for it with a few extra strands of medical tape. I slipped into jeans and an Orlando Magic T-shirt and packed last night’s clothes into the hamper. I shuffled back to my room and found Danny waiting for me.

He sat in the window seat, which overlooked the street, his shorts and tank top soaked through with sweat. He’d given the bag a good work-over, and he still wore the gloves. He was a good-looking kid, taller than me, square shoulders and a flat belly. He was a sit-up junky from way back. At twenty-four years old, he was sixteen years my junior, and he’d been a surprise for my folks. Whereas I had a big square mug and a lump of granite for a chin, Danny’s features were sharp, angular jawline. He got that from Ma. I took more after Dad.

Danny pulled off the gloves and pulled the bottom of his tank top up to wipe the sweat off his forehead. It didn’t help much. “Hey, Charlie.”

“Danny.”

“Ma’s got breakfast ready.”

“Yeah. I smelled it. I hope there’s something left when Benny and Bob are through.”

“Ma tell you to tell me to go back to school yet?”

“About twenty times a day.”

He shrugged. “I don’t think school’s for me.”

I tried another strategy. “Ain’t there like ten tons of gorgeous girls running around campus? You don’t want to give that up, do you?”

“None of them are as good as Amber.”

I couldn’t disagree.

“Actually, I thought I might go to work.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I thought maybe you could take me on down at the monkey cage.”

I made myself chuckle at him even though it wasn’t very damn funny. “What the hell do you know about that?”

“Come on, Charlie. I hear you talking with those other guys. I know what goes on. I’m not a bookworm, okay? I’ve been in and out of college three times. I’m not cut out for it.”

“So what then?”

He flipped back the spare blanket at the foot of my bed. Underneath was my little Mac-10 machine pistol, the spare clips and the flash suppressor. The firing pin was busted, and I hadn’t gotten around to fixing it yet. Also, a 9mm Browning automatic, three Marine combat knives, and a stun gun.

“We’ll talk later,” I said. “I’ve got the boys downstairs.”

Around the kitchen table three men frowned around mouthfuls of eggs and bacon. I was one of them. Coffee. Biscuits. More frowning. Ma had gone about her business. Let the boys talk.

We were all thinking the same thing. I didn’t need to be a mind-reader. Dead cops. Now what?