Paul Kirk - Devastation Point

“A brave boy, are you, Renaldo?” asked Phoenix. He was met with a surprisingly chilling stare and a verbal spat of profanity.

“Vai se Foder.”

“Intriguing. Was that Spanish? Portuguese? Italian?”

Larry stepped into Phoenix’s line of sight, persistent. He blocked the view toward the children completely.

“What do you want to do? We going after these guys now? Do we wait until they hole up and have Luke slip in on ’em? Or what?”

“Larry—”

“We don’t have time for your indulgence, right now, Phoenix—”

“I’ll make time!”

Taking a huge risk and fearful of the outcome, Larry pushed on. “Nephew, I gotta say… the men… they’re talkin’ some.”

Angry, Phoenix confronted Larry with a face full of passion. A lust for release was evident, but he did manage to regain his cold, unemotional perspective after a few seconds. “What they sayin’?”

“Bunch of crap… but there’s some talk that everybody’s taking pot shots at us and you’re doing nothing.”

“That it?”

“Um, no, that you’re acting…”

Larry sensed a fury building in Phoenix that might not be able to be controlled. He hesitated.

“Go on, acting like what?”

“Well, like a spoiled kid, they say, distracted, unstrung, not leading us anywhere but to certain death.”

“I want names. All of them.”

The cold demand sent a shiver up Larry’s spine. He refused to let it take hold. “No.”

“No?”

“Because, at a certain level, they’re right. You’re acting… unhinged.”

As expected, Phoenix snatched the Taurus Judge from his belt. The sound of the trigger cocking was heard above Luke’s voice on the radio demanding an immediate response. The gun was placed up to Larry’s forehead. Resigned, he simply smiled.

“Shoot me now, Phoenix. Go ahead. I fuckin’ dare you—”

“Uncle…” Phoenix trembled in anger. Larry, on the other hand, ceased to fear, taking a final step to stand face to face with his nephew. Knowing his life was either over or not, depending on how he’d gauged the depth of his relationship with his nephew, he pressed on. Despite the fury radiating from Phoenix, Larry smiled and placed a gentle hand on his nephew’s shoulder. He had done this same gesture many times in their prior life, when times were easier. He knew he was taking a risk in doing so at the moment.

“You’ll listen to reason just this once, dammit.” Larry’s voice was soft, but persistent.

Phoenix lowered his weapon, letting his anger ebb. Studying Larry’s face, he saw the concern and care evident. Calming further, he glanced at the gun in his hand. He uncocked and placed the gun at his belt and said nothing, waiting for Larry’s next words.

“You ready to lead the men again, Phoenix? Can you do what you do best?”

Phoenix smiled, feeling a persistent and foolhardy anger seep away at the request. Self-analyzing his recent behavior, he saw his actions from the perspective of his men. Intuitively, he knew there was some truth to their statements. Embarrassed, he realized that he’d recently lost that firm element of control, so necessary in commanding men. He recognized that his poor choices had made the men suffer on his behalf. He would not do so again.

“Say something. Quit thinkin’,” suggested Larry. He sensed that he was not out of the woods yet and pushed for a response.

Phoenix nodded, touching the Taurus in his belt. Reviewing the impact of his recent behavior, he gained some modicum of control. He laughed. “I hear you, Larry.” There was a release in Phoenix’s laughter that spoke of reaching an understanding.

“Good. I’m glad—What the hell?” said Larry. He was pushed hard into Phoenix.

“What the fuck, uncle!” said Phoenix, furious and stumbling back a step.

The Beretta was snatched from Larry’s holster and the weapon cocked. Larry tracked the quick shift of the gun in his direction. Collapsing to the ground with his left thigh exploding in pain, he stared at the little girl sitting on the ground not far away, hurriedly slipping out of her leg bindings. Eyes squinted in pain, he saw her stand and start to make her way to the safety of the white pickup nearby.

Writhing in pain, he heard the gun fired four more times only to see Sinclair and Titmouse who were rushing from the truck twenty feet away, drop hard to the ground. They had reacted to the events slower than they should have. Sin was raising his shotgun when he was hit by one bullet center mass with the other passing through his left eye and cheekbone. Titmouse had reached for the gun strapped to his thigh holster when a well-placed shot, center mass in his body armor, stood him straight up in time for the second bullet striking his forehead. Renaldo turned and pointed the Beretta at Phoenix.

“Lead man. Phoenix, you monte de merda! I shoot you die.”

Stunned, Phoenix reached for his gun until Renaldo fired. The bullet streamed right past his left ear. Always sharp in his assessment of men, Phoenix recognized the shot was a purposeful miss, made only to show intent.

“You’re in deep shit, boy.” Phoenix growled.

“To the truck. Now.”

“If I don’t?” Before he said anything further, Phoenix felt the sting of the next bullet, slicing meat off his right triceps. Forcing himself not to wince, he stared at Renaldo.

“I’ll admit, that got my attention.”

“Tell all these men comin’ to hold fire. Hold fire! You hear me? Me or Gabby gets hit you die.”

The events outside Phoenix’s fury rushed in around him, beyond his tunnel vision. He raised his arms quickly to hold off the incoming men. “Hold Fire! Hold Fire!”

Men ran toward them. Many already had rifles and automatic weapons or handguns pointed in their direction. For a brief second, Phoenix wondered if his men would decide to listen.

“Make them stay back, lead man,” suggested Renaldo. His voice was both calm and commanding.

“Stay back! That’s an order. Stay back.” Phoenix glanced at the boy and was, despite himself, quite impressed. And seriously pissed.

Renaldo scanned the men fast approaching, gauging intent. “Walk to the truck. Then, you drive.”

Phoenix turned toward the truck, but Renaldo stopped him. “Wait, puta. Stop. Take out that Taurus. Set it on the ground.”

“Fat chance you fuck.”

“And turn and walk backwards in front of me to the truck.”

“You hard of hearing? I said fat chance.”

Renaldo lined up the Berretta onto his groin. “I will not ask again… Lead man.”

The steel in the young boy’s voice belied his age. Phoenix moved quickly to set the gun on the asphalt. “Can you believe this shit?” Phoenix yelled to the sky and to no one in particular. He ignored Larry writhing on the ground.

“Move!” yelled Renaldo.

Phoenix turned and stumbled forward, the Berretta pressed hard against his spine.

“Stop!”

Phoenix stopped and Renaldo quickly picked up the Taurus.

“Move!”

They made it to the truck where Gabriella sat inside tucked tight onto the passenger floorboards. A black gun from the glove box was in her small hands and aimed in their direction.

“I’ll get in first, lead man. You follow. You drive.”

“Whatever you say, Renaldo.” Numb, like in a dream, Phoenix knew this could not be happening to him. He decided it was best to play along.

“Tell your men not to follow. Make it clear!”

“Don’t follow us! That’s an order. Larry? You understand?”

“I’m gonna kill him!” said Larry.

“Do you understand, Larry?”

“Okay! But, I’m still gonna kill him!”

Phoenix slid into the driver seat, feeling the barrel of the Taurus pushed into his temple. The cocking sound was quite familiar. It made him smile insanely in remembrance until he felt the Berretta also pushed into his side. Glancing quickly, he watched Renaldo study the exit route he planned to take.