This is something of a sequel to a story I wrote back when between my freshman and sophomore years at UCSC. I was staying in Sunnyvale with my friends, Venus and Shawn. Between our apartment and the Orchard Supply Hardware where I worked that summer was a Pak N Save grocery store and I wrote a little piece about two hit men driving a Duster through Pak N Save. It was good, ridiculous fun. Last year I wanted to check in on those two hit men — see what’s become of them after all these years. That’s when I started this story. I got away from it, but today’s Story Day gave me a great opportunity to finish it.
There were two hot women. Blondes. Really hot blondes. Then that noise… why did one of these blondes sound like Samuel L. Jackson…
“Shit! My phone,” Teddy groaned groggily as the two hot blondes receded like smoke from a vape pen and consciousness rushed in. He blinked against the light coming in through the half-drawn blinds. The phone continued to “ring” – “It’s the one that says, ‘Bad Motherfucker’”. Pause. Pause. Pause. “It’s the one that says, ‘Bad Motherfucker’”. The scene from “Pulp Fiction.” He’d set that ring tone up a long time ago…why? “Oh shit, it’s Vince!” He lurched across the bed for the phone and in the process he jostled the still-sleeping brunette… Shit, he thought, What the fuck is her name?
“It’s the one that says, ‘Bad Motherfucker’” the phone declared.
“Sorry… uh… babe…” he lurched for the phone on the nightstand again this time grabbed it and hit the answer button. “Vince? Is that you?”
“Good morning, Teddy,” came Vince’s smooth baritone. “I hope I woke you,” he laughed.
“No, uh, no, I’ve been up for a while…” Teddy lied.
“What the fuck?” the brunette groaned.
“Shh,” Teddy urgently held up a quieting finger to his lips. The woman rolled her eyes and started to get out of bed.
“Heh, sounds like you have company.”
“Well, uh, you know…”Teddy watched the brunette (what was her name?!) walk across the bedroom to the bathroom. Snapping back to the call, “how’s Seattle treating you?”
“Good,” Teddy could hear the grin across the phone. “Too much goddamn rain, but other than that it’s real good. Better than the fucking Bay Area. That shit’s bananas.”
“Yeah… yeah,” Teddy agreed. He didn’t think it was bananas, but he knew it wasn’t worth arguing over. He’d never won an argument with Vince and in his half-awake state this wouldn’t be the first, so better not to start it.
“You still in that shit-hole outside of San Jose?”
“Technically, Vince, Alviso was annexed by San Jose…”
“Still a shit-hole.”
Teddy heard the shower turn on. “It’s my shit-hole.”
“Well,” Vince said, pausing, “It’s about to get a lot more crowded.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“This ain’t exactly a social call, Teddy.”
“No?”
“No. You fucked up gooooooood, Teddy.”
“What are you talking about?” Teddy asked nervously.
“Why did you kill the fucking dog, Teddy?”
“What fucking dog–” he tried to remember… oh shit. Two months ago he was on a job. It was a sniper gig. Dude was some asshole lawyer in a McMansion in Danville. Teddy had set up on the hillside behind his house. He had good line of sight into the kitchen and waited until the target got home… The dog! The wind shifted and the dude’s Rottweiler must have scented Teddy because he started barking towards him. The asshole was on his cell phone and just put the dog outside. Once released outside the dog started a beeline up the hillside towards Teddy. While a chain link fence separated him from the dog, he didn’t want the dog to get the asshole’s attention. So, Teddy shot him. The asshole didn’t hear the silenced report of the rifle. Teddy did feel bad for it, but a moment later the asshole moved into plain view and Teddy took his shot. The muffled gunshot wouldn’t attract attention, but the shot shattered the double-paned kitchen window, and the asshole pulled over a full dishrack of pots and pans as he dropped – it was almost comedic how much noise he made as he fell. Teddy hurried to get away as quietly as he could and mostly forgot about the dog… “Oh shit, that dog.”
“Ah, he remembers!” Vince mocked.
“What of it, though?” Teddy asked. “It was just a fucking dog. His owner’s dead now, so what’s the big deal?”
“The big deal? The big deal?!” Vince raised his voice. “First, Teddy, you killed a fucking dog. What the fuck, man? Dogs are awesome, man. That’s bad enough and I’d probably kill you just for that.”
Teddy wasn’t sure if Vince was serious or not.
“More importantly, though,” Vince went on, “That wasn’t the dude’s dog.”
“No?”
“No. He was dog-sitting.”
Teddy swallowed hard. “For who?”
“My boss.”
“Fuuuuck,” Teddy drew out the vowel.
“You got that right. Took us a while to figure out who did the job. When we did my boss told me to take care of you myself,” Vince said.
“You?”
“Yeah. But we’ve got history, man. That means something. I told him as much. I said I would have to, what’s that… ‘recuse’ myself,” he annunciated with a little satisfaction.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Teddy repeated. In the back of his head he heard the water shut off in the bathroom. “So… what now?”
“Well, just because you and I’ve got history don’t mean he don’t want you very, very dead. So he put out an open contract on you.”
“An open contract?!” Teddy sat bolt upright as his blood turned to ice. An open contract meant that instead of one person trying to kill him, now it was open season for Teddy hunting.
“I was hoping the Alviso address was old and that you’d long since moved out of that shit-hole.”
“N..n..nope,” he stuttered.
“Yeah, I gathered that.” Vince let out a long sigh, “Well, I’m guessing you’ve got the better part of two hours head start.”
“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” Teddy muttered, then reined in his panic. “Vince? Why did you call me to tell me this?”
“Man, we’ve got history. Besides, now you owe me two.”
“Two? What was the other one?”
“Pak’n’Save, motherfucker, Pak’n’Save.”
Teddy chucked nervously at the memory of the first time Vince had saved his life.
“One more reason,” Vince said. “My boss is on his way down there now.”
“If he put out an open contract on me, why is he coming down here himself?”
“He’s an old school motherfucker. Something about wanting to spit on your corpse.”
“Dude, that is old school,” Teddy agreed.
“Yeah, well, I mention it because he’s not packing himself, so if you live that long I’d greatly appreciate you not capping him. I don’t want to have to look for another employer, dig?
“Yeah… I’ll try not to…”
“Alright, Teddy, good luck, man. Tick tock!” He hung up.
“Vince? Vince?” Teddy yelled futilely into the phone.
“Who’s Vince?” The voice from behind him made Teddy actively leap. It was the brunette.
“Oh shit… you scared me,” Teddy said, catching his breath.
“Seriously?” dressed in a towel, she looked around for her clothes.
“He’s an old… acquaintance.”
“So, you two killed people together?” she asked nonchalantly.
“Wha? No… I mean… we… shit… we were… acquaintances!”
“Chill the fuck out, dude. I don’t give a fuck. Have you seen my bra?”
“Your… no… no I haven’t,” he said blankly. He was trying to plan his next move. Two hours. Maybe less. Shit.
“Wait, I didn’t wear one. Ha!” she laughed. It was a good laugh. Not a coquettish, sexy laugh. A genuine, chuckle. He really liked it.
Less than two hours. Shit. He needed a plan… he didn’t have a plan. No one ever accused Teddy of being a planning kind of guy – he knew that and was okay with that. But now he really needed a plan and no one was going to give him one… That’s inspiring, he thought, rise to the occasion, Teddy! …But I still don’t have a plan. He tried to think through scenarios, but scenarios didn’t come – scenes did: him face down in a pool of his own blood; him blown into a million pieces; him being held underwater… This wasn’t helping. Okay, I don’t have a plan, but I have guns. Guns, he thought. Yes! I need my guns!
“Guns, hon?” The brunette asked.
“Shit, did I say that out loud?”
“You did.”
“How much?”
“Just ‘guns’,” she said tying her low-rise Doc Martens. “But you were pretty excited about it,” she adjusted her wrinkled dress, picked up her purse, and started for the door.
Teddy followed her. “It’s not that I have a fixation on guns, you know…”
“It’s okay, whatever,” she said as she started fishing through her purse for her keys.
“They’re not even here. I have to go get them.”
Her hand closed around the keys as her other hand closed on the front door. “What’s not here?” She asked as she started to pull the door open.
“Guns,” he said and immediately wished he hadn’t. The brunette opened the door to reveal a tall, thin man with a hairline so receded it might as well have been in a different zip code. His threadbare checked sport coat may have been in fashion once, no, never mind. It wasn’t ever in fashion. Anywhere.
Hand raised and poised to knock on the now-open door, his unshaven face split into a grin that looked like it showed true glee for the first time in years – you could practically hear the creaking of his face as the corners of his mouth rose. “Guns, Teddy? Oh no,” he tsked. “That’s a big no-no. Major parole violation. You know that,” his grin turned from glee to predatory.
“Whoa,” the brunette said. She looked back and forth between the parole officer and Teddy, started to ask something, stopped and just said, “I’m out of here.”
Both men watched her walk across the barren dirt of what passed as Teddy’s front yard. Neither spoke as she climbed into her beat up Jeep, started it, and drove away. “Mr. Charles!” Teddy snapped back to the here-and-now. “We’re not supposed to meet until next week.” Shit. Shit. Shit, this was not what he needed right now.
“Yes, this is a surprise inspection, Teddy,” Charles said, having scented proverbial blood in the water. “And a good thing, too. If you’re in possession of firearms, Teddy…”
“Mr. Charles, I don’t have any firearms. Look, I really don’t have time for this – can we just do this next week?”
“Really? Because this sounds like you’re hiding something, Teddy.” He stretched to peer theatrically over Teddy’s shoulders into the gloom of the room beyond. “I’m going to have to search this place. Now.”
“Mr. Charles, no, really, I don’t have time, seriously. I was just on my way out.”
“I can take you to jail right now. How would you like that?”
Teddy had another scene – an inmate taking money from a hit man and beating him to death in the holding pen. “Fine, fine, Mr. Charles,” Teddy moved aside to let the man in. “Please hurry, though. I don’t have time.” Time, time… how much time did he have? Two hours when Vince had called. How much now? Ninety minutes? Less?
Charles pulled out a pair of disposable blue nitrile inspection gloves out of his inner jacket pocket (did he always carry gloves in his pocket, Teddy wondered) and slowly pulled them on before sauntering into the house.
The man was thorough, Teddy had to give him that. And an asshole. He’d only met with Mr. Charles a few times since he was released, and he already hated him. His last parole office, Terry (he insisted on Teddy calling him by his first name), actually wanted Teddy to succeed. That was a far cry from Mr. Charles. Maybe that’s why Terry got shot – he wasn’t enough of an asshole (if I live through this, I should find out who killed Terry and cap him just for me getting stuck with Mr. Charles, he thought. Whoa, that was almost a plan!). Charles used a little flashlight to methodically look over every surface in the small, cluttered modular house. Then he started going through kitchen drawers, and then under couch cushions. As he continued searching without any results, Charles became increasingly, visibly frustrated and he started to vocalize the widening of his mental net. “No guns here,” he said, opening a kitchen cabinet, “But what about drugs, Teddy? Are you hiding drugs in here?”
“No, Mr. Charles, no drugs,” Teddy responded dryly.
In the bedroom, before opening the closet he predicted, “No guns, but maybe… sex slaves?!” Charles pulled back the flimsy accordion door to reveal… clothes.
“No sex slaves, Mr. Charles.”
A loud knock came from the front door and Charles’ head whipped around to meet Teddy’s eyes. “Expecting someone, Teddy? Your dealer, maybe?”
“No dealer, Mr. Charles,” he said as Charles started quickly for the front door. He had already cleared the bedroom before Teddy yelled, “Mr. Charles! Don’t—”
Four gunshots rang out. Teddy hurried into the room to see the bright morning sun pouring through four holes in the front door, and Mr. Charles slump to his knees, and then to the floor.
Teddy didn’t have time to react before four more shots blew four more holes into the front door – these spaced wider now, trying to pepper the rest of the room. Teddy scurried back into the small kitchen space as the shooting stopped. The front door exploded open, as the shooter hammered it with a solid kick.
Teddy looked frantically around, grabbed the first thing he could and advanced on the door. Teddy recognized he’d lived to this point, surviving what he had because he’d come to accept his limitations as well as his strengths. He’d already accepted this morning that he wasn’t good with names (What was that brunette’s name? She had such a great laugh…), nor at planning, but one thing he was good at was fighting.
The shooter stepped briskly into the now-smoky house, gun at the ready. Teddy, though, was faster. No sooner had the man entered the house than Teddy slammed the cast iron skillet – his grandmother’s – into the shooter’s forehead with full force. As the heavy pot connected, Teddy was glad he hadn’t switched to a non-stick skillet. As the shooter crumpled to the ground Teddy thought his grandmother would be proud.
He rolled the shooter – no, now this guy would be known as “Pan Head” – over and checked for a pulse – faint, thready, fading fast. Dead, Teddy thought, prying the Glock from his hand, and patting his pockets down. His caved-in skull distorted his face, but Teddy thought he’d run in to Pan Head before. Must be local, he thought as he looked at his watch. Maybe an hour more before the out-of-town guys got here. Extra magazine, Benchmark folding knife, wallet with a hundred in mixed bills and no ID, key ring with a car key, house key, and a chipped “Welcome to Florida” keychain. Teddy pocketed everything, grabbed his own keys off the small table next to the door and went outside. He carefully closed the front door, having to push Pan Head’s body in a bit further clumsily with his foot, and then cursing as he realized the doorframe was shattered and the door wouldn’t close anymore.
He moved quickly to the trunk of the Pan Head’s Honda. He found what he expected: shotgun (Remington 870, serviceable ), shells, more 9mm ammo and two more magazines in an unzipped duffel bag. He ejected the magazine from the Glock, reloaded the spent bullets, replaced the magazine in the gun, racked the slide and slid it into the waistband of his jeans behind his back. He tossed the duffel back into crew cab of his sun-bleached white Chevy S10. The truck had seen its prime – such that it can be called “prime” – a decade ago in the service of Caltrain, a fact Teddy realized as the engine turned over and over and over and started to slow with the draining battery current until one of the aged cylinders caught with a wheeze that erupted into a roar as the other seven cylinders joined in. He slammed the transmission into reverse and spun dirt until the tires caught, then changed to “drive” and punched it.
Teddy wasn’t going far – Alviso was only a few square miles, hedged in by Highway 237 on the west side, the San Jose water reclamation plant to the south, the southernmost tip of the San Francisco Bay to the east, and long-buried asbestos-dump-fill to the north. Cutting through the northern part of town, train tracks led from San Jose out into the marshland. The last car of the Amtrack Capitol Corridor Express roared down the tracks as he turned onto Elizabeth street (No, it wasn’t Elizabeth, I’d have remembered that…). He crossed the tracks and pulled into a gravel lot in front of a jetty running out into the marsh through a wooden façade with a giant “5” painted in black next to the inset chain-link locked door. Engine barely turned off, Teddy fumbled with his keys as he hurried down the uneven wooden jetty. Finding the right key, he unlocked the gate and ran through. On the other side, the jetty ran over the pickleweed and mud marsh and down to a few boats moored far down in clear water.
He jogged to a white and pale blue flat-bottomed boat. The blistered and chipped paint desperately needed a scraping and re-painting probably a decade ago; in its present condition it looked properly derelict. But the hulking black Honda outboard gleamed in the morning sun in its raised position, bobbing only slightly as Teddy stepped into the craft. He lifted the cushion from the aft bench revealing a key lock set into the wood. Once again, he fumbled with the keys, finally unlocking the bench lock and hinging it back revealing that the wood covered a long safe built into the bench. Packed neatly into the safe was Teddy’s arsenal: military issue MP4 carbine, Glock 19 similar to the one he had taken off the shooter earlier, a Colt M1911 .45, a giant Desert Eagle .50, ammunition for the different guns, and extra magazines. His had stowed his sniper rifle and another cache of weapons out in the ghost town of Drawbridge out in the marsh – he wouldn’t have time to get out there on the train tracks, but this should be enough. He set the Glock and MP4 aside and set to loading several magazines when he heard the wheels of a truck on the gravel lot he had parked in.
He whipped his head up and saw an unfamiliar black Ford pull in hesitantly before driving on. Teddy stayed frozen still and listened. The truck did drive off… but not very far. He heard the door open and close deliberately, carefully, trying to keep it as quiet as possible. Without moving his head, Teddy quietly slid a magazine into the MP4 and racked the slide. If this guy was going to come up the jetty, Teddy was going to take him out before he cleared the gate. But he didn’t, which didn’t surprise him – if it were him he’d have waited until he came back to his truck and plugged him then. Yeah, that’s how he’d do it. He set the safety on the MP4 and looked around at his surroundings. At the end of the end of the jetty, he was literally at a dead end.
He closed the safe and lowered the cushion. Looking over the edge, he saw that the tide was out. That was something. Though he also knew that the marsh mud would swallow him with his first step. He tore the two wooden-backed bench cushions off and tossed one into the marsh, carefully stepping over the transom, gingerly putting his weight on the cushion. As he stepped fully onto the cushion it sank into the marsh.. and stopped. He stepped to the edge and tossed the second cushion down in front of him, balancing carefully as he stepped onto the second cushion. Pulling the first cushion from the muck he tossed it in front of the second one. In this precarious way he made his way from jetty “5” to jetty “6”. He pulled himself up onto the jetty and tip toed up the gently bobbing walkway to the gate. He turned the knob as quietly as he could and slowly opened the gate, squeezing through the opening instead of risking a squeaky hinge. Easing his head out he spotted this hitter, his back to Teddy, kneeling behind the “5” gate. Yep, this guy was now “Number 5”. He raised his arm with the Glock and took aim… and the gate squeaked.
Teddy staggered out from behind the gate as Number 5 stood up and spun around, bringing his gun up. Teddy brought his gun up as well, but tripped on the curb as he moved away from the gate and started to fall forward just as Number 5’s gun fired twice. Had Teddy been standing he’d be dead. But he wasn’t standing. He was flat on his face… but he held his gun arm steady and squeezed off two shots as he hit the ground. One shot went high, but the other clipped Number 5’s shoulder. As Teddy’s chin hit the ground he could tell he bit his tongue hard, tasting blood, but he kept focused and fired again hitting Number 5 in the leg. Damn.
But between the shoulder and the leg shot, Number 5 was hobbled and his gun clattered to the ground. Teddy scrambled to his knees, taking aim and shot twice more. This time his shots were on target and Number 5 fell to the ground. Teddy got to his feet and limped over to the body – he definitely pulled something. He kicked the gun away and then toed the shooter’s body. Nothing. “Number 5 is NOT alive!” He yelled, then felt stupid and hurried to his truck.
Slumping into his seat, he closed his door, panting. The adrenaline pumped hot through his veins. “Time’s up, I guess,” he said aloud as he looked pointlessly at his watch, or so he thought, then looked at it again. “Huh, Vahl’s is open!” He started the truck and moved out of the lot, backtracking a few blocks to Vahl’s Restaurant & Cocktail bar – an Alviso institution. He took a small measure of comfort in the empty parking lot and pulled a U-turn to park on the street in front of the flat-roofed restaurant. He walked through the door and passed the empty tables, making a beeline for the far end of the long bar.
“Everything okay?” The bartender had the build of an ex-boxer and the crooked nose to match.
“Hey Jerry,” Teddy looked up. “JD straight. Double.”
“So, no, everything’s not okay.”
Teddy chuffed an imitation of a laugh, “No, I’m pretty far from okay today.” He stole a glance at the door.
Jerry followed his gaze. “Expecting company?”
“Hope not. It wouldn’t be the welcome kind.”
Jerry grunted acknowledgement as he set the glass of amber liquid in front of Teddy.
Neither spoke for long minutes. Teddy picked up the glass, regarded it, took a long sip, set the glass down and checked the door. A few minutes later he repeated the steps. As the level of whiskey precipitously lowered, so did Teddy’s guard such that the bell over the front door rang startling him. He tensed, reflexively reaching for the gun in his waistband as he looked over to see a clean cut white kid in khakis and a polo shirt monogrammed with the logo of one of the thousands of vowel-deficient startups that seemed to reside within a dozen mile radius. Teddy relaxed as the tech bro surveyed the dining room before making his way to a stool in the middle of the bar. Teddy kept the Tech Bro in his peripheral vision while he studied the small bit of whiskey left in his glass. Tech Bro ordered a gin and tonic – except he called it a fucking “G and T”. Teddy now really hated this guy and started to ponder his ongoing internal dialogue of whether Silicon Valley and the army of Tech Bros had finally encroached too far into his Alviso sanctuary.
He was well on his way to convincing himself it had when Tech Bro spoke up. “Excuse me, bartender? And,” he turned to Teddy, “I’m looking for a guy who’s supposed to live around here. His name is,” he fished a piece of folded up printer paper out of the back pocket of his khakis, the motion revealing the bulge of a gun handle in the front of his waistband. “Umm, Edward Doyle. Apparently, he goes by ‘Teddy’ as well. Lives a few blocks over…?”
Jerry’s eyes locked onto Teddy’s and in the course of several seconds they communicated an entire conversation wordlessly through only subtle eye brow gestures. The conversation went like this:
“Teddy, why the fuck is this kid looking for you?”
“Remember I said things were not okay?”
“Is your name really ‘Edward’?”
“This is really not the time, Jerry. You know he’s got a gun, right?”
“You do too, and do I need to remind you about violence in this—”
“No, Jerry, I know. You might need to let the Tech Bro know, then.”
“You can count on it if it comes to that.”
“Oh, it’s going to come to that really quickly.”
“You know that?”
“I do.”
“How do you know—”
By that point Tech Bro noticed the two were exchanging an awfully long stare, put two and two together, and struggled to pull the pistol out from his waistband, the barrel getting caught in his polo…
By the time Tech Bro had his gun clear to start to bring it to bear on Teddy he looked up to see Teddy with his gun up and a bead on him, as well as Jerry had a heretofore unseen shotgun up and pointed at him as well.
Teddy threw Jerry a look that said, “Told you so.”
Jerry scowled at Teddy and then said to Tech Bro, “Kid, you’re new around here. We have an extremely strict ‘no violence on the premises’ policy. Isn’t that right, Teddy?”
Teddy took the hint and lowered his gun. In response, Tech Bro started to raise his gun. Jerry racked the shotgun with an extremely persuading “Chck-chck”. Tech Bro lowered his gun again.
“Teddy is local. He gets a head start getting out of here.”
Tech Bro stared at Jerry and said, “I will give you five thousand dollars cash if you let me shoot him here.”
“Jesus Christ, Teddy, what did you do to get someone to put that kind of price on your head?”
“He shot a dog,” Tech Bro said.
Jerry started to swing the barrel towards Teddy.
Teddy threw up his hands. “Extenuating circumstances, Jerry! Come on, man! You know me.”
The barrel settled back on Tech Bro. “Get going, Teddy,” Jerry said, not taking his eyes off Tech Bro.
Teddy slapped two twenties on the bar, gesturing to his drink and Tech Bros’, then hurried out of the restaurant. Through the glass door, Jerry saw him stop short at Tech Bro’s car, a graphite-colored Tesla Model S. Teddy looked sideways at the car, then tilted his head the other direction, then drew his gun and shot the car four times – the two driver’s side tires and two through the front door. He looked back inside and answered Jerry’s “What the fuck?” look with his own shrug. With that he jogged to his truck, started it and drove out of sight of the restaurant’s front window.
“How did you get into this, kid?” Jerry asked, lowering the barrel of the shotgun slightly.
“I found the posting for this hit on the dark web. I work just over the freeway at Rprgl.”
“Of course you do…”
“It seemed close by… And come on – man hunting another man? That’s like the ultimate extreme sport!”
Jerry was speechless. He let out a long sigh before saying, “Get out of here, kid.”
Tech Bro backed towards the door without taking his eyes off the shotgun.
Just before he reached the door, Jerry said, “Hey Kid, a piece of advice: run towards the freeway, back towards your startup. Get out of here. This ain’t your gig. You’re way out of your league.” Tech Bro started to open his mouth to argue but Jerry cut him off, “Kid, you don’t even know enough to know how out-classed you are.” He pointed west past the kid towards the 237 freeway, “That way, kid. Seriously…”
Tech Bro said nothing as he backed out of the doorway. He turned and looked at his dead car and swore loud enough for Jerry to clearly hear. Jerry watched him stalk out to the street and draw the gun from his waistband. To his credit, he first turned and took a hard look west towards the freeway. Then he turned east towards the direction Teddy’s truck had driven off. He took five steps before Jerry heard two rifle reports. He saw the kid clutch at his chest and fall slowly forward. Jerry shook his head and sighed while he replaced the shotgun under the bar.
Teddy watched the kid slump forward through the sight on his MP40. He was a hundred yards down the block, truck pulled over, driver’s side door open, window down. Teddy stood outside the car, MP40 steadied on windowsill. He stared a few moments longer, making sure Tech Bro didn’t move. He didn’t. Teddy sighed as he flipped the safety back on, climbed back in the cab and started back towards his home.
Parking down the street from his trailer he stared at the place through his field glasses for more than twenty minutes. While he watched for activity he concocted a semblance of a plan. First, if the coast was clear (and it was looking pretty clear) he’d run inside and grab his bug-out-bag. He realized that he should have kept said bug-out-bag somewhere away from his trailer in case, you know, he had to actually bug out – like right now. He resisted the urge to berate himself because, he realized that to have put his bug-out-bag somewhere else would have required planning, something we’ve already established was not his strong suit. After retrieving his bug-out bag he’d… drive. Somewhere. Reno? Pismo? Oregon? He didn’t know. But he mentally patted himself on the back for stringing this much of plan together. Now if he could just remember that brunette’s name…
Teddy looked at his watch then checked his field glasses again. Nothing. He’d waited long enough. He coaxed the engine to life and roared down the street, making a hard left onto dirt in front of his trailer, stopping in a cloud of dust next to Pan Head’s Honda. He left the truck running as he slammed it into “Park” and leapt from the car, bolting towards the front door. He pushed hard at the door, but it bounced off Pan Head’s head inside and ricocheted back closed. Teddy cursed as he stood sideways in front of the door, hands braced on the shattered door frame as he tried to push the door open with his right leg.
That was the position he stood in when he heard the “click” of the hammer of a gun cock back intimately close to his head. He stopped and raised his hands from the doorway.
“You killed my dog, you son of a bitch,” said a voice that was further back than the gun pointed at his head.
Slowly, very slowly, Teddy started to turn around. Teddy first noticed the man with the gun, naturally. Tall, slender, black pea coat, with impassably hard Asian features – Korean, Teddy thought. Clearly a professional, the man stood with what looked to be a Heckler and Koch HK45 steadily trained on Teddy’s head. Crucially, he stood far enough back as to be out of arm’s reach, yet close enough so there was zero chance he could miss. Looking past him, Teddy spotted the source of the voice: a short, paunchy man in finely-tailored dark herringbone suit, round gold-rimmed glasses, and a shock of pure white hair at the very summit of his large head.
“Sir, I am sorry,” Teddy started. “I had no idea that was your dog. I really do love dogs. I was there for the lawyer. He let the dog out, so, you know, really it’s his fault, and seeing as he’s dead maybe there’s no one to blame here, and…”
“Shut up,” the man said moving next to the stern-faced man with the 45.
Teddy shut up.
“I will say, Edward—”
“Teddy,” Teddy, at the risk of his own life, corrected.
“Teddy,” the man in suit said, “I will say, I didn’t expect you to still be alive by the time I got here. My associate and your friend, Vince, had complimentary things to say about you, but,” he pointed at him with a leather-gloved finger, smiling, “I’m impressed with the fact that you lived this long.” He chuckled slightly.
Teddy chuckled slightly, too.
The man stopped chuckling. “But you killed my dog, Teddy.” He sighed. “Perhaps under different circumstances…” he shrugged. “Farewell, Teddy.” He started to turn his head to nod at the man with the gun but his motion stopped abruptly as a hand snaked around against his forehead, while a long thin knife pressed hard against his carotid artery and throat.
“I don’t think so,” a female voice said.
“It’s… YOU!” Teddy yelled with recognition.
“Hi, Teddy,” the brunette’s head moved into view from behind the suited man. “Miss me?”
“You know I did, uh….”
“Julie,” she said with a wicked smile.
“I knew that,” Teddy lied.
“No, you didn’t. I never told you.”
“Seriously?!” Teddy said with exasperation.
“Serious as a heart attack,” she smiled. “Or,” she turned her attention towards the suited man, “as a knife to the throat, as the case may be.”
The man, despite the knife at this throat, let out a little laugh. “You’ve brought a knife to a gunfight,” he said.
“Oh, not entirely,” she said, holding him fast with the forearm and bicep of her knife arm while smoothly drawing a Beretta PX4 with her other arm and firing twice at the gun man without the slightest hesitation.
The suited man’s world erupted. His hearing burst to pure ringing as the gun fired right next to his ear and the head of his gun man exploded. The sensations together were too much for him to take in at once and his knees buckled. Julie released her hold with the knife to let him fall to his knees.
She stepped in front of him to Teddy, planting a kiss on his cheek, his face stuck in an expression of pure surprise. She turned and pointed the gun at the suited man who now clutched his left ear in obvious pain.
“It’s probably blown,” she said loudly.
“What?!” the man screamed back.
“Your eardrum,” she yelled back. “It’s most likely ruptured! You’ll want to see someone about that!”
“You… you… bitch! Do you know who I am? I will have you killed!”
She lowered her gun and gave him a genuinely sweet smile, then she squatted down in front of him and spoke quietly into his good ear. “You don’t know me, and you should be very, very glad of that. You cannot fathom the organization I belong to, and if you ever even think of trying to make good on that threat we will come for you in the night. The last thing you will see are my eyes before I slit your throat.” For emphasis she leaned back and held the long double-bladed knife horizontally in front of his face, then dropped it. His eyes tracked its fall for a few inches before the knife vanished. He raised his eyes from where the knife had disappeared to meet her deadly brown eyes. She grabbed his lapels and stood up, hauling him upright. “Take your ass back up to Seattle. You can pretend you killed Teddy, or someone else killed him or – what’s really going to happen – he just disappeared. Your life and your escape are the only victories you’re taking out of here today.”
The man staggered back a few steps, then straightened, turned, and walked towards a black Lincoln Town Car parked half a block down.
“I think I love you, Julie,” Teddy said.
Julie turned to Teddy and smiled, “Aww, you’re sweet.”
“No, seriously, I think I love you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Go get your bug-out bag. I’ll wait out here.”
He nodded, pushed passed Pan Head’s body and emerged a few minutes later with an olive-green canvas duffel bag. “Got it!” he said triumphantly. “…Now what?”
She laughed, putting away her cell phone. “Now we get you out of here,” she said. “I’ve got a cleanup crew coming now, but for the time being we have to get you out of here. I know a place over the hill in Santa Cruz where you can lay low for a few days.”
“Sounds like a date!”
She laughed that glorious laugh that made Teddy melt. “Teddy?”
“Yeah, Julie?”
“Just don’t fucking shoot my dog.”
