Reader's Block Ch. 02 - Next Gen

The rage had been building in me. At that revelation, I could no longer hold it.

"I killed him!" I snarled. Then I screamed. "That motherfucker!"

"You did no such thing," Devon soothed. "You..."

"Shut up!" I cut him off. "He thought his wife was having an affair. I went along. Even got proof. How could I miss that? If I'd done my due diligence, he'd be alive. The cops could have been involved. Some fucking amateur sleuth, slash piano player in some dive bar. Look what it got me!"

"Enough!" Devon was pissed. I'd never heard him raise his voice. "Fuck the self-pity, John. Self-loathing bullshit. You're helping others, sure. Commendable shit. But what have you learned? You telling me you're still that same guy I met three years ago? Lose your cape and your hammer and what? Right back to square one?

"Fuck that," he scolded me like a kid. "We're walking into a fucked-up situation, John. I need you to get your head out of your ass. I need someone I can trust by my side. If you can't do that, then get the fuck out and walk home." He slammed on the brakes and pulled over. "Well?"

I looked at him with angst, and a certain hatred reserved for the man who'd wronged me. But he hadn't wronged me. He'd killed Mitch, and probably plenty of other people. He took what he wanted, including people's dignity. He thought himself untouchable, but here we were, and we had a chance to do just that.

I steeled my resolve and grabbed Devon's shoulder. "I'm fine," I said stoically. "Let's finish this."

Devon pointed at the glovebox. "Open that."

In the compartment, was a Walther PDP nine. I looked at him. "You know how to use that?" Devon asked.

"Yeah," I told him. "Not my style, but I've been going to the range for years."

"Don't hesitate then," he warned. "We're going to see what we can dig up on this clown, but if we run into Mario or his muscle, do not hesitate. They won't."

The office of Mario's paper shredding business was a relatively small building, being on nearly a square block of land. We parked on the West side of the property, opposite the building. Another man got out of his car when we did.

"All set, Devon," he said, as all three of them approached the cyclone fence.

"Wait," I warned. "He's got dogs."

Devon's friend pointed his flashlight at the fence in front of us. Two Dobermans were lying there motionless, with something white and shredded.

"You killed his dogs?" I asked incredulously.

"Nah," the friend replied. "I narc-ed them up on a fat T-bone. They'll be asleep for an hour, maybe two."

Devon's friend already had a small cut made at the bottom of the fence, near a post, where we could crawl through. Devon told his friend to take off and we moved into the yard. The dogs didn't move a muscle.

"What are we looking for?" I asked.

"I'll let you know when we find it," he said. It didn't sound like much of a plan to me.

Mario had a safe in his office, but he wasn't as stupid as I thought. Arrogant, yes but not stupid. The password wasn't anywhere, Devon or I looked. His desk yielded no results either. We made our way to the second floor. Two-thirds of the East side of the building was like a warehouse or pull barn. There was no second floor there. Upstairs there were three doors. One was a closet or storage area. The second had file boxes filled with what appeared to be older files. Devon asked me to check the third door as he started going through the boxes.

One side of the small room had mops, brooms, and other cleaning paraphernalia plus some chemicals that looked industrial. Shining the flashlight around the room, it caught my eye that a few of the checkered white and black tiles looked discolored. At first, I thought it may have been caused by some of the chemicals. Upon further inspection though, the difference was only on four specific tiles, which made about a thirty-two-inch square. I found that odd.

Kneeling, I used my pocket knife to see if the tiles were loose in any way. That's when I heard it.

"Don't move asshole," I heard a man's voice command from downstairs. "Hands on your fucking head. Slowly, 'cause I will shoot your ass."

I knew it was either Mario or one of his men. Standing up carefully, I moved quickly but quietly toward the stairs. They were metal so I took off my shoes and made my way down.

"Turn around, slow like," he said. It sounded like Mario but I had no idea if anyone was with him. I'd killed my light at the top of the stairs, so now I made my way the fifteen or so feet to the office door with my gun out and the safety off.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked, "and why are you in my office?" I had a feeling he knew why.

At the door frame, I saw him. Mario was favoring his left leg, his right one was bandaged heavily and his pants were cut up to mid-thigh. Devon was on his knees, hands interlocked on top of his head. I made a quick judgment. Mario was about six or seven feet from me. The odds of hitting your target grow exponentially beyond five feet. I'd need to get a bit closer to defend Devon properly, without being heard or felt. That would be easier said than done. I decided to close the gap after alerting him to my presence.

"Keep looking straight ahead," I said sternly. "and lower your weapon - slowly."

Mario wasn't new to this. He was a very cool customer. "Ah, let me guess," he maniacally replied. "The piano boy. Let me ask you, John Baker, of 1259, South Ridge Road, apartment 14E, are you ready to meet your maker tonight?"

It took me a moment to answer. I wasn't going to match his evil cruelness or lack of morality. Honesty would be the best way to convey my message.

"I am," I said matter-of-factly. "Every day. Before that happens though, your face and your brains will be running down that wall in front of you. Lower. Your. Fucking. Gun!"

Mario lowered his gun. I couldn't see his face yet, and Devon was giving no tells at all. But Mario turned to face me, while his pistol was pointing at the floor.

"What's your game here?" Mario still played it icily. "You know who I am, right? You know what I did to that twerp Gwen called a husband. Hell, you probably know what I did to her." He chuckled, hoping to get under my skin and give himself an opportunity. Then the smile disappeared in an instant.

"That's it, isn't it?" he said. "You're trying to help her. You've got a soft spot for the broad, huh, piano boy? It's always the woman."

"Shut up, and drop that gun," I ordered. "Kick it over to me."

"No can do," he responded, his voice now crazier than before. It seemed to me, he got off on what was happening.

"What'd you find up there?" Devon broke the silence. The question was smart and might help me regain my balance. I wasn't sure I could take a life, and I was now only about four feet in front of Mario. The bad news was his proximity to me was of equal distance, so in a draw, he might come out the victor.

"Drugs," I said never taking my eyes off Mario. "In the floor."

"Then that's enough," he added. "With what I found here. Mario's future doesn't look too bright. He's probably better off if you shoot him now."

"Settle up with whatever God you choose - you son-of-a-bitch." I warned as I shifted my feet a bit. As Mario went to raise his weapon, Devon was up like a shot. I hadn't seen the paperweight in his hand. He must've picked it up when Mario turned towards me.

Mario never got off the shot, as Devon smashed him in the temple area. He went down instantly. Devon checked his pulse and took the gun. He'd been so focused on drawing on me, that he probably never heard Devon behind him.

"Did you really find drugs?" he asked as he dragged Mario over to his desk, tipped the desk over on its side, and leaned the unconscious gangster against it.

"No," I told him. "But the tiles on the floor are hiding something."

"Alright," he said, "you stay here. Take up a position directly behind him and facing the door. Make sure he's between you and the doorway. Take those files lying on the left of that pile. Seems Mario has been skimming off the top. I'll go see what I can find upstairs. We're going to have company any minute." He turned to leave and stopped. "Oh, and John, put one in the chamber. We might need it."

It dawned on me as Devon left the room, that he had the presence of mind to realize he hadn't heard me rack the slide. I did so right then and got behind the unresponsive Mario.

Four minutes later, the now infamous goons came bolting through the doorway. They froze as they took in the scene. Their weapons were out and ready but I had the bead on them.

"He's alive," I told them. "Barely. You won't be if you don't put those on the floor, slowly."

They looked at each other. The bigger one, who'd grabbed me by the throat said, "You're not going to get us both before we kill you."

Devon's voice filled the room. "Yes, we will."

The second goon turned slowly. They seemed reluctant. "If it's a gunfight you want," Devon said, "that's fine. Your boss is in deep shit. He's been stealing from the big boss. You can die or be a couple of heroes here. I've got evidence for you to take with you. Plus, a stockpile of heroin that shouldn't be here."

The men seemed to consider their choices. Devon sweetened the pot. "You take the papers and the drugs. Roll on Mario and maybe get a nice reward. Otherwise, I blow out one of your brains right now. No witnesses and the other is in the crossfire, so it's up to you boys."

Both men holstered their pistols at the same time. Devon tossed a brown bag wrapped and taped at their feet. I slid the two file folders in their direction.

"Drive for five minutes," Devon instructed. "Then call the cops, saying there's been a break-in at this address. I've kept a little something for us to hold over your heads, and if something bad happens to me or my friend here, the police will have enough to take down a few important people. Make sure nothing bad happens to us."

>>>>

"Just a small-town girl, livin' in her lonely world. She took the midnight..."

I saw Devon walk in and sit at the bar. He was the only person in the place not singing along. I was back to being my acute and alert self. No more 'blah-blahs' for me.

"A singer in a smokey room, the smell of wine and..."

The crowd was really into it then. The place was packed with more people than we'd seen there in quite some time. Devon got a drink served him right away and held it up high in a toast.

"Workin' hard to get my fill, everybody wants..." Robert was sitting across from the bar, with his new lady, and a group of friends. He saw Devon's gesture and mimicked it. I was flying high.

"Some'll win, some will lose, some are born to sing the blues. Whoa, the movie never ends..."

The song was the last of my second to last set. I thanked the crowd who were in thunderous applause. I took my drink and walked over to Robert's table. The women were very flirty that night. I wouldn't be going home alone, that was for sure.

I felt a dry hand on my shoulder. Of course, it was Devon's. "What's up, Elton?" he asked with a grand smile. He looked proud, and I felt it deep down.

I did my salutations to all of Robert's friends and then let Devon guide me over into a dark corner of the dance floor. "Mario's hiding out in LA," he said triumphantly. "I guess Vegas got a little too hot for him. It won't be long for that sad sack. His days are numbered. If my guys can find, well..." he left it there.

"What about Gwen?" I asked, not sure I wanted the answer.

"She's back in Seattle, living with her family," he told me, as his demeanor changed slightly.

"Second thoughts?" I asked him. "Did we do the right thing here Devon?"

"I've wrestled with it, believe me," his voice strained. "It always takes two to tango. On the surface, it seems she did everything wrong, and got caught in a web she couldn't escape. But we don't know if she flirted before the happy hour, or even if she came on to him. I guess in this case, we'll just have to move forward on faith, John."

And that was the crux of it. Gwen could learn from her mistake, or she could be the cold-hearted bitch I'd originally pegged her as. Mitch was gone; he had no more choices.

After returning to the table, and sucking up several compliments, I returned to my piano for the final set. There was an envelope on my stool with my name on the front. I froze and took in a sharp breath. I looked over at Devon, but he was no longer standing with my friends.

Inside the small envelope was a folded hand-written note.

John,

Thank you for everything you tried to do for Mitch. Never a day goes by that I don't feel responsible for his death. Many days I struggle, constantly telling myself I don't deserve to live, but I know Mitch wouldn't want that. I know wherever he is now, he knows the truth.

Thank you for helping me. I know for sure I would be exactly where Mitch is now if you and your friends hadn't intervened. I'm in counseling four days a week, and that will probably go on for quite some time. In my free time, I volunteer at the women's shelter. It's the very least I can do.

You were my guardian angel, and I'm sure it must have hurt for you to assume that role. I'll be eternally grateful to you, and I'll try my best to pay it forward for others in need.

Best,

Gwen

My mood improved significantly so I played "Sweet Caroline."