Authors: S. W. Frank
Footsteps from behind, cause
d
his hand to fall from the door handle
in an abortive response
. The key
slipped
discreetly in his
pocket
during the three quarter turn
;
he ‘
humphed
’ when Juan
and
his entourage converge
d up
on him.
“
Yo
, Alfonzo what’s
poppin
’
?”
Feet slightly apart,
Alfonzo
casually
assessed the men
.
They
were
g
ang
members. The identifiable
double R
tattoos boldly etched on their forearms
represented the
ir
affiliation
.
These
were g
uys he once shot hoops with
as a teenager.
From their blood-shot eyes they were high.
Juan
’s
trio boxed him in
,
eyes
up
on him
,
lips
curved
smug
ly. Alfonzo didn’t answer. He was busy deciding on which motherfucker to put down first.
Juan became emboldened by
Alfonzo’s
silence,
“What’s the matter cat got your tongue
bitch
, what you think karma wouldn’t
hit
your ass
after
what you did to
my cousin
?”
Alfonzo didn’t attempt to deny the allegation.
It didn’t matter,
anyway
.
Carlos was dead and Juan
wasn’t
interested in
chit-chat, no, he wanted retribution.
Alfonzo remained unaffected by Juan’s bold talk. Cowardly mother-
fuckers always got cocky en masse or when they’re strapped –but Alfonzo wasn’t intimidated. Juan didn’t have a piece, the club boasted metal detectors
. A
ll he had was liquid courage and
a trio
of lapdogs
.
He smirked at the thought of breaking bones before going down,
“Karma
visits everybody
,
p
endejo
!
”
“
Fuck you!”
He decided Juan should have the pleasure of his closed fist.
Alfonzo’s
knuckles
caught Juan in the jaw
sending teeth flying out of his mouth along with ounces of
bloody
spit
.
Juan stumbled and
Alfonzo
thrust an elbow into the chest of the man coming in
from the
right
and
stopped him cold. The others rushed him, throwing wild blows that
felt
like butterfly taps
due to his heightened adrenalin.
He pivoted
to cold-clock
Juan again on the side of
the
temple
then
Juan’s
boys grabbed hi
s arms.
He
swiveled out of their
grasp
, head-butt
one in the face so hard the dude bitch screamed
as he fell
.
Then the fight turned in their favor. An angry fist connected with
Alfonzo’s
abdomen and he coughed but stood his ground. Blows
pummeled him
from every direction. The
ir
bodies
were blurs of clothing as he
blocked, we
aved and
sought
an opening
. He found one, catching one of the tallest
men
in the throat, knocking the fight out of him.
Suddenly, a geyser of something warm hit him in the
chest. He
saw it, a spray of blood, at first thinking he’d been shot, then realized it was
Juan
. He watched Juan’s body tilting in slow motion then rapidly
hit
the ground
.
Juan’s
crew sought cover, but were hit and collided with the ground.
Alfonzo
experienced a sense of dejá vu
as
the
wind mov
ed
. He dived next to his car, seized the handle and reached into the hidden
compartment on the side panel for his piece. He gripped steel, crouching
low
, trying to ascertain the direction of the shots. A final
succession of
whooshing sound
s
cut through the air.
The p
rojectiles
struck
the final member of Juan’s entourage
with
lethal
accuracy
as he ran down the street.
He listened and waited.
There was silence. From his vantage point he could see the doors of the club. The people he passed earlier were nowhere in sight
. T
hey must’ve hauled ass during the commotion. He took a risk and shot his
head up.
Nothing.
The shooter must’ve split.
Alfonzo
cursed
, “
Shit
!”
This didn’t look good.
H
e
scrambled inside the car, threw it in reverse before making a three sixty
. T
he last thing he needed was to get caught driving with a loaded gun and blood on his clothes.
The sniper lifted from
his
prone position
on the
roof
top. He watched the Audi make an escape. Calmly, he d
isassemble
d
the high powered rifle
,
placed each piece in the
special
ty
case
then
descend
ed
the stairs
, disappearing into the
blackness.
CHAPTER SIX
Selange awakened
to
movement
in the room
. She
squint
in the dark
, until her eyes adjusted to the shadows.
Alfonzo stood
in front of the bureau
, his back to her as he
remov
ed
his watch
. He
placed it inside the jewelry box alongside his collection of expensive chronographs
. In the stingy
moon light
she
no
ticed
the brooding
disposition.
She
sat forward
. Something was wrong; she could tell.
“
Hun,
Is everything
okay
?”
He turned at the sound of her voice
,
quickly pulled the blood
stained shirt over his head
and
balled it in his hand,
“Yeah…yeah…sorry I woke you babe.”
She lay back down as he entered the bathroom
. There, he inspected his trousers and
found
large
traces of blood on the
m.
Hastily he
bundled
the clothes together and quietly
searched
the linen closet for a disposable bag
. He found one and shoved the soiled clothing inside
then
pushed
it
in
a
far corner beneath the sink until
morning
.
His chest pounded out of his chest, disbelief consumed him. This was bad…really…incomprehensibly…bad!
His concerns weren’t of jail or even getting killed,
nah, he didn’t sweat any of that
, if it happened then so be it. What mattered was the safety of his family.
They
were his top priority and always will be.
He’d
sworn
to
steer clear
of
the mob life but it seemed past transgressions might ultimately become his undoing.
In the mirror he caught a glimpse of his reflection.
A
angry red welt on the side of his face stared back at him. His tattoos hid the bruises to his trunk but he could see them clearly. The circular contusions
weren’t part of the design.
His eyes glowered, he was completely fucked!
He took a
long shower
then donned
blue
boxers before retiring to bed.
“Are you sure, everything’s okay?”
His wife enquired
.
H
e turned on his side
and stroked her bare arm
, “
I’m sure…what about you,
how
are
you
doing?
”