Authors: Elliott Kay
“Think
that was off to the right up here,” suggested Angela, gesturing out her window.
Claudia
frowned. “We better go check that out,” she said, pulling off to the far right
lane and making ready to turn. “This close to the Fourth, we get a lot of kids
playing with all the stuff they buy off the reservations, but—woah!”
The
blue pick-up truck swerved out into traffic right in front of them. They saw
two people in the cargo bed. One wore denim. The other was shirtless. Both
flailed and grabbed hold of the truck’s sides for dear life. Claudia hit the
accelerator and went into pursuit. “You know how to call it in?” she asked
urgently.
“Yeah,”
Angela nodded, reaching for the radio. “Yeah, I can. I just—”
Words
failed her. She looked on as the two men in the pick-up both rose to their
feet, readying punches for one another. The guy in the denim jacket and ski
mask threw a right hook, only to have it blocked and countered by the… naked
guy?
Naked.
Stark, raving naked. Fit, trim, focused on his fight, and turned out to give
both women a prime frontal view as he fended off his opponent.
“Okay,”
Angela faltered, “maybe I don’t know how to call that in.”
“Holy
shit,” burst Claudia, “is that motherfucker Murray?”
* * *
Block.
Backfist. Jab. Balance balance wwwwooooah!
Preferring
not to fall out of the truck, Kevin flopped onto his back in the cargo bed. His
opponent did likewise, slumping once more into the corner closest to the
passenger cab. The guy reached into his jacket for something. Kevin didn’t want
him to have it, whatever it was, so he launched out his foot in a horizontal
stomp that plunged into the guy’s belly.
Kevin
heaved himself at his opponent, throwing his elbow at the guy’s head. He caught
nothing but metal for it and winced at the pain. They rolled around together,
wrestling for a dominant position.
“You’re
under arrest!” Kevin yelled.
“Get
offa me you naked fuck!” the other retorted.
The
shooter had a greater advantage in weight and size, but he wasn’t quick to
adapt to the shifting environment. Kevin slipped out of his grasp, wound up
crouching over him and grabbed just enough of the ski mask to pull it out of
joint, covering the man’s eyes. That made it easier to follow up with a
crushing punch to the face.
They
heard sirens. Kevin glanced back to see the cop car following them. On the one
hand, it was a relief, and on the other he doubted it would do much of anything
for him. The guy in the cargo bed was still trying to kill him.
So
were his buddies. Kevin heard the passenger cab’s back window slide open, and
looked just in time to see the passenger pointing a gun out at him. He slapped
it away, heard it go off, and then grabbed for the hand holding it and yanked
it out. Kevin twisted the gun down hard, breaking the passenger’s finger when
it didn’t come out of the trigger guard fast enough.
“Carl,”
yelled the driver, “kill that fuck!”
“I
can’t!” shouted the passenger in obvious pain, “he grabbed my fucking—oww!”
Kevin
wrenched the gun free from Carl’s hand. He tried to turn it around in his own
grasp, burned his hand on the hot barrel and heard Carl shout, “John, take him
out!”
He
almost had the gun at the ready, but the two seconds he needed to accomplish it
were two seconds too many. With his ski mask on straight again, John all but
tackled him against the passenger cab. Again, they wound up struggling for a
better position.
The
pick-up kept swerving. More sirens came on. None of it helped Kevin at all.
Then
the driver hit the brakes to avoid trouble. Kevin and John were both pressed up
against the passenger cab by their momentum. The fallen pistol flew up beside
them as well, clattering around on the cargo bed right by Kevin. John reached
for it, leaving himself open.
Kevin
drove his bruised elbow up into John’s throat, holding onto the passenger cab
with his other hand. He pulled back and did it again as John tried to recover,
shoved him back, then finally had room to throw an uppercut right into the
bigger man’s jaw. John lurched back. Kevin kicked hard.
The
pick-up sped on while John tumbled over its right side and out onto the street
with the gun. The police cruiser closest behind swerved around John and
maintained pursuit. The one behind it stopped for the fallen man.
“Dick,”
shrieked the passenger, “shoot him!”
“I
can’t!” yelled the man behind the wheel. “I’m driving! Shoot him yourself!”
Kevin
held onto the passenger cab for dear life as the driver swerved ever harder in
a vain attempt to shake him. “Pull the fuck over!” Kevin bellowed into the cab
in the most intimidating voice he could muster.
“Fuck
you, freak!” shouted the driver.
The
passenger said nothing. He had his AK loaded up again and, though he had to
manage it left handed, tilted it up over his left shoulder and tried to shoot
it out the back window.
Kevin
flattened himself against the floor of the cargo bed with a completely
undignified yelp, then realized there were smarter ways to handle this. He
reached up, grabbed the wooden handgrip just behind the barrel and yanked hard.
It flew free from its owner’s hand. Carl gave another yelp and promptly slammed
the rear window shut again.
Kevin
got his hand into the trigger, angled the barrel upward at the rear window and
fired, smashing out much of the glass. The short burst scared the hell out of
the truck’s occupants, but Kevin had no intention of shooting the drivers of a
moving vehicle on a busy street. He reversed his hold on the weapon and shoved
it into the cab with all the force he could muster.
Carl’s
head bounced from the butt of the AK into the dashboard and then back up again.
Kevin didn’t wait to assess; he slammed Carl in the head a second time. Carl
swooned and doubled over in his seat.
Down
to one opponent now, Kevin decided to try again. “Seattle Police!” he shouted.
“Where’s
your badge!?” Dick countered.
“Stop
the fucking truck now!”
“What’re
you gonna do? Shoot me?”
Kevin
held on through further violent swerves, fuming with rage as he tried to think
of something to do. He looked over his shoulder at the pursuing patrol car and
recognized Claudia and the new gal, Angela, through the windshield. A
motorcycle cop was up near them, too. Further in the distance was a state
patrol unit. They were on into the green area of Aurora, headed south between
the zoo and Woodland Park. Traffic was much lighter here. There weren’t even
any oncoming cars; the guys working the speed trap must’ve blocked off Aurora
northbound at the bridge already. That was pretty quick.
He
looked into the passenger cab again. Shooting the guy didn’t seem to be much of
an option, but he had one other idea. He smashed out the remaining bits of
framing in the center of the rear window with the rifle and brushed away the
last of the glass. It was an incomplete job, but two seconds was about all he
could spare on it.
With
his left arm low to protect his crotch, Kevin threw himself into the passenger
cab. He flopped into the small seat space between the driver and the
unconscious passenger, sucked up the cutting and scraping of the remaining
shards of the cab’s rear window and the battering arm of the driver to get his
free hand on the parking brake.
The
resultant squealing lurch nearly caused the truck to overturn. Kevin fell
further in, smashing his head into the truck’s stereo and floundering face-down
in the cab. The pick-up swerved and turned, coming to a halt at an angle that
straddled two lanes.
Bailing
out of the truck, Dick pulled out the pistol tucked his belt. He backed away,
leveling his gun at the naked freak who’d fucked up everything.
Kevin
looked up to see the weapon. He had just enough time to wish he’d come up with
a better plan before he heard the gunfire.
The
hail of bullets fired from two pistols back behind the pick-up truck tore
through Dick. Round after round tore holes in his flesh after another until he
was a bloody mess on the pavement.
Sergeant
Esposito and Officer Weir approached with their pistols still drawn and still
smoking. Claudia had her weapon pointed at the truck. Weir kept hers trained on
the fallen man beside it. They found Kevin hanging upside down in the passenger
cab, one foot still dangling out the back window. An unconscious man in a
ski-mask sat slumped forward in the passenger seat.
“Murray,
you okay?” Esposito demanded.
“Owwww,”
Kevin moaned. His body was covered in grime and blood from a hundred small
scrapes and a few not-at-all-minor cuts. His hands covered his groin. “Can you
find me some pants?”
* * *
Two
full days of complete nudity was, Molly decided, one of her best ideas ever.
She couldn’t remember ever having so much sex with Onyx, apart from their first
few days of serious romance… and the first couple weeks of living together…
and, well, assorted pagan holidays. Still, the constant undercurrent of intimacy
and availability couldn’t be beat.
Onyx
had challenged Molly—practically demanded even—to take what she’d dished out to
her uncle. That Molly would doubtlessly have a better time of it, what with a
live-in lover and all, wasn’t the point, Onyx claimed. She had to make up for
this. Perform penance. Balance the scales. Whatever.
Ultimately,
the two were reminded of how crazy they were for one another. They saw one
another naked frequently enough, but that was casual nudity and this was an
actual
event
. The context changed everything. Molly couldn’t let Onyx’s
pouty ass or her sweet, taunting breasts go by without wanting to put her mouth
on them. Onyx was similarly mesmerized by Molly’s legs, by her chest, and her
knowing grins.
The
two lay in bed together, on their sides, heads buried between one another’s
legs in a long, aimless bout of lovemaking. Molly and Onyx reveled in the give
and take. When one whimpered and laid her head against her lover’s thigh,
weakly succumbing to the other’s kiss, there was no sense of unfairness or of
anyone not holding up their end of things. There was only further indulgence.
It
was Molly’s turn to enjoy this time, giving up in the struggle and admitting
that Onyx had gotten the better of her. “I’m not… wow,” Molly sighed. “I don’t
know when I’ll be ready to retaliate.”
“Poor
baby,” Onyx smiled. She pulled away from Molly, heedless of Molly’s small
whimper of complaint as she shifted around. The kisses she trailed along
Molly’s belly and up towards her breasts more than made up for it.
“So
in love with you,” Molly droned, “you don’t even know.”
Then
the phone went off. It was neither Molly’s nor Onyx’s, but the one sitting on
the nightstand beside the bed with the unfamiliar ringtone.
“I
should get that,” groaned Molly.
Onyx
took her mouth off of Molly’s breast long enough to say, “So get it.”
Molly
grumbled. She reached for the phone, picked it up and hit the answer button.
“Kevin Murray’s phone,” she said, “but this is not Kevin Murray.”
“Ah,
yeah, can I speak with Officer Murray, please?”
Molly
let one hand fall down onto the long dark locks of the hot girl making out with
her breasts. They shared a wink. “He can’t come to the phone right now, can I
take a message?”
“Yeah,
this is just Joel Chang from the Times, and I wanted to get Officer Murray’s
comment on the pursuit and shooting he was in a few hours ago? And the attack
on his home? I’m told he’s been released from the hospital already, is that
correct?”
Molly’s
eyes snapped wide open. “What!?”
* * *
The
police tape did nothing to deter the two women, nor did the damage to the front
of the townhouse. All the cops who’d been on the scene marking down every
little thing had taken off before darkness fell. Molly and Onyx picked their
way through the barriers of yellow tape and fallen debris to the closed,
bullet-ridden door.
“Not
what I had in mind when I cast that good luck charm,” Onyx thought aloud.
“Swear
to God,” Molly murmured, “if anything happened to him or to Attila I’ll never
forgive myself.”
“Molly,
it’s not your fault psychos with guns did psycho stuff,” Onyx said. “The
reporter guy said Kevin’s out of the hospital already. I’m sure he’s fine.”
“Still,”
Molly said, finding the key to Kevin’s apartment on her chain, “I need to know
everything’s okay.”
“You
really think he’d even be here?” Onyx asked.
“Well,
I don’t want to try to deal with that stupid desk jockey answering the phone
for the non-emergency numbers again,” Molly grumbled. “He was no help at all
and—Attila!”