Short Yarn: Boys in Blue
A lovely bit of ultra violence.
Boys in Blue
It’s hard to remember details when there’s teeth floating on the blood pooling inside of your mouth. I’d spit them out, but Angus sewed my lips shut.
Good thing my hands still work.
I’d been strong at first, shooting cocky glances through swollen eyes. I wrote down the first name when they put a needle through my upper lip. I’m having a hard time staying awake.
I write as slowly as I can, pinning the robberies on the family I work for, blaming broken bones for the snail pace. I’m a good liar; only two fingers are broken on my writing hand.
Billy “Mad Switch”.
This isn’t about the names. It’s about the fact that these boys of mine know certain truths about dear old Angus and his rapscallion bunch of misfit coppers. Corrupt and rotten. I keep looking at the door like a fucking fool.
If I’m not busted out, and these boys in blue taken out, my confession is a sealed fate. I’m probably already dead. My signature is enough. Surely the family would understand, torture is just one of those things, how long could they expect me to hold out?
As I pen another name, things take an unexpected turn. Sgt. Angus McGregor draws his pistol and pushes the long, dark end against my temple.
“You fuckin’ with me?” He screams, spit soaring from his fat, sticky lips.
The fat bastard slams a greasy finger against my bloody page. He points at a name.
Danny Boy Creamed Wheat.
I don’t even remember writing it. I probably meant Danny Mizolo, but my brain is like goddamn pablum. Everything feels like cotton up there. The gorilla bashes my skull with the hard end. My head bobs, like an apple on water. Gotta gather my thoughts, clear out the cobwebs.
“Write down the names, write down the fuckin’ names, errand boy!”
Angus isn’t a happy man, the bulging vein in his head a constant reminder that this jelly filled time bomb could go off in a moment’s notice. His lanky right hand men Pietro and Fenris just stand there, wide eyed, horrified by what they’re seeing. I ignore the guns they have trained on me. I’m tempted to go crazy and lunge at them. Take the bullets and end this a little quicker. I’ll do as Angus says for now.
I tell my hand to write, but I can’t get my muscles to listen. They just hang there, dead at my sides. Goddamn it. I want to cooperate, for the sake of preservation, but all I can think about is the irony. The tasty irony that I’m hired muscle, and the good guys are working me over in a way I’d never even think of trying. I’m learnin’ from the best. I’ll have to remember some of these tricks.
“Hey, get your head off the goddamn table and write. You’ve got two minutes, or things will go from bad to much, much worse.”
My hand works. Not sure why I use it to punch Angus in the balls. He drops to the ground and a pistol magically falls into my open palm. The stroke of luck is bad news. Angus’s goons put a couple in my legs and I bounce off the fat man’s belly. I fire off two rounds before my head cracks against the floorboards. Angus takes one in the chest and temple.
Shame, I was aiming for his partners.
It sounds like nails being hammered all around me as bullets tear through the wood. With my good arm, I drag my broken carcass behind a stack of crates. I feel the stitching slide through my bloody lips as I manage a groan when I try to scream.
They’re surrounding me. Things are looking bad.
If they kill me, Angus wins, despite the bullet in his brain. They have the names they need to sell their murders. I lean out to pop Pietro’s brain but black spots pepper my eyes. I fire at a particularly large blurry spot and it groans. I grin in time to have my guts riddled with .45 rounds. Fenris flanked me.
I put one between his surprised eyes. I can hear Pietro screaming. It doesn’t last long.
All I can hear now is the slowing beat of my heart. Feel it throbbing in my ears. Getting softer.
I think the door just got kicked in. Waiting on the cavalry wasn’t false hope. Jimmy and Gordie have come to blow me outta here. I can’t move. They’ll find me.
“Fan out, we’ve got casualties here.”
Doesn’t sound like the boys.
“Shit, Sarge is down!”
“Looks like he got the confession, anyway. Bastard got what he deserved.”
“There’s one alive over -”
I silence him with my last round. The second is smarter and doesn’t waste any time. Not sure if the loud crack ringing in my head is Gordie’s grand entrance, or the sound of my skull caving in. Either way, this black tunnel is a welcome change.