Turf War

17Jan12

“I don’t give a shit what Carmine wants,” said Kevin Delgado, even though he didn’t mean it. “If he thinks he can waltz in here and start calling the shots he has another thing coming.” Delgado attempted to fast draw his two shoulder-holstered hand cannons and managed to drop one and tangle up the other. There was an ominous click that told the assembled men that if Delgado had managed to load the thing he would have just blown a hole through his ribs.

Pete Ivy sat on a crate chewing on a toothpick and nodded. “Yeah. You’ll show Carmine that attempting to call your bluff will be a complete waste of time.”

Delgado collected his dropped gun, loaded the other –illiciting a grimace from the other men– and pulled his jacket off the back of a chair. “I’m going out there.” He gestured with his free hand at the warehouse door. “And I’m going to put a hole in every man between me and Carmine.” He slung the jacket over his shoulder and tipped his hat forward to block the rain and opened the big double doors on the warehouse. Pete and Gilder shrugged and loaded their Thompsons.

Delgado took a step out into the rain and then stumbled back into the warehouse when a rifle round ripped into his abdomen. Pete jumped into the car and moved in front of the fallen man while Gilder scooped up their fallen leader and tossed him into the back. Pete piloted the vehicle out into the pissing storm and drove wild, turning and twisting the car to dodge any incoming rounds. Shots plinked off the hood and the doors as Gilder tried to contain the blood gushing out of Delgado.

Pete kept the accelerator down and the car hydroplaned through a few empty streets. Every shadow was an assassin, every pile of trash an ambush. Gilder tore up Delgado’s shirt and examined the wound. Delgado kicked and screamed, “Oh God, oh God, oh God, I don’t want to fucking die!” Gilder was compelled to slug the man. The gut wound was extremely shallow, all the blood was strictly surface. A bleeding grazer, maybe half an inch into the tissue, if that. Gilder slugged Delgado again and Delgado kicked violently into the seat. Pete lurched forward from the blow and over-corrected on the slimy road, flipping the rig down a short hill.

The three men climbed out of the car. Bruises and scrapes nothing in comparison to their shattered pride and tattered confidence.

Pete pulled his gun from the car and wrapped it in his jacket. “I quit,” he said and walked into an alley. Gilder followed suit leaving Delgado bleeding in the street.

“If that’s the way you want it! Sure. Fine. I can take a hint,” said Delgado.

Again, he didn’t mean it.

Filed under: 100 Ways to Get the Hell Outta Town   |  Leave a Comment
Tags: Giles Gilder, Kevin Delgado, Nodio Carmine, Pete Ivy