I lay there gasping for a few minutes. It wasn’t the first time I had been strangled. It was never pleasant. I managed to get to my knees and with the help of a wall, my feet. I stood there, back against the wall and .45 tracking everywhere as I caught my breath.
Finally I was able to continue. I holstered the .45 and picked up the shotgun, reloading it with the shells from my jacket pocket. I couldn’t stop now, I was barely inside the place and there were 5 dead already. How many more? How much more blood tonight?
Jack was here somewhere. I started with rooms on the left side of the hall. I kicked the first door open and rolled around the frame to the side, just in case they were waiting. A little trick they taught us in the academy. My burned ribs were on fire but the adrenaline was keeping the pain down. Nothing came from within as the door banged open and then swung back to closed.
I opened the door easier this time and looked inside. Nothing. I went to the next room and repeated the procedure. All of the rooms were empty except for the last one. That was occupied by an old man cringing in the corner, tears streaming down his face. I tried to ask him questions but he wouldn’t talk. I left him for the right hand side of the hall.
This side was as empty as the other. More so. There was no one. The beds looked slept in though. Where were the people? I crossed a central hub with a desk and a telephone that began to ring. I didn’t answer, but I waited for someone to come. Someone did. A small man with beady little rat eyes, and a shoulder holster. He picked up the phone, answered, said a few words and was rewarded with a shotgun butt to the face. Courtesy of me. I picked up the phone. “Identify yourself” I said gruffly into it. “Who the..” the voice said on the other end. “You are a dead man! Mr. Cabrese is on his way!” The voice was almost hysterical. “Good.” I said. “bring lots of guys, I have lots of ammo” and I hung up.
The man on the floor was beginning to come around. I relieved him of his pistol and drug him into a chair. I slapped him hard waking him fully. He started to stand up fumbling for his gun. I balled up my fist and punched him in the chest. He fell back to the chair. I got close enough to smell the garlic on his breath. “Where is Jack Reagan?” I asked in a low voice full of menace.
“Hey F….” was all he got out before I hit him again. “Where is Jack Reagan?” I asked again. He started to sneer. “You can’t do anything to me cop!” He shouted through bleeding lips. “Not tonight.” I said. “I don’t have time for this. Pray to the Virgin or whoever you worship.” I said and pulled the trigger on the shotgun. Body count 6, with more coming. I would be ready.
I started looking down another hall. There were more people here, all of them scared of the gunshots. But no Jack. I started towards another hallway and ran into another goon. This one was a fat man who barely groaned as I shot him with the weasel man’s pistol.
How many more were they going to bring? I really hoped not too many. Down the third hallway there were locks on the doors. There were bars on the windows. There were chairs at every door for a guard. That must have been where the fat man came from. I started looking in the small windows set in each door.
There were people in each cell. 3 doors down, I found Jack. He was beaten and bloody. From what I could see he needed a hospital. I tried the door and of course it was locked. A blast from my shotgun took care of that.
I entered the room and knew I was too late. Jack was dead. He looked to be beaten to death, his head a misshapen substitute for itself. I slid to the floor grief overwhelming me. Tears clouded my vision as I thought of my sister and her boys.
What would I say to them? I couldn’t save him fast enough. I couldn’t…. my mind was pushing down the grief and replacing it with anger. Raymond Cabrese had done this. His goons had done this. Their lives were now forfeit. I was going to end them.
I heard car doors slam outside. I stood and wiped my eyes. I reloaded my shotgun. I checked the rounds in my .45. I checked the weasels pistol. I was ready. I stepped out the door to come face to face with my sins.
My shotgun began to scream its fury
