The Train: Episode 11

Crouched in darkness his back to the bar, Michael quickly reloaded Priscilla and holstered her. He had to move fast while everyone was frozen in place waiting for the next sound to fire at. Closing his eyes to remember, Michael mapped out the nightclub, the placement of each stick of furniture, the position of every man. Nine men on the floor, two behind the bar, and five on the bandstand. Calculating reaction time and movement, Michael plotted his next motion.

To the right stood one man, gun in his extended right arm. Michael rose and with eyes closed counted one, two, three steps, reaching out and seizing the man’s hand. Rotating counter clockwise, he struck the man in the jaw then rotated clockwise, twisting the gun from his hand and kicking him in the stomach, sending him sprawling backwards.

“Eight,” Michael counted.

Keeping his eyes closed, Michael raised his revolver and fired off six shots, five smashing the bottles of liquor lining the wall by the junction box and one hitting a man scrambling to get clear.

“Seven,” Michael counted.

Michael threw the revolver toward the one o’clock position, striking a man just starting to rise. A loud grunt and crack said that the gun had found its mark.

“Broken nose, no doubt. And that’s six,” Michael counted.

Turning to face the bar, Michael counted one, two, three steps and lifted into the air towards a man positioned next to Jason Vargas. Fully extending both feet, he struck the man in the face, knocking him down. Michael rolled to the floor, coming up near his bag, and counted,


Michael reached into his jacket and removed Priscilla. Drawing back the hammer, he rotated away from the bar to face the last five men and waited for just the right moment to open his eyes. The junction box shot out more sparks. When one of the sparks struck the pooling liquor, the bar exploded, taking down the two men behind the bar. Michael quickly opened his eyes and fired off five shots, dropping the last five men on the floor. Only Jason Vargas and the band remained.

Michael stood, lifted his bag, and walked over to Jason. He looked toward the bar, engulfed in flames, then down at the cowering Jason, his face contorted with fear.

“I asked you not to. I asked you nicely,” Michael said, pressing Priscilla’s barrel to Jason’s head. The heat from the gun scorched his flesh, causing him to flinch.

“What do you want?” Jason yelled.

Michael groaned, “Have I not been clear? I want the cop, the one who committed murder as the hotel burned to the ground. If it makes you feel better, turn him into the cops yourself. I do not care. I simply want him to go down for the crime he committed.”

Michael paused, pressing the barrel harder against Jason’s head, and asked,


Jason nodded.

“Good,” Michael smiled as he pulled away the weapon.

Glancing up toward the balcony, he spotted Nicole moving out. She looked okay. No visible wounds anyway. Michael walked over to the band, cowering behind the music stands, and said,

“Play something upbeat, something you can dance to. I think Mr. Vargas needs cheering up.”

The bandleader, his hands shaking, quickly composed himself and started up the band. Nodding his approval, Michael holstered Priscilla and exited through the front door. When he heard the screaming sirens, he checked his pocket watch.

“Well they took longer than expected,” he said.

A block down the street from the burning nightclub, Nicole joined Michael at his side.

“Everything all right?” Michael asked her.

“Decent,” she answered. “Something back there we need to talk about.”

“I gave Vargas a chance. All that was his choice,” Michael defended.

“No, not that,” Nicole replied. “I mean something else happened.”

“Like what?” Michael asked.

“Something pretty unusual,” she answered.

*          *            *

Jason stood and looked around at the wreckage. Everything was destroyed or on fire. The people he paid to kill one miserable guy had failed. He clinched his teeth, let out a low growl, and snatched up his coat. Walking to the front door, he removed a key from his inside pocket and exited the club, locking the door behind him. He had had the door rigged so that if it was locked, it couldn’t be opened without his key. As fire consumed the bar, he walked away with no thought for those inside the burning building.

When he neared his car, a police car pulled up alongside him.

Officer Dillon hopped out of the driver’s side, his partner climbing out as well.

“Sir, what’s wrong? What happened?” Dillon asked Vargas.

“You were seen the other day, and now I have a problem. Only one solution left to me.”

“What’s that, sir?” Dillon asked.

Jason reached into his pocket, pulled out a small pistol, and shot Dillon in the chest then his partner in the head.

“That,” he said holstering the pistol, “is my solution.”

Published in: on January 11, 2012 at 8:47 am  Leave a Comment  

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