The Exile Episode 38

Still wearing a smile, Cazonetti shook his head as he turned back to the bar. Instantly, the bartender set a tall shot glass on the bar and filled it with a blue liquid. I saw something floating on the surface. Cazonetti scooped up the glass, opened his mouth, and tossed back the drink, swallowing it in one gulp. Closing his eyes, he grimaced for a moment as a shiver ran down his spine.

“Enough,” the head man in the suit pack snarled as he drew a pistol from his shoulder holster. Pointing the weapon squarely at Cazonetti’s back, he fired off a shot. A heartbeat before the bullet left the barrel, Cazonetti shifted his body to the left, and the bullet whizzed past his ear. When he threw his right arm up and over his head in a wide arch, a knife shot free from Cazonetti’s sleeve and cut through the air, catching the leader in the throat. As the man staggered backwards, grabbing at the wound, Cazonetti spun around, throwing out his left arm and releasing a second knife that imbedded its blade in the chest of another man in a suit. I saw the bartender quickly remove two pistols from behind the bar, holding each by the barrel, and toss them through the air past Cazonetti.

Cazonetti dove to his hands, tumbling forward, and came up just in time to catch both pistols. Before the stunned men in suits could react, Cazonetti had turned both weapons on them. When he fired off two shots, two more men went down. As Cazonetti stared, a wild look in his eyes, the last man dropped his gun to the floor and held up his hands in surrender.

“Please,” he pleaded.

“Smile,” Cazonetti said then shot the man.

“Moron,” the bartender snapped at Heckle, “get these bodies out of here before they stain my floor.”

Just as Heckle jumped off the stool and began dragging away the dead men, the bartender pointed past me and snapped,

“Catch him!”

When I whirled around, I saw that Cazonetti’s legs were shaking as he struggled to stay on his feet. Running over to him, I grabbed him as he collapsed.

“What just happened?” I asked confused.

“Did. . .I. . .pass?” Cazonetti mumbled before he lost consciousness.

Easing him to the floor, I looked up at the bartender.

“Pass? What’s he talking about?” I asked. “Is he okay? Give me something to raise his legs.”

“Leave it. He’s fine,” the bartender assured me.

“We don’t know what’s in it,” Jeckle explained, “but a blue rocket is pretty much the same thing as a shot of adrenaline mixed with methamphetamines. As far as you’re concerned, it’s all legal and above ground. Cazonetti burns through it then passes out. He’ll be up in an hour or so.”

“You guys need to get out of here,” the bartender said.

“Yes sir,” Jeckle responded.

“What about the police?” I asked.

“Don’t worry about them. Just clear out,” the bartender insisted.

Jeckle lifted Cazonetti up over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold and headed for the exit as I followed close behind.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Pretty much anywhere away from here,” Heckle answered as he climbed into the truck.

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Published in: on May 16, 2013 at 9:25 pm  Leave a Comment  
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