The Exile Episode 40

When the dump truck tore through the bus terminal wall, sending out a spray of glass, I held up my arm to cover my face and turned to run. Cazonetti, knocked backwards by the impact, scrambled to his feet and caught up with me.

“Time to hide or fight back, Chief,” he said, grabbing my hand.

As six armed men in suits poured into the building, Cazonetti pushed me behind him and quickly spread his feet apart for balance. The moment he raised his arms, a knife popped out from inside each of his shirt sleeves and sliced through the air before striking one man in the throat and the other in the gut.

Feeling the impact of the knife, both men dropped their weapons. While the first man brought his hand up to his throat, the second grabbed at the knife’s handle, trying to pull it out of his stomach. Cazonetti leapt at him, kicking at the knife’s hilt and driving the blade in deeper. Just as the man fell backwards, Cazonetti flipped through the air.

“Hey!” Jeckle called out.

I turned to see Jeckle pull a collapsible baton from his jacket, extend it with a whip of his hand, and throw it in my direction. Taken by surprise, I barely caught the stick then looked at it in confusion.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” I yelled.

“Swing it at people,” Jeckle yelled back as he dove behind some chairs to escape gun fire.

Just then his phone rang and Jeckle tapped the earpiece to answer.

“Tommy’s Top Shelf Taxidermy.”

There was a pause as he listened to the caller, and then he said,

“He’s alive and well. Where to next?”

“Is that Calypso?” Cazonetti yelled out, straddling one guy as he punched him in the face again and again.

“Yea. We have the Coyote,” Jeckle said.

“Wants to know how you’re doing?” Jeckle said, looking at me and pointing to the receiver.

“There he is!” one of the suited men yelled.

In a panic, I stumbled backwards.

As the man charged toward me, Jeckle yelled out,

“Trust your instincts!”

When the man drew closer, I dropped down and swung the baton at his knee. The stick made contact with a loud crack, and the man dropped his gun as he yelled out in pain.

Swinging up with the baton, I struck his jaw, knocking him backwards.

“Yea. He’ll be fine,” Jeckle said into the phone.

At that Jeckle ended the call, and he and Heckle finished off the last three men. Looking over toward Cazonetti, they saw that he was still driving his fists into the man’s bloody face.

Jeckle walked up to Cazonetti and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I think the guy’s dead,” Jeckle pointed out.

“Think so?” Cazonetti said, a crooked smile slowly working its way across his face.

“We need to get out of here. They’ll just keep coming,” I warned.

Heckle laughed.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

Heckle looked at Jeckle and said, “I guess you were right.”

“About what?” I pushed, a bit irritated.

“I told Jeckle you’d pass out at the first sign of real combat. But he didn’t think so. He said you could hold your own.”

“Told you he was a fighter,” Jeckle responded.

“Hey fellas, we should probably move. I’ll clean up here and catch up,” Cazonetti said.

“Leave them. We all need to go,” I insisted.

“You’re the boss,” Cazonetti replied, wiping the blood from his knuckles.

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