Chapter 25 - It's the Small Things That Can Kill You! - Once More, With Feeling

           Chapter 25 – Once More, With Feeling

Joey glanced at Clara. She peeped around Artie Best’s head. Artie tightened his grip on his pistol, not because he thought he might use the gun to escape the situation he found himself in, but because he didn’t want Joey to see how badly his hand was starting to shake.

Joey assessed the situation and a great sadness washed over him. He felt responsible for the events of the evening up to this point, but now he had a sense that things were spinning out of his control. He needed to reassess what he was doing,

“Clara, please put the gun down.” Joey’s voice was calm but commanding.

“Not until he drops his weapon.” She insisted. A second later Artie slowly bent over and put his pistol on the ground.

Clara’s face was now completely visible to Joey. Joey Flowers was an expert at reading faces. Ask anyone who ever played poker with him. He was a master. Right now, he stared at a bead of sweat on Clara’s forehead. She had turned pale. Her eyes were dilated. She was terrified, yet she managed to remain calm enough to control her voice and maintain a clear head. He was proud of her, but he was wrong to give her permission to carry a weapon and lead her into this situation.

Joey didn’t realize how headstrong Clara was nor how vested she had become in the task of protecting Frank. If he allowed this to continue any further, he knew he would be responsible for bringing Clara into his own world. He was on the verge of corrupting her. It would be a complete violation of “The Code’ Frank had taught him. He needed to step back and reexamine his own moral compass.

Joey looked at Artie. “Okay, just kick the weapon over to me.” Joey remained standing behind the couch that the dead Zach Coleman was still sitting on. Zach’s arms were still supported by a thin nylon rope. Shreds of newspaper were still superglued to his fingers. The remaining pieces fluttered with the breeze provided by the ventilation system. As the torn newspaper moved with the air currents Artie was able to see Zach’s weapon, still in the dead man’s shoulder holster. His eyes widened.

No longer having Clara’s weapon pressed against his neck, Artie obediently kicked his gun over to the apparently unarmed Joey. He noticed that Clara had started to relax and had placed her gun at her side.

The kick Artie made was purposely weak. His gun spun and only moved half of the distance between himself and Joey. Artie gestured. It was a nonverbal ‘oops’. He looked at the gun still resting on the floor. He waited for Joey’s response.

When he moves from around the couch, Artie thought, “I’ll make a rush for the gun. I’ll be close enough to pick up my weapon from the floor and kill them both. His gun was fully loaded. It contained six shells. He decided he would kill the girl, Clara, first before she could raise her weapon. It should only take one or two bullets. Then he would use the remaining ammo to kill Joey. For a second he imagined what it would be like to be recognized as the man who killed the infamous Joey Flowers.

But Joey didn’t move at all. He simply looked disappointed at Artie. “Listen carefully. Your life depends on this. Do not bend over. Once more, with feeling, I want you to kick that gun under this couch.” Joel declared.  

Artie looked over at Clara who had now raised her weapon. “Don’t look at her.” Joel commanded. “Believe me. I’m your biggest worry right now.”

Artie reassessed his position. A new plan formed in his mind. He would kick his gun under the couch. In doing so he would feign tripping forward. This would place him close enough to reach Zach’s gun in his shoulder holster. He would then be nose-to-nose with the unarmed Joey Flowers. Close enough to easily kill him. Artie didn’t think the girl would risk shooting at him for fear of hitting her partner.

A moment of doubt raced through his mind. Why wasn’t Flowers armed. Was the girl really so very deadly with that small gun that he felt no need to carry a weapon during the confrontation? If so, maybe she really could take him down in proximity with Flowers, her partner. Was there a third operative lurking in some shadow of the lobby not illuminated by the auxiliary lighting system?

Impulsively, Artie decided to roll the dice anyway. He kicked his gun hard. It flew under the couch. As if in a high school play, he faked stumbling forward. Achieving a grip on Zach’s weapon he straightened up and triumphantly drew it. Artie pointed it at Joey and pulled the trigger. Clara screamed and raised her weapon.

The gun pulled from the shoulder holster made a dull, mechanical click.

“Why does every newbie I meet think I’m an idiot Clara? It’s not loaded.” Joey said emphatically to Artie. He then pulled his own .38 that was tucked between the couch and the dead Zach Coleman.  He held it inches from Artie’s face. “Sucks to be you, newbie.” Joey grinned.

Clara caught her breath. She looked at Joey. Joey could see that she was tearing up. “I’ve got this sweetie.” Joey coaxed. “Why don’t you check on Frank and untie Carmen. Let her out of the closet. it’s not locked.” Clara nodded in agreement and moved off down one of the hallways. “Oh, and bring back the rope we tied her up with.”

                                                               *      *      *

Outside of Happy Meadows Rest Home, Fenton closed the door to his mother’s classic chevy and duck walked back over to us. Rico and I remained crouched in the shadows next to the side of the main entrance.

“You look ridiculous when you do that.” I teased him.

“I was trying to stay low and stay out of the lights. I didn’t want to crawl around on my hands and knees. You know…because of dirt and germs. Fenton confessed. He held his inhaler in his right hand.  

“I didn’t realize you had asthma.” Rico said, as Fenton put his inhaler into the pocket of his letterman’s jacket.

“It’s not bad. My asthma seems to be seasonal. Better to be safe than sorry though.” Fenton patted the pocket where he put the inhaler

I looked at his jacket. “Why are you wearing that? You didn’t letter in anything in High School.”

“Yes, I did. You probably don’t remember. I was one of the managers for track and field my senior year. You would have been just a freshman then.”

“Lettering for managing instead of participating, huh. Isn’t that like a consolation prize?” Rico asked.

“The coach said I was handy to have around with the ole stopwatches. Could keep track of seven guys at the same time. Worked out the average of the distance runners individual times at practices with my trusty slide rule for the coach.”

“How come I’ve never seen you wear the jacket before.” I remarked while noticing some more headlights coming up about a mile down the highway leading in from town.  

“I wore it for a couple of months when I first got it because I thought the jacket might be a chick magnet. But it turns out when I explain how I lettered, the jacket had just the opposite effect. But it’s our first cool fall night, so I thought, why not. A coat is a coat.”

If nothing else, I always admired Fenton’s ability to be pragmatic, move on, ever forward with his life.

Rico looked up at the approaching car lights too. “That joker is really hauling ass.”

It was true. The vehicle made the corner turn heading towards the rest home and nearly tipped over in doing so. Then the driver straightened the car out and gunned the engine.

Sal came around from the back of the building, looked up and started firing at the vehicle.

“Jax, he’s going to ram the building. Shoot at the tires.” He shouted.

“Huh?” was my witty reply.

“With the shotgun!” Sal screamed as he continued to fire at the wheels of the oncoming car.

“I looked down at the 12 gauge that I was holding.