Caught in the Middle

Chapter 2

I was speechless. The Heathens were the local gang that pretty much ran the city of Powell. They often force the smaller businesses to hand over their income as 'protection' from the gang itself. 'Give us your money and we won't destroy your business' is pretty much how that goes down. If the owners refused their ludicrous deals then the owner was left standing and watching their property being burnt to the ground. They rob, destroy property, kill families, traffic drugs and guns. The whole works. They don't care about anybody but themselves.

I've never had a run-in with them and hoped never to.

   The worse part is the cops are too afraid of them to do anything. They just turn their backs and let them break the law and run the town.

One time a retired FBI agent tried to stop them and came home to find his family of two daughters, a son, and a wife brutally murdered.

   Everybody steers clear of them and avoids them at all costs with obvious reasons. They didn't want to risk their own lives or families'.

   They struck fear into everybody with just a glance.

   Nobody's man enough to stop them and it irks me. They don't deserve the power that they have. I'd like to put a stop to it, but what can I do against a ruthless gang of 60 members?

   "See. It's hopeless. Now leave so I can finish what I started before they do," he broke through my thoughts obviously seeing the scared expression on my face. His voice sounded like he had given up and had nothing left to live for as he positioned the gun to his head and closes his eyes with a deep breath.

   "Please don't do that. Let me help you," I pleaded. His movements stopped and his eyes opened like the shades on a window.

   "You still want to help me even though you know who's after me?" He sounded incredulous with his eyebrows raised in shock.

   "Yes. Please, put it down," I begged. I didn't care who was after him. He needed help and I wasn't going to sit here and do nothing, knowing that I could have done something to prevent someone's death. Especially after what he was attempting to do. Suicide is not the answer. Everybody is given life for some reason.

Slowly, I reached forward and gently pulled his hand holding the gun away from his head. Then I grasp the gun by the barrel and carefully removed his fingers all while not breaking eye contact. His light gray eyes showed confusion.

"Okay," I sighed, glad that the threat was gone.

I flip on the safety, taking out the magazine of bullets, and sliding it into my bag and then pulled myself up to my feet, thankful that it's out of sight, and out of mind. My uncle had taught me how to handle guns as soon as I could walk and right now I greatly appreciated it.

"Come on," I smiled and held out my hand.

He watched me with a skeptical look then glanced down to my hand as he contemplated his decision on whether or not to take my offer.

   "Why?" He asked, not moving from his spot.

"Why what?" I responded with a raised eyebrow.

"Why would you help me when it can get yourself killed? Why risk your life? Why not just ignore what you saw and live your own life like any normal person would?" He questioned.

I felt like I was being interrogated.

"Well. I just don't know myself," I shrugged,"I can see you need help and I don't think anybody else would do it so it falls to me, I guess."