Someone Else

Chapter 35 (Junior)

Junior crouched in the snow-covered brush, fully expecting to die. His shirt, sticky with blood, felt dank against his back. His gun rendered useless after he stupidly exhausted the bullets firing wildly over his shoulder to cover his loping escape from the convenience store.

From his hiding spot, he watched Key search the darkness, worried the fear emanating from his dying soul had floated into the air, marking his location. His fight or flight instinct kicked in and his muscles tensed—fight dominating as always. He knew the only way out was to rush toward the man with the gun. It would be a million-to-one shot to reach Key before the enforcer emptied his chamber into the broad target of his chest, but more honorable to die running toward danger than away from it.

He steeled himself to spring from his hiding place and started counting backward from three. After he reached one, he would rise and attack, no matter what. Jumping off the cliffs at Kawainui Falls as a kid near his auntie's home on the Big Island had taught him that fear grows when it festers. He'd watched plenty of kids—even grown men—become paralyzed with fear as they stood some sixty feet above the water.

His cousins used the flip-flop method: kick off the left one and watch it sail down and hit the water. You could count the seconds the sandal was in the air if it helped—see Brah, whole thing's over in three seconds. Then they'd drop the right shoe. The instant the sandal touched the water, they'd jump. No questions asked. If you don't jump then, little man, you never will.

Junior had never worn shoes, even flip-flops, until the sixth grade, so the first time he stood on the ledge, his kness like spaghetti, he had to use the "count backwards from three" method. His stomach had gurgled so badly, he had to choke back the puke, but his older cousin's voice rising from the shimmering blue below practically pulled him into the water. "Three...Two...One...JUMP!"

The force of the water nearly tore off his arms, which remained splotchy and sore for days, but Junior had learned the trick to— if not conquer— at least push through his fears.

Three. He put on his meanest scowl and stared straight at Key, hoping to at least catch a flash of fear in his opponent's eyes as he barreled out of the darkness. Two. He squeezed his massive hands into tight, meaty fists. One. He rocked on the balls of his feet, ready to explode on "Jump," but at that moment, his target turned away. Key walked back inside the store, pulling his phone from his pocket. Junior nearly fell over trying to hold back his leap, but with the darkness to protect him, he maintained his cover.

When Key finished his call, he walked purposely to the Charger, and fired a single shot into the back tire. Junior waited two full minutes after Ben and Key pulled away to emerge from the bushes. His body shook violently from the cold, but he realized his low body temperature had probably helped slow the flow of the blood, which still trickled from the four holes in his body.

He limped to his Dodge, knowing it wouldn't be long until the cops showed up to investigate the gunshots and flat tire or no, he couldn't leave his car at the scene of a murder. As he pulled the keys from his pocket, the twisting motion sent a jolt of pain across his broad back. The anguish amplified as he pushed off his bullet riddled leg to climb into the driver's seat. But even in his desperate state, he winced more at the irreparable damage he was inflicting upon his tire than from his gunshot wounds as the Charger lurched down 224.

The car crawled toward Kimball Junction, the thumping sound coming from the tire growing louder every few hundred yards. Suddenly, the car jolted like he had hit a raccoon. Must have lost the tire. He'd made it another mile or so when the screeching noise began, metal grinding on pavement, sparks shooting an electric tail behind the car. He skidded to the side of the road, a couple miles from the murder scene. Now anyone who noticed the car would just assume some poor bastard had a flat tire on stormy night.

Feeling strangely calm, Junior leaned back on the headrest. He needed to call his cousin Sione to come pick him up. But first, he needed to rest. Just for a minute. I'll call in a minute. I'll go back to Pahala and visit Mama. Wait? Mama won't be there. The emotions he'd tamped down since the phone call with his sister bubbled to the surface and tears streamed down his cheeks.

Junior didn't know how long he'd been sitting by the side of the road when he realized the throbbing pain in his leg and back had gone away. He couldn't feel anything, except a suffocating heaviness in his heart. His breathing slowed to a wet-sounding rattle. A sense of peace washed over him and his eyelids fell, plunging him into a welcome world of darkness. I'm coming, Mama. He felt his head drift to the side, but he had no power to stop it. His neck had lost all strength. The weight of his head pulled his body with it and he collapsed, landing with a dull thud across the passenger seat—blood continuing to seep from his wounds, pooling onto the stiff leather.

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He awoke to a buzzing noise—a vibration that felt like a thousand needles plunging into his thigh. With a groan, he reached for his pocket and pulled out the phone. His painful alarm had been a text from Tommy.

Got intel on the $$$, but need yr help. Bringin Marcus to last house on left on Rangel Rd. Be there in 20 mins. We can get the $$. Help PLEASE!

Junior stared at the text. So they haven't killed the little weasel, yet. And, of course, Tommy knew something about the money. Or is this all a setup designed to flesh me out so Key can finish me off?

He knew he should ignore the message and call Sione while he still had the strength, but he happened to know that Rangel Road was only a quarter-mile or so down 224. He knew the exact location because every time he drove to Ben's house, he would notice the street sign and the theme song for a show he watched religiously as a kid, the Power Rangers, would run through his head—except he would substitute Rangel for Ranger. "Go, go, Power Rangels, you Mighty Morphin Power Ray hain gels!"

It couldn't be a coincidence that his car had broken down nearby. Karma leading him back to the money for all he had endured. Or maybe it's Mama.

Sucking in a deep breath, he flipped open the door—his body already numb, so he barely noticed the sub-freezing temperature. His legs nearly buckled when his feet hit the ground and a searing pain rocketed through his body, but he grabbed the side mirror to steady himself.

"Suck it up, Junior," he said aloud, his voice echoing his high school's O-line coach during two-a-days. He took one shaky step forward, tentatively planting his bad leg in the snow to test his strength. Then he took another step and another, continuing on with his gaze determinedly forward, the wind whipping against his cheeks for the next half mile, until he reached the last house on the left at the dead end of Rangel Road.