I. Wanted. To. Kill. Him.
I admit it openly.
I wanted to kill the man. I'm sure you guessed who "the man" was, right?
Justice. Yeah.
I didn't know if Kendall had been hurt. But before he knocked me into that chopper so hard, I'd seen him put his hands on her. So he'd frightened my Kendall, who had just had the best day of her life so far and given me the best day of mine.
And I was so fucking pissed at him for it, so fucking enraged is a better word, that his soul must've felt it. Because he pulled that Uzi out of my face with this sort of contrite look on his face and said, "Just stay down! You hear me? Stay down!"
We glared at each other for a minute or two after that. Me, steaming like a volcano about to erupt and him trying to figure out what the hell to do about that. Also, I could tell that he was having some second thoughts. Or feeling something he hadn't expected to, and wasn't sure how to deal with it.
But we were both too caught up in the moment to really think that straight. It was pure, raw emotion. Lots of emotions, rushing through us so fast that we just hung there, staring like that.
And then he jammed the gun up against the back of the military pilot's head and started trembling and screaming, "Get this thing up! Get this thing in the air! Go!"
And I tried to wriggle out from under him, tried to put up some kind of struggle. But the way he had me pinned down and against the seats, I couldn't get my arms loose to grab him. Which probably would've been fatal for all of us, actually, if he'd spooked and started spraying bullets with that Uzi.
In fact, when Brian sort of lunged in his direction, he punched the butt into Brian's temple right quick--and hard--and Brian crumpled over, out cold.
Leaving us with only one pilot. One pilot with an Uzi up against his temple and a bat shit crazy gunman giving me the full Hollywood, "Don't even think about it" stare.
The pilot stayed pretty chill. Military man. So he was trained to do that, I guess.
He just tried the, "Dude, I can't just lift off like that," ploy.
Said, in a matter of fact sort of voice, "There are things you have to do and you do 'em in sequence or you don't lift off at all. So..."
Which was a lie. Because they'd done all that before we even came out of the building. The plan was for each chopper was supposed to load and lift off as quickly and smoothly as possible, given all the hubbub we'd already caused.
I mean, nobody was going to complain, probably, but I figured the commotion from the whole day was probably more than one neighborhood needed to deal with. And the cops and all the other people working the thing needed a break, too. The sooner things started to wind down, the better.
So they'd set those blades whirling 'way before we got there. We could lift off any time. But I was pretty sure Justice didn't know that. He hadn't been a pilot in Nam or anything. Just "cannon fodder," as he used to say. Crawling in the mud and blood.
And he was too fried on whatever he'd swallowed or snorted or smoked or shot up to process anything we said. The tics, the little uncontrollable blinks and grimaces and things--that scared me. And told me we were in for a real bumpy ride.
Which began sooner than I'd hoped. Because he started barking at the pilot louder and louder and getting wilder and wilder until the veins in his neck and forehead looked like they were about to pop.
Just kept screaming stuff like, "You think I don't know what you're doin'? Tryin'a buy some time 'til the cavalry comes--do what I say, mother fucker! Get this thing outta here or I'll blow your fuckin' head off!"
The sheer volume along with the desperation in that voice told the pilot to just give in and ease that thing up off the ground before the fool turned us all into hamburger meat.
And then when we were up Justice turned to me and started rambling all over the place.
Going, "I see what you're doing. I see what--I'm down with what you're doing. Gathering of tribes! Gathering of warriors! The original people, they know the deal. They fought the good fight--we could learn a lot from them! I see where you're going with this, man! That's a strategy I never considered, you know? I mean--"
I just fell back against the seat cushion and said, "Justice, man, what the fuck?"
And he gave me this earnest gaze and said, "The original people. The only other worthy warriors on the continent, right? That's brilliant! I'm really impressed!"
My blank stare sent him into full conspiratorial mode.
"Look, they're the sole survivors of that first mass genocide! They're still here! They know! They've been where we could be goin', man, but they're still up! They're takin' it back, some of 'em, even. Most Mexicans are Indians, right? And then you got all the tribes here'n' whatnot--"
He shifted a little bit, but not enough to make it easy for me to get at him, though. He was just so excited by this literal brainstorm he was having. All the pretzel logic twisting storylines around in his head, you know?
I mean, he goes, "You combine forces with that? Indio, right, is his name? The big dude in charge? I mean, you talk about power? Sheeeiiiit, we could wreak some havoc for sure! Them and us, together?"
I almost understood. Scary as that was.
But then he switched over to, "I told that bastard--Joe. I told all those bastards not to fuck with us. I told them!"
"Dude--"
"Didn't go off," he said, sort of to himself. "I don't know...he was there, right? He was there..."
"Who was there?"
He stared at me like he didn't speak English for a minute and said, "I got up there, right next to him, and he signals them to throw me down off there. Off the stage, right? All them other guys, all them other pussy politicians, they're up there! And their little yes men. Little ass lickers--sold me out! Tossed me aside like a piece o' garbage right in fronta my people, man! I got the message! We got the message! We sent him one, too! Or...I don't know...it just...it didn't do like it was supposed to..."
He was roller coastering from bravado to befuddlement, peaks and valleys, one after the other.
Until I just said, "What the hell are you even talking about?"
"Timers," he muttered again. "I didn't work that right, I guess. The schematics...I don't read those things too good, still. I mean, they didn't print real clear--old drawings. Best ones, but they're from 'way back, you know? Way back--genuine Army, but kinda outdated."
"Wait--are we talkin' bombs or something here?"
"Not here," he said, looking like he was shocked that I'd even said that. Even though I hadn't literally meant "here."
"I would never do that to you," he told me. "I would never do that to--you're the only hope we have, little brother! You da man! You got the juice!"
"Then what the fuck?" was the only logical next question.
He shoved the Uzi into the pilot's temple a little more and said, "You disappoint me. I was counting on cooperation. We're brothers, too, man! We're brothers in arms! We're counting on you when the day comes."
The pilot didn't answer that. He kept to more practical, tactical info.
"We only got enough fuel to do the original plan, okay?" he told us. "So whatever you're thinkin' about, know that, too."
I figured that was another lie. I couldn't see the gauges, though.
So I said, "Justice, what's goin' on man? You're gonna get us all killed here," as calmly as I could.
And he gets this faraway but kind of wild-eyed look.
Says, "Goes on TV talkin' bullshit--disavows us! Disavows me! By name! By my fuckin' name, he does this! And in his little...speeches--today! Points to us, points right at us, while we're out there, tryin'a drum up support. 'I will be the man for all people.' Bullshit! Did you hear that shit?! Kissing up to the mongrels now! Cause he don't got the balls, man! No balls! Just wants to win. Win at any cost! Any cost! Led us on for a couple years now--fuckin' bastard led us on for years talkin' solidarity! Talkin' about white genocide all that shit at those big rallies and whatnot--coded, maybe. Not right out, right up front. But people know! People know! He can't just switch sides in the middle o' this thing! I know the guys up top got to 'im. Wanted to yank the funding and all, but nobody's fooled by that shit! Nobody's that dumb!"
I wanted to ask him why he was dumb enough to fall for his hustle, but I had more pressing issues on my mind.
So I said, "Let's get back to this timer stuff..."
"Didn't work," he said, sort of sighing.
"So there were bombs?"
"Woulda gone off last night when nobody was around. All but the one..."
"What one?"
He smiled and said, "I got this, little brother! This shit, this shit--let me handle this shit. You just...you...you handle the bigger picture. Lemme be a foot soldier. Martyr for the cause, you know?"
"Where are we going, dude?" the pilot asked, a little more forcefully that time.
And Justice snaps, "Arrivaca! Camp there. Band o' brothers."
I said, "There's nobody hardly living there anymore, man, with all the drug traffic and shit. What's the deal?"
And he said, "Vets. Buncha vets. You've seen 'em, right? Even on 60 Minutes and stuff like that. Been here longer'n' any o' the other fools. So they know what's up. Now, they might have to be schooled on your approach, though. Cause they're chasin' Mexicans. That's their deal. But...the Indian angle...there's those reservations there. Near there. Not far from there..."
"Arrivaca's a little far," the pilot told him. "For us right now."
Not for a chopper, I thought, but I didn't say it because I hoped I knew what he was up to.
And Justice jabbed him in the temple again and said, "Do what you gotta do, soldier! Jeezus Christ!"
And then to me, he said, "You didn't hear 'im? Joe?"
"I was runnin' around all over the place," I said. "I only saw little bits and pieces of things."
"Had a whole rally goin' on," he said. "Him and those other ass lickers--crowd ate it up! Ate it up! Well...I mean, not everybody, but...see, that's the thing. That's the thing I didn't think of. There's some who see through all that shit. Some on the other side--brown people. Poor ones. Poor people's coalition, man, we could do. Like in the 30s and stuff. So it wouldn't be just us, maybe. It'd be bigger. It'd be, like...the 99 percent, you feel me? The bottom of the 99 percent, pointing the way. I mean, I gotta think this through, but...it could work. It could work..."
"I need a destination, fella," the pilot insisted again. "A reasonable one."
Brian was waking up by then. I saw him twitch, and then sort of ease himself up real slow, trying to get his brain back online.
I said, "You okay up there, father-in-law?"
And he grunted. Turned to look at us. Winced and said, "Not really..."
And then the pilot said, "Need you to keep tabs on some stuff if you can. Fuel. Gauges."
I caught this little exchange of looks. A nod. A nod back. A tap on the dash and a certain place between the seats. An unspoken plan taking shape.
And I froze. You'll know why in a minute.
Justice was in a kind of stupor, too, by then. But rigid. I mean, he was staring into the void, but his body was tense enough that I was still scared of the Uzi. Cause I felt like if I poked him or something, his trigger finger might jerk before his head told him what a bad idea that was.
In that little bit of time, while he was staring like that, Brian flashed his cell screen at me. And I read, "Please tell him not to worry. I'm fine. Where is he taking you? Can you tell us? There's help on the way."
My babe. On the case. I knew she wasn't fine, but I loved her for realizing how seriously "not fine" I was, just worrying about whether she'd been hurt or not and how dangerous that might be.
So I kept watching Justice, and trying to speak to whatever the hell was going on in that madhouse mind of his. I think his actual grey matter was frying. In part from the drugs, in part from having to do a 180 on his World Domination trip. In midair, no less.
You have to understand that Justice didn't really have a "cause" beyond being the boss of something. He'd always been that way.
On the streets, he'd kept coming up with little "armies" and "coalitions," mostly to dominate other homeless people and make himself feel like he was the Big Man. He would work up these beefs against people who crossed him, or that he convinced himself had done something to slight him, and sent his minions after them.
Worked, actually. He had a little network of abandoned buildings and whatnot that he claimed, and could offer up for shelter to people willing to do what he told them to do. And they would do his bidding because they felt safer together. So there was something to it. A twisted system, created by a dude who was crazy as fuck, sure, but it gave them a sense of security.
But when the politicians started courting him, he jumped the shark. The lemmings went with him, and a whole bunch of new recruits, too. Young ones, like the ones from school and all. It looked like a revolution, probably. And the whole political climate of the country was headed in that direction, so they felt like they were on the right path. That they might actually win one, finally.
I could see how that would be exciting. To go from a bunch of rag tags ducking the law, just trying to survive another day, to the "leaders" of a "movement" that seemed to be right for the times. That would have to feel pretty good.
And then when he saw what was going on with me, just as things started to unravel for him, he used his loco logic to fold me into the mix. Delusional shit that was, turning me into an ally just because he'd known me for a hot minute. Grasping at straws, as he saw his "influence" and fifteen minutes of fame being snatched away.
So I said, "Dude, if you really rigged something to explode or whatever, we need to get the word out. Cause even if they didn't work the way you wanted them to, they may still be real dangerous. And to people you don't wanna hurt. Maybe even some of your own people will go back there, tryin'a fix 'em or something."
He roused himself then, stared at me, and said, "It's too late..." in this desolate voice that really scared me.
And then he perked up in a herky jerky sort of way, jabbed that Uzi again, and said, "By the lake! You can land there! Arrivaca Lake! Where the bikers go!"
"That's some crazy terrain, man. And we're just about--"
Justice screamed "Do it!" so loud that we all shuddered. And I looked over at Brian then. Who said nothing but gave me a glance that said everything, just before he reached for something I wished he hadn't.
My dream was about to come true, guys. Engine...off.
And the pilot said, "Worst case scenario, big man. We're fucked."
I knew we weren't. I knew we had gas. I knew the two of them could land us. So it wasn't really my dream, though a lot could go wrong. You can spin out of control, crash and get cut to ribbons by blade shrapnel if you don't do every step in the landing sequence the right way. And having a gun pressed against a temple could make any pilot a little less confident.
But I also could see that the "crash" was being set up to happen on base. THE base. Davis Monthan, right on the east side of town. Where Justice's "brothers in arms" were going to grab his ass and show him no mercy for fucking with one of their own.
Justice, thank God, did not see this. He just felt, and heard, something going wrong. A little less noise, suddenly. Obviously.
So he started screaming, "What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck?"
And I sort of played into it, by going, "Okay, not funny, dude. What's the deal here?"
"Stalled," the pilot said. "No fuckin' gas, like I told 'im!"
Justice started melting down like some kind of cartoon character then. His eyes almost popped out of his head, and he started clawing at his hair with one hand and hugging that goddamned Uzi to his chest like a baby he was trying to protect. Couldn't even form words anymore. He just sat there shivering and gasping for air like we were losing cabin pressure or something. Totally into some grisly fantasy death trip in his head.
So Brian goes, "May be able to do this. But--"
"Superman there's gotta keep his damned mouth shut," the pilot said, doing all this theatrical gauge checking to make it look like we were in good hands.
You don't really have to do much. The chopper has this autorotation thing I told you about that keeps the blades going around with some kind of kinetic energy deal.
But all of a sudden Justice starts shrieking, "I'm not goin' down in flames, man! I'm not dyin' by fire! I'm not! I'll dive like it's 9/11, dude! Like those people up there, couldn't get down! I'll jump before I burn!"
And then he starts kicking the friggin' door like a madman, Uzi waving all over the place. And of course, because he's not able to walk and chew gum at the same time, let alone hold an Uzi and kick a door open, he starts spraying bullets into the goddamned roof. The worst thing he could possibly do for two reasons.
One, if any bullets hit the blades and stop the autorotation process, you're fucked. Two, you got bullets ricocheting around inside a very small space. Double fucked.
So I leap at the Uzi and get it out of his hands pretty easy. But there's been some collateral damage to the chopper and the pilot.
Doesn't look fatal or anything, but the pilot gives us another Oscar winning performance, grabbing his leg and yelling, "Goddamn it! I'm hit! Fuck!"
So Brian goes, "Okay, buddy, lemme just..." and started futzing around to restart the engine, since there were "extenuating circumstances" now, that required us to quit play acting.
Of course, Justice wasn't acting. He was kicking that door like a mad mule. And every time I tried to move, he kicked me, too. So I was kind of still pinned down. And we didn't know how many bullets he'd actually wasted, either.
I kept wishing we'd gone for bigger helis for that trip, but we'd decided to just use smaller commercial ones for the trip to The Club. A little less noise. Less parking space to worry about, too. But they're also a little flimsier. So bullets and battering...not a good combo.
In fact, to prove that point, just as Brian's got things almost back in control, the fucking door did fly open. And as you well know, you can fly safely that way, too, except when you have a crazed gunman totally losing his shit and trying to throw himself out of the effing helicopter.
And he damned near did it, too. I mean, once the door flew open, the dumb ass dove forward and landed sort of a little over half in and half out.
And even though I was so mad at him I almost relished the idea of watching him splatter all over the concrete below, I made this gargantuan, adrenaline fueled lunge to catch him by the legs.
But as I do this, I realize that I'm also launching my body out of the thing, or almost half of it, trying to drag this fool back inside. So now there's two fools dangling out of the door.
And of course, we're still 'way the fuck up, but I can see all these army vehicles and cop cars and TV news vans and shit below us, and some other choppers flying nearby, too. I guess trying to get a read on whatever the fuck is goin' on.
But I hung on as tight as I could. Watching as the Earth seemed to be rising up to meet us. But it was really us falling down toward it, of course. A little faster than we would've with an engine, but the pilots were doing a pretty amazing job so I didn't get all frantic like I did in my dream.
I almost felt prepared, because of that dream, actually. Like having dreamt the worst that could happen had let me be a lot more rational when it was sort of happening in real life.
Didn't like dangling out of the goddamn door, holding onto a screaming banshee who might pitch us both out of the thing before they set it down. And don't get me wrong, my heart was trying to beat itself out of my chest as if it wanted to bail out, too.
And then the pilot yelled, "Pitch!" real loud. Which told me that the engine didn't start. So we were still doing the autorotation method. Which was almost a good thing.
Because when the nose jerked up it scared Justice so bad that he stopped wriggling and started yelling "Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck" again.
And then stopped with the words and just started screaming like that moment in the horror flick when some kid sees the chain saw slice through the front door, you know?
So I grab him by the waistband and get him sort of secured for "landing," so that he doesn't face plant into the concrete as we're actually settling down in this big lot where all these planes and vehicles are parked.
And before I can even think straight, I feel him get snatched out of my hands entirely, and I hear him still screaming like a banshee as they haul him off.
And then I get hauled out, but one of the cops or army guys or whoever's got hold of me is going, "Just breathe okay? Just deep breaths, son. You're back on terra firma now."
Because I think they realize I'm either about to puke my guts out or pass out or both.
But I didn't do either one. I just lost control of my legs and sort of sunk to the concrete all limp and disoriented.
And then I felt someone mussing up my hair--Brian. Going, "Brass balls, man. Swear to God."
That picture of him doing that, and me sitting there on the ground looking up at him, was on the front pages and behind the talking heads on the news for days.