Page 64 of Red's Peril: Part 1

For a split second, I don’t react, not sure what’s happened, or how Rainman was hurt. Then, Ringo steps back, an evil looking flick knife that had been concealed on his arm, the blade dripping with blood.

Then I’m moving. “Take them the fuck out!” I scream, while extracting my gun and placing a bullet into Ringo’s skull.

I don’t have time to check on the VP, we’re fighting for our lives. But we’ve expertise, organisation and snipers on our side. As bullets fly, the gang members are mostly mowed down, a couple trying to escape into the locked building, firing to cover their backs.

“Fuckin’ assholes!” Cobra yells out. Swinging around, I see him clutching his arm.

“All clear?” I scream out.

“Clear!” Crash’s loud voice comes back down from the rooftop.

I drop to my knees. “Rainman?” Then finding him unmoving, repeat with more desperation, “Rainman?”

“Red?”

Ignoring Cuff, I search for a pulse, unbelieving when I’m unable to find it. Gently, I turn Rainman over. Jesus Christ. It was a lucky strike, between the ribs and straight into his fucking heart.

“He’s gone,” I tell Cuff and Cobra softly, shaking my head in disbelief. Then my voice hardens. “He’s fuckin’ gone.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” Rope asks, crouching and checking for himself.

As I just look at him, sadness shining out through my eyes, there’s the sound of running feet.

“The VP’s dead?” Crash sums up the situation fast. When I nod, he looks around. “Anyone else hit?”

“Me, got winged. I’ll live.” Cobra makes it out to be no big deal. At least he knows he’ll be riding again, unlike our VP.

The loss of Rainman has hit us hard. No one seems to know what to do next and since the enemies are down, no one remains to face our anger. I look to the sergeant-at-arms, but he seems at a loss as much as anybody.

It’s not my place, but as Twister and Joker approach, I take charge.

“Twister?” I raise my head, pointedly looking toward the dead bodies. “We’ve got to get Rainman home and them out of here.”

For a moment, he looks like a man seeking a solution to a problem. “Fuckin’ gangs. Always taking each other out.” He looks around at us. “Rope, call Sarge, get him to bring the crash truck here. Everyone else, wipe your prints and get ready to say goodbye to your fuckin’ guns. I want them all handed to me.”

I nod in approval. He’ll get rid of them, no way to link the shootings back to us.

Indeed, he takes it a step further, when the first guns are handed to him, he goes around the dead, seeking similar firearms and swapping them out. Now the cops, like Twister suggested, will simply think they’ve taken each other out.

As the adrenaline brought forth by the fight for our lives has started to fade, anger rises to take its place.I knew we could be walking into a trap.

But my objections had been overruled. And heaven help us, for that mistake, Rainman has lost his fucking life. Thank fuck Brick had agreed on sniper support, else we’d all be dead.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Funerals suck.The last one I went to was for my father, and this one is no better. All my ears hear are expressions of sympathy for the man who was no doubt not the angel he’s being painted to be, mentions of a better place to which he’s heading when I’m sure if he’s anywhere, he’ll be looking up and not down. Not that I believe either option is available, dead is dead to my mind. A whole lot of nothing for the person concerned, but it’s those he leaves behind who bear the brunt of it—a loss, a hole incapable of being filled.

And the what-ifs, such as why did I let Ringo get so close?

“I’m sorry, Brother.”

As a familiar voice reaches my ears and a hand lands on my shoulder, I let out the breath I’ve been holding, feeling some of the tension that’s been with me since the night of Rainman’s death start to fade.

Turning, I clasp Wraith’s hand, pulling him into me. The customary back slaps completed, he holds me at arm’s length. “You doing okay?”

“Shouldn’t have fuckin’ happened,” I tell him quietly. “Waste of a goddamn life.” To him I can say the words I’ve up to now had to keep to myself.

“Brick’s not on the ball.” His reply is also sotto voce. “And, Brother, you’re not the only one saying that.”

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