Page 35 of Road to Ruin
“Right. Yeah. Give them to him, dude,” he says to Barrows. The other guy holds out the small set of keys. His hand is steady, but I can see the doubt in his eyes. He doesn’t want to get close to me. Not close enough to place something into my hand, anyway. He gets within a few feet of me, then tosses the keys. “There you go, man.”
I catch them out of the air, nodding. “Thank you. I think it’s time both of you get out of here, don’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, thanks, Tommy,” Mitch says. “We really appreciate the help.”
I give him a tight smile—the most convincing smile I can manage. I know what I look like, though. I’m a great white shark, baring its teeth when I smile like this. “No problem.”
The two men rush for the door, both of them practically tripping over their own feet in their rush to leave.
“Hold up a second,” I say quietly. Both of them freeze, their shoulders tense, almost hitched up around their ears. “I think Nikita wants to say something.” I stand by Nikita on the couch, looking down at her. There are tears welling in her eyes; they spill over, fat drops racing down over her temples, over her cheeks, her earlobes. Her mouth isn’t moving, but she’s speaking volumes with what little body language she can muster. Her hands are clenched tight into fists, her knuckles blanched white.
“What’s that?” I say, angling my head, making a show of trying to listen. “Kill the bastards? You want me to kill them?”
She closes her eyes, more tears overflowing as she sucks in a pained sob.
“Whoa, look, man. This had nothing to do with me,” Mitch’s friend says. “It was all his idea. He was pissed at her, said we ought to teach her a lesson. He told me she was into this kind of shit. That she likes it.”
“She likes it?” I look down at Nikita on the couch. Her chest is heaving, her eyes, now open again, filled with panic and fear. “Get over here,” I snap. When he doesn’t move, I lunge, fastening my hand around the back of his neck, dragging him over to the sofa. Mitch shifts, putting one hand on the door handle. “I swear to fucking God, if you open that door, I will rip your balls from your body via your mouth, do you hear me, motherfucker?”
He removes his hand from the doorknob. “This is stupid, Tommy,” he says. “We were just fucking around. She’s been leading me on for months and then I hear she’s been hooking up with another guy. It can drive you crazy, right? I just wanted to teach her a lesson. You know what it’s like, man.”
“I have no idea what the fuck that’s like. When a woman’s been flirting with me, she sure as fuck isn’t gonna go sleep with another guy. No fucking way. I’m guessing she’s never been remotely interested in you, Mitch. And even if she was and she changed her mind, that’s her fucking right. You don’t get to teach her a lesson. You get to thank god that you’re still privileged enough to breathe the same air as her, and you get to move on. Now, this…” I jerk Barrows, shoving him forward so he can get a proper look at Nikita. “This is fucking unacceptable. Does it look like she’s enjoying this to you, asshole? Does it look like she likes it?”
Barrows whimpers as I tighten my hold around the back of his neck. “N—no. No, it doesn’t.”
“What were you going to do to her once you got her back here?” I snarl.
“Nothing. Nothing! We were just going to frighten her and then leave. That’s it. That’s all, I swear!”
More fucking lies. I’ve done a stellar job of keeping my fury in check until now, but hearing this bullshit spewing from his mouth leaves my self-control in tatters. I take the keys in my hand, and I form a fist. Less than a second later, I’m making contact with Barrows’s cheek, and three of the jagged keys are ploughing straight into his face. The metal punches through skin and muscle. The metal scrapes over bone. Barrows hollers, a shapeless shout of agony and surprise, and then he collapses backward, his legs buckling out from underneath him.
“Ahhhh! Motherfucker! My fucking face!”
Mitch makes a dash for it. He rips the front door open, and then he’s running across the front yard, sprinting out into the street. He clearly keeps up on his cardio. The bastard could run track for the state of Louisiana. I’m fast too, though. Faster than he thinks. He slows just enough to cast a look over his shoulder, and boom! I launch myself at him, tackling him, sending him crashing down to the ground. His head bounces off the concrete, a loud crrrack jarring through both his body and mine.
I’m about to turn him over, to pummel his face into a bloody, unrecognizable mess, when a loud whoop whoop-ing sound cuts through the night air. I haven’t noticed the police cruiser until now. I look up and the blue, black and white vehicle is screeching to a halt in front of us. Mitch starts laughing. “Oh, boy, Kendrick. You’re fucked…now, my…friend,” he wheezes.
“Down on the ground,” a voice announces from the cruiser’s loudspeaker. “Down on the ground with your hands above your head.”
Fuck. Fuck, shit, fuck. Of all the times to be caught by the cops. Do I have any outstanding warrants with New Orleans P.D.? Fuck, I don’t think so. Who knows, though? Guess I’m about to find out. My body feels weighted, made of lead as I climb off of Mitch’s body and lay myself down on the ground beside him. The bastard’s still laughing silently to himself, his shoulders shaking up and down. He stays where he is on the ground, but he turns his head to look at me. “You’re so screwed,” he informs me. “They’re gonna send you back to the Parish for this. And guess who’ll be there to make your life a living fucking hell? I’m gonna make sure you wish you’d never been born. And Nikita? I’ll be raping her virgin ass every night of the fucking week, you punk.” He spits, aiming for my face. Lucky for him he misses or he’d be dead in three seconds flat, cops or no cops.
The doors slam on the cruiser, two loud thuds, and then I watch as two sets of polished leather boots approach. The cops stop in front of me and Mitch lying on the ground; I chance a look up and both of them have their weapons drawn, flashlights shining down on us.
“Well I’ll be damned,” one of them says. “If it isn’t Thomas Kendrick.”
“For real?” The flashlights go out, and then the officer on the right crouches down, leaning forward to get a better look at me. I look him in the eye, jaw clenched, nostrils flared as I get ready for what comes next. I’ve been beaten black and blue at the hands of disgruntled cops before. I’ve suffered countless broken ribs and concussions for resisting arrest. I’m notorious in this city, a difficult man to bring down. They always used to make the rookies try and cuff me, just for shits and giggles, before the senior officers would bring out the Tasers.
This guy doesn’t look apprehensive, though. He looks amazed. “Well fuck me sideways,” he says, scratching at his jaw with the end of his gun.
“Officer, this man attacked and assaulted me,” Mitch says. “I’m a correctional officer at Orleans Parish Prison. I was just walking down the street and he came out of nowhere. I believe he used to be incarcerated at the prison. He must have recognized me or something and felt like chasing me down.”
Slowly, the cop turns his head to look at Mitch. He squints, apparently taking stock of the man. Then, to me he says, “Is this true? Did you attack this man for no reason?”
“I attacked him because he drugged and was about to rape someone. I’d call that a pretty good reason.”
The cops exchange looks, then the one asking the questions stands up, holstering his gun. “All right. On your feet, both of you.”
Mitch’s eyes nearly pop right out of his head. “You’re not going to cuff him first?”
