A Bad Day Gets Worse

Sheriff Coyle popped a new magazine into her weapon, never more aware how quickly nine shots can be lost. She only had one more in her belt. 18 shots… and good God, it felt like there were 30 bad men killing everything that moved in that building. Her back was to the Isuzu Rodeo, getting her rattled, panicked breathing back in control. It was then she realized the leg wound. She glanced down and saw the blood drenching her uniform pant-leg.

“Jesus Christ. What the hell did we fall into?”

Her radio then piped out, “Dispatch 10-68, Sheriff Coyle, you there Sheriff?”

“Here, Carrie, and I need you to listen.”

Carrie spoke in greater urgency, “First, Sheriff. We got a call here that you might be in trouble… some fella called sayin’ you were walkin’ into some trouble!”

“10-fucking-four, Carrie. Received. I have a 10-999… I repeat, 10-999. Multiple officers down! We got a 10-72, it’s automatic weapons, Carrie. Get SWAT up. The perps are loaded.”

“Oh, my God, Sheriff!”

“Don’t call God, Carrie, call SWAT! On second thought, call God too! We’re under fire at Zanzibar! Where else? Out!”

In her next gasp, she wondered, who would’ve called in this fuck-fest? Who could’ve known about it?

***********************

Yusef was shouting directions, securing the front of the building. There was no way to suspect all this shit would avalanche upon them. His unit was notoriously fast and elusive, and not two-hours in and all hell was breaking loose. They expected an easy silencing of maybe a dozen witnesses and the extraction of information, then a helicopter out. Now they were being fired upon from unknown fighters, and the local police fully engaged. But his unit was elite not because they could handle the dog-walk missions, but that they could cover any mission for Gorko and his brilliantly wealthy associates.

“Baki, you and Ahmet and Omer, watch de front. Draw fire if you can. Find the sıçmak out dere… and watch for police. More will come.”

“You want I should kill the woman?”

“No, the sniper protects her. She can do noding. I need to get our information for Gorko.” He rankled at the one thing they had not arranged for – a sniper rifle. For all their firepower, they were being held down by a shooter somewhere out there…

The second team operatives took secure positions deep inside the lobby, with view lines over the entry drive and a couple-hundred yards over the baked hardpack leading out to 160. This was the parched land dividing warfare.

Jacob was slung upside down from a roughhewn beam in the party room. How appropriate thought Yusef… the illness of the west, the indulgences of vice… let them hang and die in their lusts. Yusef walked over and put his cigarette out in Jacob’s face, eliciting another scream of pain... blood was running across his face and down to a tub of pink water below him.

“You have more for us. I know. I know your only discipline is to your money… you are disgusting pigs. You tell Lenin more, or we drown you.”

“No, I don’t have anymore… you have all my accounts… no more… please…”

Lenin had the rope looped around the leg of the billiard table, granting him easy management of the victim. He gave rope letting the secured Jacob French dip, head fully immersed up to his shoulders in a washtub full of water. Jacob threw his head around and thrashed, achieving nothing.

“Up.” Lenin raised the tortured man. “You can have more, yes?”

“No… no…” he was sputtering, coughing, “I’m gonna die…”

“No die, till you give us everyding.” He turned to Lenin, “More help to talk.” Lenin secured the line and moved to the inverted victim, while Jacob sobbed… He punched the wind out of him, and let him wriggle, then settled the swinging victim. Jacob cried, “No more… pl… please…” more coughs… more pain. Lenin slugged Jacob in the face, mashing the cheekbone, putting the victim into painless unconsciousness.

*********************

“Johnny, you come with me. Art, spot for Donnie. If you get any real kill shot, take it. We gotta go help that fuckin’ woman… if they don’t finally throw the kitchen sink at her, she’ll bleed to death. C’mon, let’s go.”

Cliff slung a UMP over his head and shoulder and spun it, so the weapon lay across his back, then he plucked up an M-16 and headed down the little trail that was a sandy run-off from the cleft where they huddled.

“Keep a cover on us, too, Donnie. We got almost nothing for cover getting there after those rocks on the right. They’re gonna see us at some point.”

“There’s only another hour-and-a-half till sunset. Can’t you wait?”

“She can’t wait. And her help is not gonna be prepared for any of this shit.” He was down the incline, Johnny following in pace.

“Keep your head down, Johnny. We got nothing but our asses and the wind right now.”

“I’m good, boss. Let’s go get the sheriff.”

They both went into a crouch and took a quick turn from the rocks and headed in a westerly direction to round out as high as they could, furthest from view… but any such sense of safety would not be permanent, and they both knew it. Bullets would come. Sure as dead men rot.

**********************

The hostages were their currency if they needed to bank on them. But those numbers were dwindling.

With the Zanzibar staff tethered together in the small dining room, Ule was given broad authority over their handling since the bullets the sheriff had gifted him were limiting his usefulness. Two bullets, both lodged in his left thigh; he would take out his pain on whom he saw fit, as long as the numbers remained their bargaining chip. The five women were knotted together in a row, and the men, two on one side, one on the other. Ule put an unprovoked bullet in Bloodhound’s head just to create symmetry. Tobias fell when dragged down by the mortally wounded security partner. The women were all weeping as they saw no other possible end to all of this… and in the rising temperatures of Nevada, and the lurid smell of blood and cordite, it grew into a hell inside The Zanzibar Club.

It took this grave depravation to finally convince all of them, they chose the wrong profession.

Ule sliced the zip tie, freeing Tobias from the weight of the dead body, the security man trembling for the brain spatter on his own sleeve. “That will wash. I promise.” Was all Ule offered in consolation.

“You people. You all should had to call in sick. Better for you today, no?” Ule let out a composed, satisfied chuckle.

No one answered Ule. He was toying with them, heightening their fear. It was instrumental in managing hostages. Don’t let them gain any momentum of energy, no confederacy in numbers… kill attitude every chance you got. So, Ule would kill as much as necessary, knowing they needed to keep three or four alive in case a full hostage scenario came into play. But their hope was to be out after rendition for the financial information.

***********************

Lenin had removed Big Sal’s eyelids, to be sure there was nothing she couldn’t see. With her head strapped still, he meticulously dabbed Super Glue along the edges of the new wounds, to control the proliferate blood flow. And despite the threads of blood, she could see very well, in fact, what she didn’t ever want to see.

Yusef glowered and crowed, “Now, you dink Gorko just give you money, so you can steal from him? Den bring polis to his door? No! No, we are not here to negotiate a share…” he sneered, “… we are here to take what is Gorko’s. Now we have what we need from Jacob. Now, for you to tell us all.”

“You have everything…” she wailed… thinking about how she made Ginny watch as they beheaded her lover… This felt much worse… “You have it all… all…” her voice faded into more sobs.

“Don’t kill her. Make her ready.” Yusef quietly directed, Lenin.

He would prepare his victim, as he had done for the eyes. He turned to Big Sal, “Now we do again…” Lenin explained his actions, as if teaching neophytes the talent of torture. “I give you another shot of Tranexamic acid… be still.” He administered into the vein of her left arm, he then capped the needle, suspecting he might need it again, and set it on the table. “There. That will help your blood to keep, you don’t bleed out.”

Then he uncapped a second syringe and injected into the plenty of her upper arm. “This valproic acid. Important. It helps soldier survive much lost blood. Cells survive on low oxygen.”

He was studious, almost congenial, and Sally Burroughs only heard horror stories, and quaked in her sobs, and could do no more for she was trussed and secured in every possible stricture. Lenin continued like a pacifying dentist with a young patient. “Now, one more…” again an injection, similar to his triage before the excision of her eyelids. “This is vasopressin – is a hormone. It help keep soldier alive with shock because of great blood loss; it reduce tedavül to the ekstremite?” he wiggled his fingers, “It make good blood to heart and brain. Keep you alive.” He capped the needle again keeping it close for further use.

“Now, you are like Turkish soldier, shot in field of war.” He grinned in pride at his great handiwork, then picked up the scalpel.

Big Sal didn’t think to thank him for the medical attention… and she was no longer interested in being alive… she just screamed at what was to come.

***********************

Cliff and Johnny had wound themselves on a slightly westward tac, and then began to work back toward the Zanzibar Club in direct line with the sheriff, and the front door beyond. They wanted eyes on any movement from the building. Cliff had the front door to the western end, Johnny had door to the eastward end, they both held a low profile but moved in double-time, their M-16’s at their shoulder in firing position. They had a quarter mile to go still, seeing the sheriff leaning up against the bumper of the Isuzu, unmoving for the last half-hour. Their concern for Sheriff Coyle had them hustling.

In an open field of hardpack, there was a quick spray of sparks out the broke-out window. They hit the dirt, knowing the light machine pistols lacked accuracy at this distance, but many bullets made up for that lack of precision. They rolled to a slight swale to their immediate right, and lay in the slope, with just a bead of eye over the crest. That Donnie hadn’t fired meant he couldn’t see the shooter; still tucked well back in the shadows and cover of the building… but the Ops team could see Cliff and Johnny. That’s why they brought the smoke.

“Too far to throw smoke from here.”

“No shit! I’m not sure I can throw it 50 yards!”

“Well, we can’t stay here… and I don’t want to be yellin’ to her from this distance… don’t want her exposing herself if she thinks we saved her.”

“We still oughtta because we want to know she’s alive, or we just threw our asses into the fire for nothin’.”

Cliff was nodding and rolling his eyes at the obvious sense it made, “Yea… that would be smart. Ya see why I brought ya, bro?” He instantly shouted out, “Sheriff Coyle!” It was quiet. And they didn’t have eyes on her being laid low below the top of the swale. “Sheriff Coyle? You with us?” Nothing.

Then a handful of gravel skittered around them. Johnny popped his head to see an animated sheriff in hand signals, holding her hand over her mouth, and giving the “stop” sign. Then she leaned back.

“She’s one tough bitch.”

“How she made sheriff, no doubt.” He thought for a moment, “Let’s give Donnie the signal to fire, and you give me a good spray into those windows, and I’m gonna make a run for her.” He turned to Donnie on the butte.

**********************

Art kept the spotter’s scope between the building, searching for baddies, and back to Cliff and Johnny on their approach to the sheriff, and saw them get laid down with a spray of automatic fire from the window.

“They’re opening up on ‘em!”

“I see that, but don’t see the shooter… just muzzle fire… and it’s inconsistent.”

“Hold it! Johnny’s giving me hand signals…” Johnny was giving a round the world spin of his hand, then a countdown one, two and three; then a forward motion, urgent pump, meant speed. Art was reading back, “Full fire… three round bursts… he or Cliff are gonna take a run.” At that, Art also picked up his M-16; nothing like a benevolent little rain to help a good soldier’s cause. They waited.

Then Johnny raised in kneeling position, and began firing at the building.

“Fire!” Donnie let off a round into the belly of the window with no sense of a target but “middle”. Art followed with a three round burst. Donnie followed with another, at the same empty hole… Art another three blasts. Cliff now in a sprint for the sheriff, keeping his head low and as much within the blind of the autos 200 yards ahead of him… diving and rolling, and getting up and hustling again… Art could see Johnny letting off more rounds at the front of the building… and did the same.

But Donnie had seen the muzzle flash distinctly this time… knowing a machine pistol is about 27 inches max from the shooter’s eye if he’s looking down the bead. He put his scope to the flicker of the muzzle, and moved up about two centimeters… and squeezed his third round off.

**********************

Omer shouted out, “Geliyorlar!” They’re coming, and he let go a spit of counter fire, but dropping his head below his protection.

Baki yelled out, “Gelin ve alın” in confident challenge, head up and sighting on the running man and squeezed off a quick 20 rounds or better, sending the man into the dirt… unsure he was hit or just eluding the fire. Both Turks backed down as bullets rattled into the abyss of the lobby that had been transformed into a war zone. Then another smatter of bullets, keeping their heads down, yet Omer saw the flash come from the butte…

“I saw them in the mountain!” He called to Baki and Ahmet… “It came from the shadow.” They finally located their shooter.

Baki was engaged with his target, he ignored the call from Omer; he stood to get a clean shot at the running man, and a large chunk of his head flipped like a lid, matter slopping loosely; he went still as the slug passed so swiftly through; his hands dropped fast with the MP5, and his legs gave way as he went down hard.

Ahmet could see what was left of Baki, and offered him peace, “Tanrı seninle git kardeşim.” It was only hope that God would go with him for all of their atrocities… But God took care of martyrs, so they believed – whether martyrs for Allah or money. Omer broke for the back room screaming, “Baki is dead. Need hurry!”

*************************

Cliff was chuffing… middle-aged heroes don’t have the lungs of the kids anymore, he found out…

“How’re you doin’ Sheriff?”

“I’m stingin’, but I’m alive… how ‘bout you Mr. Cliff?” He oddly chuckled. How reality can appear in a moment’s crisis.

“I prefer Mr. Polite with a long ‘E’, or Cliff. One or the other…” he didn’t give her anymore chance to talk, the cute stuff was over. “You know you fucked us here, don’t ya?”

Darlene was shaking her head, “No, I didn’t know, but I suspected when I saw all the bullets on my side… I just thought I would get her and Leonard before you guys would swoop in… Just hoped I was before ya. And I sort of fucked me and my people a little more…” She faded at the observation.

“You know, that’s not what you told us, Sheriff.”

“I know, Mr. Polite… but I am the law here… and I realized I wasn’t actin’ like the law… stupid as that sounds.” she held her hand up for him to hear more, “And if you heard Margot in the tape, you’d of understood why I had to be the one…”

Cliff was familiar with warfare honesty, the whole soul-cleansing shit that boils over… and he knew, beyond any doubt, the sheriff fucked up… but out of good conscience, not out of some fake heroism or personal vendetta… He had to let this one pass. He could cuss her out on another day if they were to see one.

“What did you see in there?”

“I don’t hardly know… it went up like an explosion, guns turned in from everywhere. Like they were waitin’ for us.”

“Not you! Waitin’ on anybody… everybody. Sheriff, you walked fully into the deep shit. That’s a special Ops team… we have them pretty well identified…”

“An Ops team? Why the fuck? A whore and her bordello needs a special Ops team? Why the hell?”

“That much we don’t know, but if I were guessing, I’d say some bigger people were involved with the snuff game that your pimp-bitch was runnin’. And maybe they needed to close up shop for some reason…”

It came clear to Darlene, “And it was probably you and your boy Donnie that was part of the why.”

“And you and the Law, too. It was finally over, I’m guessin,’ and the fat whore-pimp didn’t get out soon enough.”

“Fuck…” Sheriff Coyle looked up, “Are we done with the coffee talk? My leg’s screamin’.”

“Can you run?”

“The fuckin’ devil’s chasin’ me. Don’t think I’ll have too much trouble.”

With that Cliff whistled and Johnny gave the signal for fire support. Cliff pulled the pin on two smoke grenades and gave them an overhand throw to the façade of the building.

Pop…hissssss, and the billowing cloud of noxious grey lifted a full blanket, the bullets came from the butte and from Johnny now, a full barrage of cover fire, while Cliff held onto Sheriff Coyle’s under shoulder and helped haul her; they ran and joined Johnny in the swale… They dropped a couple more smoke, and hit their pace again, this time with Johnny retreating with his M-16 pointed at the building, just waiting for an arsenal to open up on them… and nothing did. Nothing at all.

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