Chances Are Omnibus (Gender Swap Fiction) Page 20

  The driver makes it to the docks in a half hour. I’m probably a mile away from where I need to be. A mile away and I’ve got a good eighty pounds of guns and ammo. In my big old body that would be a lot easier. Stacey is fast like a thoroughbred racehorse; she’s not a pack mule.

  I have to stop twice to catch my breath. Even if I make it in time, I won’t be in fighting trim. That can’t be helped now. I’ve got to push ahead and hope for the best.

  When I get in sight of the warehouse it’s five minutes to midnight. I’m too late; Lex’s guys are already on patrol around the building. I had hoped to get in before them, to set up a nest somewhere so I could ambush them. My rendezvous with Grace means it will be a lot harder to get in there now.

  I do a zigzag pattern and dive behind one stack of pallets or pile of rope and then zig over to another when I’m sure no one can see me. At least reasonably sure. There could always be someone on the roof with some night vision goggles. I just have to hope Lex isn’t that paranoid.

  As I get closer, I hear Bruiser Malloy’s voice. “The boss says to keep an eye out for whoever iced Blades.”

  Another minion whines, “Blades probably just pissed off the wrong dude.”

  “Shut up!” Bruiser roars. “Keep looking.”

  The minion waits until Bruiser’s shambled away before he grumbles under his breath. He stops to light a cigarette. While he does that, I scamper as fast as I can along a row of old crates. I see what I need: a ladder that goes up to the roof of the warehouse. From there I’ll probably find a way inside.

  The only problem will be to get up the ladder. I try to sling the duffel across my back, but it’s too heavy. It’ll pull me off the ladder for sure. If it doesn’t, it’ll take me too long to climb up, so someone will spot me and shoot me.

  I open the bag up and then inventory what I’ve got in there. The Uzi is light enough to keep. The AK-47 is heavier. I throw out the extra clips for it. That lightens the load. As for the little .25 pistol, I stick it in my pocket as a last resort. The duffel is light enough on my back now that I can walk without a problem.

  The guard still smokes and mutters to himself. I don’t see Bruiser anywhere; he’s either on the other side or else he went inside. For the moment that leaves me an opening to scamper over to the ladder. With the duffel on my back, I climb as fast as I can. I expect someone to shout for me to stop or else the sound of a gun firing, but I don’t hear anything.

  I make it to the roof. There’s no one there with any goggles or a sniper rifle. Lex’s security isn’t as good as I’d feared, at least not outside. The inside might be a different story.

  I stay low to the roof as I make my way around it and look for a door or something to let me inside. I hear Bruiser’s voice again. I risk a peek down at the ground and see him as he berates another guard. Apparently none of them are very interested in keeping watch. Good help is hard to find, even for the mob.

  There’s a door on the front side of the warehouse. At one time there was a lock, but it’s rusted away, so it’s easy enough for me to push the door open. I do it slowly; I don’t want to risk a creak that will alert anyone to my presence.

  Through the door is a catwalk that also hasn’t fared well in recent years. It’s a good thing I’m only a hundred ten pounds—with another fifty in weapons—or else I’d fall through the damned thing. Still I move only one step at a time as if on a tightrope.

  I make it over to a corner, where the catwalk is a little more secure and where I can hide behind a support pillar. I let out a sigh. I’ve made it this far at least.

  Then I hear metal shriek. I worry it’s the catwalk, but it’s not. It’s the front doors of the warehouse. A car pulls in. It’s a Mercedes and before it stops and the door opens, I already know who’s inside. Artie Luther has arrived.

  Chapter 39

  I’m tempted to take the AK-47 out of the bag and open fire. After a week as a woman, after I intimidated the Worm and murdered Blades, I’ve finally found my prey. All I have to do is line up a shot and pull the trigger. Then my troubles will be over.

  My cop’s intuition tells me to wait. Luther came here for something big. Something so big he came himself, just like the Lennox robbery. I should wait and see what it is. Then I can take out all the scum in one fell swoop.

  In the meantime I should find a better place to hide. Across the building there’s a stairway that leads down to the second floor. That will get me closer, more within range for the AK-47. I should have bought a rifle, even a hunting rifle with a scope. Then I could try to pick off Luther and company from up here. Except I remember what happened on the dock. If I couldn’t hit Lex then, I don’t have much of a chance now from up here.

  I look down and see Lex as he talks with Bruiser; he gestures emphatically at the doors. While they argue, I hurry along the catwalk and try not to make any noise. When I hear a creak, I freeze. I look down at the floor of the warehouse, but no one looks my direction. With a sigh of relief, I keep going.

  I make it to the stairs. With another look to make sure the coast is clear, I descend the stairs. The second floor catwalk is wider, with more room for me to walk. Of course since it’s closer to the floor it’s also more dangerous. If I make any creaks this time, someone might hear me.

  There’s an office on the second floor that might make for a good place to hide. It’s at least fifty feet away. I look around again. Bruiser has gone over to work on the doors while Lex stands in the middle of the warehouse, a perfect target. Who’s he waiting for? I’ll worry about that later.

  I scurry towards the office. I’ve just about made it when I feel something like a bee sting in my right thigh. Pain burns in my right leg. I nearly collapse right then, but I keep going. I bite down on my lip and then limp into the office.

  There’s not much light in the office, but as I lean against the wall, I can feel the blood trickle down my leg. I’ve been shot! I didn’t hear anything, which means a silencer. A sniper on the second floor or maybe up on the roof.

  The Tall Man. It has to be. O’Neill is Lex’s best hit man and I haven’t seen him yet. A stupid mistake on my part. I wonder what he’ll do next. Since I broke his jaw, he can’t call for help. He might go down and write a note for Lex. Or he might come after me himself.

  Either way I have to be ready. I look around the office, but don’t see any other way in or out. This is my last stand, then. Just like the Alamo and Custer I’ll go down fighting. If I’m like them then I’ll lose, but I’ll lose with honor.

  As I take the AK-47 off my shoulder and click off the safety, I think of Maddy. I really will have abandoned her now. Before I could at least be her friend—not a good one after what I did with Grace—but soon I won’t be anything. Worse yet, she’ll mourn for me a second time.

  Thoughts of Maddy of course bring Grace to mind as well. I so badly want to make it home to her, to collapse in bed next to her and have her hug me and tell me everything will be all right. I love her. Not as a friend, but in the same way I loved Debbie.

  I hear footsteps on the catwalk coming towards me. It’s probably the Tall Man to finish me off. I take a deep breath and try to push the pain away. “Here we go,” I whisper.

  ***

  There are a couple of different ways to handle the situation. One is to get into a Mexican standoff by leaning out the door to fire at the Tall Man or anyone else. Two is to do like Scarface and jump out the doorway with machine gun blazing. They might get me or I might get them first.

  Three is to try a clever ruse. I start to sob loudly, loud enough that I’m sure the Tall Man or anyone else on the second floor can hear me. To make my cries more realistic, I stick one finger in the bullet wound. That prompts me to scream and sob for real.

  Through my screams and sobs, I can still hear the footsteps approach. I slide the AK-47 over to the side; it would be much too obvious to use in this situation. The Uzi is a lot smaller and I don’t need to have much accuracy with it.

  I take a c
ouple deep breaths to try to settle myself down as I hear him approach. I’m only going to get one chance at this. The footsteps stop. I look up at the doorway and try to wipe the tears away with one finger. Maybe I did too good of a job with those.

  In the doorway I see Will O’Neill’s gangly frame. The bottom of his pale horse face glints from the wires that hold it together. There’s a similar metallic glint in his hand from the silenced pistol he’s got pointed at me. He gestures for me to get up with one hand.

  “I can’t get up,” I whine. “You shot me. It hurts!”

  He gestures to me again; he won’t take no for an answer. “I told you I can’t! It hurts too much!”

  This time he lowers the pistol and cocks it. That’s the sign for I damned well better find a way to get up. “OK,” I say. I use my left foot to try to push myself up. My right leg really does hurt, just not as much as I’ve told him. At the same time I lever myself up, I keep the Uzi against the wall and use my body to screen it from him.

  When I’m about halfway up, I act like I’m slipping. As I fall, I spin around and fire the Uzi wildly. It’s set on full auto, which pounds out a couple dozen bullets in seconds. The Tall Man screams through the wires in his mouth.

  I’ve hit him. Not fatally, as I hear him hop backwards so he can keep his gun trained on the door. Shit. We’ve got another Mexican standoff. Worse because I can’t use that ruse again.

  It’s time for the second option.

  ‘“Say hello to my little friend!’” I say to myself. I drop the Uzi to the floor and trade it for the AK-47. I count to three before I lunge out onto the catwalk as fast as possible with the machine gun at my hip. The moment the muzzle is clear of the door, I squeeze the trigger.

  It’s a good thing I have both hands on it or else I probably would shoot at the ceiling. Amos was right that the rifle packs a kick for a girl my size. I keep my finger on the trigger to spray the catwalk ahead of me.

  The gun finally clicks as it runs out of ammo. I drop the useless weapon to the catwalk. Ahead of me I see the Tall Man pressed against the wall. Is it possible I missed him entirely? He turns towards me. My entire body freezes as it did when the Worm approached me at the liquor store.

  When the Tall Man turns around, I see two bloodstains spreading across his white shirt. He still has enough presence of mind to aim the weapon at me. I stare at the end of the silencer and wait for the flash that will end my life. My second life. Maddy. Grace. I have just enough time to think of them again.

  The gun doesn’t fire. The Tall Man collapses to the catwalk. He’s dead.

  One down. But then I feel the catwalk shake as if from an earthquake. Bruiser Malloy appears at the top of the stairs. The sight of him snaps me out of my paralysis. I rush back into the office for the Uzi.

  Two to go.

  Chapter 40

  Bruiser Malloy is big, but a couple of clips from the Uzi should stop him. I take an extra clip out of the duffel bag so I can reload this time. I’m not sure what he packs, probably something big.

  I stick my head out the doorway. It’s big all right. It’s an RPG launcher like I saw at Amos’s shop. It’s the same kind al-Qaeda and the like use in Afghanistan and Iraq. Pretty powerful stuff to carry to a business deal.

  It’s probably my fault he’s got the thing. With Blades dead, Lex must have decided to bring a little extra firepower. That or Bruiser came up with the idea on his own.

  I have just enough time to get into the far corner of the office before the rocket-propelled grenade screams down the catwalk. I put the Uzi between my legs so I can put my fingers in my ears.

  Not that it does much good. The explosion rocks the entire office. Plaster from the ceiling comes down on my head. Stray papers left on the floor blow into my face. My ears ring from the blast. I cough from the smoke.

  I’m still alive. Once the air is free enough of smoke and dust, I can see the front walls of the office are gone. Part of the back of the warehouse is gone too. I can see the harbor through the hole. The water looks about the same as the last time I went up against Bruiser, calm and black. That’s probably where I’ll wind up before long. This time there won’t be any FY-1978 to save me.

  Only if I let them catch me. I take the Uzi from my lap. I don’t even have to get up; I see Bruiser in the new, larger doorway a second later. I raise the Uzi and aim for his big shaved skull.

  Nothing happens. The gun clicks impotently. I check to make sure the safety is off. I even try to slap the thing a couple of times. It’s jammed. Maybe from the explosion and all the dust and such. Maybe it’s just a piece of shit. If I survive, I’ll have to pay Amos another visit. This time I won’t flirt with him; I’ll just wring his fucking neck.

  With no other ideas in mind, I throw the gun at him as hard as I can. I might as well spit on him. He reaches out with one huge, scarred mitt to grab the front of my black sweater. He hefts me into the air without even a grunt of strain.

  He could snap my neck like it’s a twig. He doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Time for you to meet the boss.”

  ***

  I’ve already met Artie Luther more times than I’d have liked. Not that I could tell Bruiser that. He grabs me around the neck and squeezes to the point I can only get a trickle of air in my lungs. That’s at least enough to keep me alive as Bruiser carries me downstairs.

  He tosses me into a pile of old tarps. I’d scream, but there’s not enough air in my lungs to waste with that. Instead I lie there for a few moments and gasp for air.

  I feel one of Bruiser’s hands grab me by the shoulder. He spins me around into a sitting position. I groan from the pain in my leg and with fresh pain in my shoulder. “This cunt killed Willy,” Bruiser says. He levels a silver .45 at my head. I know this weapon—it used to belong to me. Killed with my own gun—again. Must be the universe’s idea of a joke.

  To add to the irony, Artie Luther is my savior. He puts a hand on my old gun. “Not yet,” Lex says. He stares down at me. “Let’s find out who our visitor is first.”

  “I’m not anyone,” I say. “Just a figment of your imagination.”

  Almost as bad as being shot with my own gun is being pistol-whipped with it. The butt of my old gun opens up a cut across my cheek. Tears come to my eyes. This time it’s not part of a ruse.

  “That should teach you to have some manners,” Lex says. “Now, who are you?”

  “Stacey.”

  I resist the urge to spit in Lex’s face when he takes my chin in his meaty fingers and then looks in my eyes. “Why are you here, Stacey?”

  “To kill you slimeballs.”

  “Why would a little girl like you want to do that?”

  “Because you fucks killed my father.” That’s close enough to the truth as far as I’m concerned.

  “Is it safe to assume you killed Mr. Blades?”

  “He had it coming.”

  Before they can continue the interrogation, headlights wash over us; the light reflects off Lex’s bald dome. He lets me go and turns to face the lights. “Looks like our friends are here. Keep an eye on the girl. We’ll continue our discussion later.”

  The car parks next to Lex’s Mercedes. It’s a black Cadillac limo. A chauffeur springs out of the vehicle to open the back doors. I expect to see a bunch of Russians or Italians or some other European-born gangsters. Instead a half-dozen Asian guys in suits pile out. Four of them carry weapons similar to the Uzi I had. One of the other two carries a silver briefcase. That must be the payment for whatever Lex plans to sell.

  Lex heads towards them and holds out one arm to the unarmed one without the briefcase. “Mr. Ling! It’s good to see you again.”

  The man with the briefcase whispers into Ling’s ear. Ling says something in a foreign language. Chinese? Japanese? Korean? I’ve heard bits of all three before, but nothing he says jogs my memory. The guy with the briefcase translates, “We have the money. Where is the product?”

  “A direct man. I like that.”

  L
ing says something translated as, “He does not wish to spend any more time in this filthy hovel than necessary.”

  “I apologize for the state of our meeting place, but one can’t be too careful in this city.” Lex turns and motions to Bruiser. He hoists me up by the back collar of my sweater. “As you can see, we’ve already had one party crasher.”

  “Mr. Ling does not care about squatters. He wishes for you to deliver the formula.”

  “Of course.” Lex reaches into his suit jacket. From the inside pocket he takes out a slim metal case. “It’s all in here gentlemen: the formula plus Dr. Nath’s notes, at least those we could recover from her apartment after her untimely death.”

  I go slack in Bruiser’s grasp. Formula, Dr. Nath’s notes. That can mean only one thing: Lex plans to sell FY-1978 to these people. Are they another pharmaceutical company? That’s my guess from what I’ve seen of Mr. Ling so far. He doesn’t seem like a gangster to me.

  Everything starts to fall into place. These must be the people Lex stole the formula for. They might have employed him to do the job for them or else he might have heard they wanted it and then broke in to steal it first. The latter sounds more like Lex’s style.

  “Now, let’s see the payment,” Luther says.

  The translator opens the silver briefcase. There’s a bunch of thousand-dollar bills in it. Without being asked, the translator flips through some of the stacks to show there aren’t a bunch of blank pieces of paper inside. He probably saw that in a movie. “Very good,” Luther says.

  I can’t let them make the exchange. Forget about killing Bruiser and Luther; I need that case with the formula and notes. If I give that to Dr. Palmer, it could cut years off the estimate to make a cure for me.

  “Hey assholes!” I shout. “You really think a son of a bitch like Luther is going to give you the real formula? What he’s giving you is probably the formula for dandruff shampoo. Then after he gets your money, he’ll turn around and sell it back to Lennox to screw you over even more.”