Getting Ugly (10 page)

They go at each other in an all-out sprint. Both blasting, each weaving just enough for the bullets to whizz by. Chats dodges left, then right. Big Ugly spins and rolls, comes back up firing. The hardwood court is chewed up and spit out. They steamroll, bulls raging toward one another, getting closer and closer to impact,.

They collide at center court. Chats jams his 9mm to Big Ugly’s temple, who swats it away as a bullet plows into center court. The battle, in all its glory, is mirrored up on the Jumbotron.

Big Uglys shoves his Colt into Chats heart. Chats grabs Big Ugly’s wrist, twisting it away with a crack of ligaments. The Colt slides across the court, a stray bullet firing toward the glass viewing wall.

The bullet digs into the glass wall directly in front of Leon’s face. He doesn’t even blink as he watches on.

Chats and Big Ugly twist, tug, and pull as Big Ugly holds on to Chats’s gun hand. Chats throws a head-butt into Big Ugly’s face, which Big Ugly returns with an even harder forehead slam to what’s left of Chats’s nose. Chats stumbles back and Big Ugly rips the axe free, cutting off Chats’s right hand in a single, clean swipe. The severed hand bounces to the hardwood, still gripping the 9mm.

Chats’s body trembles. His eyes bulge, water, swell red. Yet, still not a single sound from the man as blood spits from his wrist stump. Big Ugly leaps, plunging his axe downward for the mother of all death chops. Chats rolls and the axe slams full force into the foul line, completely stuck in the wood.

Chats pulls a tactical knife from his ankle with his remaining hand. He flips the knife into an overhand grip. He swings and rips at Big Ugly with lightning fast, wind-cutting swipes, pushing Big Ugly away from the axe planted in the court. Big Ugly throws a quick jab, then lands a roundhouse. Chats takes the hits but keeps coming.

From the bleacher room the remaining crew watches on like they were at a UFC brawl. The hell-bent warriors on the court are getting closer and closer to the glass. Chats has his back to them. Big Ugly goes for a knockout uppercut. Chats pivots and comes up slicing Big Ugly’s cheek.

Big Ugly takes a step back. Like Bruce Lee in
Enter the Dragon
, he touches his finger to his bleeding cheek, tastes it. Then, as if a switch was flipped, as if Big Ugly suddenly decided enough is enough, he grabs Chats’s arm with amazing speed and force. The arm cracks, knife popping up, airborne. Big Ugly grabs another tactical knife from Chats’s belt, then snatches the first blade in midair.

The crew is stone cold silent. Leon closes his eyes; he knows how this is going to end
.

Holding the Ginsu-sharp tactical knives in each hand with an overhand grip, Big Ugly slices both hands in a scissor-whip across Chats’s throat.

Chats’s head slowly slides from his neck, landing with a single bounce. Blood pumps from the carotid arteries in the open neck. Big Ugly looks into the bleacher room at his captive audience. His stare is blank, calm, and chilling. He drops the knives, picks up his Colt, grabs Chats’s head and calmly walks away, leaving a chill in the air and an O negative spitting neck-fountain on the court. All televised on the Jumbotron above.

The crew is shell-shocked, disbelief so thick you could bite it.

All except Leon. He looks around. Sees Pike. Sees Patience.

“Where’s Rasnick?”

R
asnick moves with life-threatening urgency through the house, knowing that he has to find that money and quick. In a perfect world, he would find the stash before his brothers got there and be ready to load up and slip out when they arrive, while Leon and company distract that maniac who owns this manor.

He tracks his weapon over the sprawling area he’s entered, a space dedicated to Big Ugly’s surprising dedication to art and culture. The room is peppered with marvelous ancient stone sculptures of Greek Gods in exile, along with a rich collection of Buddhist artifacts from Indonesia. Rare, eclectic collections of paintings are hung up and down the walls: Botticelli, Vermeer, Whistler, Munch, Dali, Warhol…and a photo of Jenna Jameson autographed in lipstick.

Rasnick tosses a Warhol Big Electric Chair, checking the wall behind it. He pushes at the wall seeking out a secret door.
There’s got to be something.
He finds nothing.
Where’s the fucking money?

Rasnick tries another wall.

Flicks the balls of a Hermes statue.

He utters an adrenaline-fueled whisper to himself. “Come on. Come on…” Stepping back, he bumps into Chats’s head. It has been mounted on the wall—right next to a Pollock that looks like a yak vomited up a bag of Skittles—like a hunting prize in Big Ugly’s collection..

Rasnick leaps from his skin. His face drains pale, just shy of translucent. There’s a row of ten other heads displayed just like Chats’s.

“Fuck!” Rasnick fights to pull it together.

He works to control his breathing as he looks into Chats’s dead eyes, thinks about the kind of man Chats was. He was a coldblooded killer, a crazed fighter. Basically, he was a bad motherfucker. If Big Ugly took him down, what the hell is he going to do to Rasnick? He knows he can’t afford to think this way. He’s here on a mission of commerce and must stay focused. This is about dollars, not dick size.

Rasick swallows his fear.
You’re bad man. Anybody can be gotten to. Big Ugly just got the jump on Chats, that’s all. You
got to move on
.

He squeezes his GPS Beretta. “Where the hell are they?

T
he sun slips down for the day, framing the mega mansion in a warm, purple glow. The rain has slowed to a peaceful rate, falling gently on the woods. The soft pat, pat of drops landing on leaves gives the lull of a sleepy hideaway.

A vulture yanks and gnaws at the insides of a dead cow.

Zwips whisper-blast the feathered fucker.

Out from the woods step Buster and Talley, officially joining the party. They’re dressed head to toe in black SWAT tactical gear: urban assault body armor, laser-sighted modified assault rifles, Glocks, riot helmets with steel grid face shields and cervical neck protectors. The light rain picks up, pissing down on them.

They survey the mess, the carnage-laden wasteland that is Big Ugly’s front yard. Soil cut up by landmines, smoldering cow remains, what’s left of Oleg and Vig. It’s a form of repulsive yard art, cold, hard indicators of what has happened

“Holy hell!” blurts Talley.

Buster snickers, “Fuckin’ dope, man.”

Talley looks at his brother with disgust.

Buster doesn’t get his moods. “What, bro?”

“Do you remember the day you became a fucking idiot?”

“Dude, easy…”

“Was it cold that day? Sunny?”

“Asking you, go easy. Please.”

“No really? When was it?”

Buster’s eyes well. “Begging you…”

“Is it something I did?” asks Talley.

Angry tears form from Buster. “Now I’m warning you.”

Talley keeps at it. “If I did, I want to apologize. I’m sorry for assisting you in your quest to become a complete fucking idiot.”

“Goddammit, Talley! Lay off me. I’m a person. If you can’t accept who I am then…then…I don’t fucking know what, but will you please stop judging and accept me like a brother, you complete fucking asshole?”

Talley starts to retort, but stops himself when he sees his brother’s hurt expression. Buster wipes away the tears. They stand silent, observing a moment of brotherly reflection.

“Done?” Talley asks.

Buster snorts. “Yes.”

Talley nods.

They trudge toward the mega mansion without making eye contact.

L
eon, Pike, and Patience check each door along a long hallway carpeted in thick red shag.

Leon half expects to see twin girls and something about
Red Rum
. They push on, guns at the ready as they perform a room-to-room sweep. Leon flings open the first door. They find what can only be described as an artillery room, packed wall-to-wall with weapons, ammo, and explosives. Leon thinks he sees a trident in the corner; maybe it’s a pitchfork. He motions to the others that it’s clear.

Something bothers Pike. “That prick Rasnick went after the money on his own, didn’t he?”

Patience seethes.

Leon knows he’s right, but they have to stay on task. “Greed’s a bitch. Keep your damn voice down.” He throws open another door, finding an empty spa-like bathroom. Scans the area. Clear.

Patience looks to Leon. “That your big plan? Dash with cash?”

Leon doesn’t answer, thinking,
It’s not the worst idea.

Pike chimes in. “It’s always about the money, my man.”

“I have other goals, my man,” says Leon.

Patience’s voice goes soft. “Do tell. What’s this all about to you?”

Leon readies himself at the next door. “Not important.”

Pike senses his woman’s interest in Leon. “If the man don’t wanna talk, he don’t wanna talk.”

Patience zeroes in on Leon, trying to strip away at his defenses with her ample sexuality. It’s an effective strategy that’s served her well. “Come on Leon, give it up,” she purrs.

Leon looks at her. For a second she seems like a human being, an actual real, caring female. Her green eyes glow. “C’mon. Please?” Leon is a strong, disciplined man, but he
is
a still a man, and men can be weaker than shit. It’s nature. The basic heterosexual need for female attention fueled by the primitive need to procreate. Not to mention, it’s been awhile since a woman gave Leon the time of day, let alone acted like she wanted to hump him.

Leon gets lost her gaze as he explains, “It’s about taking back what was taken from me. Finding something positive in all this bad. I lost everything to that man, a life and a woman I loved more than anything. I can never get it all back; I’ve been reduced to next to nothing. So now, I guess, it’s all about just getting back to good.”

Pike and Patience actually look moved by his honesty.

Patience takes Leon’s face in her hands. “That’s best reason I’ve heard yet. I’m sorry you’ve been hurt, you gorgeous man.” She gently caresses his cheek with the tips of her fingers then whispers, “But you’re a complete pussy.”

Pike and Patience roll with laughter.

Leon moves on.

Why do I bother?

R
asnick moves through an area of the house that looks like a luxury hotel lobby was picked up and dropped directly into the mansion. Brass fixtures, wall-to-wall hardwood floors, and antique furniture placed around the room with perfect symmetry.

Rasnick scans the open space for signs of where the money could be hidden, as well as signs of a crazy fucker trying to kill him. There’s an elevator at the far end of the room, with an open stairway next to it. Various doors lead everywhere, as if the room is the connector to the various arteries of the house.

Back in the red shag hallway, Pike and Patience are still giggling. Leon is pissed but hides it fairly well. “Can we?” He gestures down the hallway.

Leon throws open the next door, which leads into a swinger’s style love shack equipped with mirrored walls and ceiling. An Olympic-size bed takes up half the room. A sex swing hangs in the center of the room. Leather hoods, whips…you name it line the far wall. It’s as if Hustler threw up in here.

Pike and Patience step in. One would think this would be Toys’’R’’Us to these two. She pushes the sex swing. “Gross.” Pike nods in complete agreement. The two of look around, disgusted by what they see. Patience looks at her man and asks, “Since when is that making love?” Leon can only stare in utter disbelief.

The lights go out.

Complete darkness.

Pike barks out, “Cocksucker.”

“Take it easy.” Urges Leon.

Rasnick is also now in complete darkness. Can’t see a damn thing save for the few shards of streaking lightning firing off outside, flickering, flashing, and bouncing light off the polished floor. Rasnick clicks on his tactical flashlight, illuminating the wood paneling that lines the walls of the room.

Just off his left shoulder, he hears the sound of a door opening.

Rasnick fumbles, quickly shutting off the flashlight plunging the lobby into darkness again. A lightning strike cuts the blackness just for a moment, followed by the roll of rumbling thunder. Rasnick presses himself against the wall trying to become invisible.