The one with the pistol leaps over the counter and pillages the cash register shoving wads of cash into his gym bag. The one with the shotgun jams the barrel against the bleach blonde’s temple. The father begs in Swedish.
“I will blow this little cunt’s brains out if you don’t cough up the goddamn money, asshole! Speak goddamn English, you little cunt!” He slams the butt of the shotgun in her temple. She curls into a ball, wailing and clutching her head.
I have a list of people I hate in this world, and this asshole just made that list.
I need to play this carefully, telling them to freeze police would just create a hostage situation or a messy shootout. The dad and his daughter are sitting down, and the asshole is standing up, still screaming at the father. I slowly reach into my coat, gripping my Sig. His attention is glued to the father and daughter; the barrel of the weapon is away from the daughter. Now’s my chance to vent this fucker’s head. After his fellow piece of shit goes through the door leading to the back of the restaurant, I line up my shot with the shotgun-toting prick’s head. Squeezing the trigger, my pistol bucks letting out a deafening crack. The bullet rips through his skull, splattering his meth ridden brains all over the window. Screams fill the diner as he falls and crashes into the table. I leap up from the table and train my gun toward the backroom, waiting for his idiot friend to storm through the door. He does something I don’t expect; he sticks his arm around the corner in my general direction. So now I’m staring down the barrel of a hand cannon. I duck for cover behind the bar as he fires blindly. My ears are already ringing from that shotgun, and that beast barking lead isn’t helping either. He starts to reload, and I fire off a couple of rounds. I duck as he storms out the door popping off two shots, which blow two massive holes on top of the wooden bar. “Yeah, come on, bitch! You think you can take me,” he says, just before firing off another salvo. He shoots till his gun makes that dreaded click sound.
I leave cover and train my sights on his skull. “Drop it and get down on your knees and put your hands behind your head and lie face down.” I snap.
“Fuck! You a cop?”
“You really are a smart one.”
He tosses his gun and throws his hands up. “Come on, Officer. I didn’t kill him that other asshole did.” His voice full of panic.
“Doesn’t matter. You were with him, so you’re going to be charged with armed robbery, murder, and attempted murder of a police officer. I think you just bought the death penalty, Amigo. But hey, if you’re lucky, you’ll just get life in prison.” I step behind the cooking line.
He sobs and mewls. “I don’t wanna go to prison. We just wanted some cash so we can score some Crystal, baby.” Without thinking, I jam the barrel of my gun up to his forehead, feeling that old familiar darkness rise in me; that old familiar power I loved so much when I was undercover.
“Come on, baby. Don’t take me to jail. I just wanted to get high.” He wails as well as anyone can with a gun in their mouth.
I yank the gun out of his mouth. “Get on the ground and put your hands behind your back!”
He flares his nostrils. “Fuck that, bitch!” He lunges at me with a kitchen knife. I rapidly fire my weapon, shredding his torso and blowing a gaping hole through his head. His body slumps backward. A sudden rush of adrenaline hits me like a freight train, the same rush I enjoyed as Cortana. I turn to the customers. “Folks stay seated while I get some help out here.” I grab a glass and dip it in the icebox, and hand it to the father. “For her head,” I say, pointing at her temple. He takes the cup and grabs a fist full of ice and wraps it in a cloth napkin, gently pressing it against her temple. I stroll out of the restaurant and call in the robbery.
Six minutes later, Ingrid arrives at the scene, along with two uniformed officers and some medics. “You okay, Devi?”
“My ears are ringing from the gunshots, but I’m fine.”
She holds out a tape recorder. “The Lieutenant wants me to handle your report on this. He wants you focused on the Moonlight case.”
“I was sitting here, enjoying my coffee when two meth heads came in and tried to rob the place. They fertilized the owner with the shotgun and then started robbing the customers. The little girl in there was smacked in the head with that shotgun. She’s probably going to need medical attention to make sure she’s not concussed. While they were distracted, I made my move and killed one while he was intimidating the kid. I exchanged gunfire with the other suspect till he ran out of bullets. When I was about to cuff him, he lunged at me with a butcher knife. So I fired three rounds in his chest and head, killing him.”
“Well.” She sighs, switching off the recorder. “Two less pieces of shit on the street is the way I look at it. Okay, Devi. I’ll file your report with Sullivan. You go on home. I got this.”
“Spasiba, Ingrid.”
“Ah, you’re learning, pozhaluysta. That means you’re welcome in Russian.”
“Thanks for the new word.”
“Ah, spasiba, you mean.”
“Yeah, right,” I say, grinning at her and heading to my Dodge.
Heading to the gun shop, it dawns on me the problem with this city is one minute your favorite
