Kill Whitey

Yul’s car, a red Hyundai Accent, was parked in the corner of the last row at the back of the lot. Out of sight and out of mind. Sondra and I approached it with caution. I studied the other cars around it, checking to see if there was anybody inside them. They were all empty. I tried the Hyundai’s rear door. Yul always forgot to lock his doors, and today was no exception. Grinning, I cast one last look around and then we hopped inside. We ducked down, keeping our heads below the windows, and waited.

“Well,” I said, “so far so good. That went a lot easier than I expected.”

Within minutes, the parking lot came to life as the early shift got off work. We kept our heads down, but all around us were the sounds of car doors slamming, co-workers talking and shouting, engines starting, horns honking, sub-woofers booming bass lines from the latest hip-hop songs. Typical morning.

I missed it. I’d had a thousand mornings just like it, but had taken them for granted. Had dreaded them, in fact. Now, I would have given anything to have them back again. A million work days were better than this.

A shadow passed over us. I looked up and saw Yul standing at the driver’s door. He glanced around the parking lot, looking for us, unaware that we were hiding just inches away from where he stood. He put his key in the door, turned it—locking the door—and then frowned in confusion when the door wouldn’t open. I suppressed a giggle. Shaking his head, Yul turned the key again, unlocking the door. He still hadn’t seen us. He opened the door and slid behind the wheel. Then he slammed the door, rolled the window down, and put the key in the ignition.

Before he could start the car, I said, “What’s up, Yul?”

His body jerked. Arms flailing, Yul gave a startled cry.

“Settle down,” I said. “It’s just me.”

“Larry!” Yul turned around. “Jesus fucking Christ, you scared the shit out of—”

He stopped in mid-sentence, staring at Sondra. His mouth hung open.

“Hello.” Sondra smiled. “You are Yul, no?”

“No. I mean y-yes. I mean…aren’t you the girl from the Odessa?”

“Da.”

“What are you doing in my backseat?”

“Hiding.”

Blinking, Yul turned his head slowly to me and then back to Sondra again.

“Hiding? Hiding from who? Larry, what the hell is going on? You call me at work and say there’s a family emergency. My boss was pissed as shit about that. Then I find you in the backseat of my car with a stripper. No offense.”

Sondra shrugged.

“Where’s Darryl and Jesse? What’s—”

“Yul,” I interrupted, “just shut up for a minute. We’re in a world of shit and I need your help. Darryl and Jesse…”

“What about them? And you’re bleeding! Where did all that blood come from. That’s gonna be a real bitch, trying to get it out of the upholstery.”

“Relax. It’s not my blood. And I’ll pay for the clean up.”

“Did Darryl and Jesse—”

“Yul,” I whispered, “they’re dead.”

He paused before speaking. “What?”

“Darryl and Jesse are dead, man.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure about Darryl and I’m pretty sure about Jesse.”

“How? What the fuck happened?”

Before I could explain, we heard tires screeching. Sondra and I sat up and Yul whipped around. A black Lexus skidded to a stop in front of the Hyundai, blocking us from leaving. Sondra screamed. So did I. Yul just gaped in confusion. The stench of burned rubber filled the air.

Otar leapt out of the Lexus on the driver’s side. Another Russian who I didn’t recognize got out of the passenger’s side. Whitey climbed out of the back. His shirt was bloody from where I’d shot him, but otherwise, he seemed fine. He moved quickly. Calmly. Showed no sign of weakness or pain.

“Who the hell are these guys?” Yul hollered. “That white-haired guy—isn’t he from the strip club, too?”

Instead of answering, I flung my door open and knelt on the pavement, using the car door as a shield. I pulled the Glock and took aim at the guy closest to me—the one whose name I didn’t know. Whitey dived back inside the car. Otar dropped to a crouch and raised his gun. I was quicker. My first shot caught my target in the neck. Blood splattered the Lexus. He grabbed at his throat and fell.

“That’s for Darryl, you motherfuckers!”

Otar squeezed off a shot. The bullet glanced off the pavement at my feet. Pebbles and fragments of blacktop nicked my skin. He fired again, missing a second time. I shot at him and missed too. The trigger surprised me. I barely had to touch it and the gun would go off.

Sondra and Yul shrieked inside the car. Bystanders fled from the parking lot, running towards the guard house and the field. A few of them sped away in their cars. The cops would be here soon, if they weren’t already on their way.

“Start the car,” I shouted at Yul as I fired another shot. The Lexus’s front tire exploded. I had two bullets left.

“What, Larry?”

“Start the fucking car, goddamn it!”

The Hyundai sputtered, belching exhaust as it came to life. Yul was shit when it came to engines and preventative maintenance.