- Author
- 04/19/2016
- 2,238 Words
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- 28 Comments
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Lion's Lair - 15. Ludicrous Speed
Jenay arrives at the bar, and Barry’s frozen in place, hands up at chest level. Jenay goes white at the realization of what’s happening, drops her and Dixie’s empty beer bottles on the bar where they clatter around for a few seconds—just long enough for everyone’s attention to be drawn to the bar.
Only the mournful sound of a low volume country song from the jukebox interrupts the now deadly silence of the bar.
The robber speaks to Barry in a low voice, his gun squarely aimed at Barry’s chest. When he finishes speaking, he waves his gun toward Jenay, then refocuses his sleeved-tattooed arm’s aim on Barry.
In a loud voice, Barry announces, “Ok, everyone … we’re being robbed. Everyone do exactly what I say, we’ll all be ok. Jenay, grab a trash can, go around, and everyone, throw your cell phones in the trash. Jenay, after you get every one of ‘em, put the trash can by the back door.”
Jenay, visibly shaken, does what Barry instructs, then comes to stand at the back of the table where she’d been sitting with Joe, Rex, Clayton, Ryan and all the others.
A few more words are spoken between the assailant and Barry as a couple of woven fabric grocery bags from Walmart are shoved across toward Barry. Just a low voice, no words are distinguishable. Again, Barry speaks loudly. “Everyone, Jenay is coming back around with a bag. Put your wallet, purses, watches—anything of value—into the bag. Jenay, when you’re done, put the bag over there, then go back to where you were, ok?” Barry points to the short end of the L-shaped bar, where there’s an opening that leads to the backroom dressing area of the performers, and, in the other direction, opens up to the bar’s main floor with adjacent stage. There’s a half wall holding up the short L of the bar. “Just put it at the end of the bar, ok?”
Jenay moves quickly through the crowd, places the partially-filled bag where Barry told her, then moves back to stand at her spot at the table. She glances quickly across the table at Dixie standing by the pool table. Dixie’s frozen to the spot wide-eyed in terror.
“Now, everyone move up on the stage.” Barry’s instruction at least puts some distance between the gunman and the bar’s crowd. Everyone moves quickly and quietly up to the stage, behind the table where Jenay now stands.
With that out of the way, Barry picks up the second bag the gunman had placed on the counter, turns around to the cash register, shifts from side to side on his feet before hitting a key. With the clatter of the printer, the register opens. Barry pauses for a moment then starts taking all the bills out from the busy night’s sales. When he finishes he turns around, and starts to hand the bag back over when he’s stopped by the thief’s voice.
“That’s not all. Gimmie the reserve bank. Y’all keep extra cash here, and I want that, too. NOW!” The voice is medium pitched, but with a low rumble and a slurred accent of Cajun French that reverberates through the still of the bar. There’s no music anymore to mask the eerie silence of the normally bustling crowd.
Barry moves to the far end of the bar, and reaches under it. A bell is heard, a drawer slides open. Inside there’s an additional $1,000 in a variety of bills the bar keeps to make change from the register’s drawer. Barry dutifully, deliberately takes the cash out by denomination, putting it in the bag, then starts to move to deliver the bag to the intruder. “OK, that’s all the cash.”
“Nice try, but there’s more. Open the night deposit safe, I want those, too.” People in the bar look at each other, not knowing what he’s talking about. “Speeditup, ah need to get out of here.” The slurred words indicate the bandit’s high has either kicked in, or is wearing off.
Underneath the “back bank” drawer is a small safe, bolted to the floor. There’s an electronic keypad lock on the front, and a small slot on the top, just big enough to accept the register’s printout and balancing sheets along with cash and credit card slips from each night’s business. All of that is stuffed into business-envelope-sized zippered bank bags for later processing.
Barry bends over, punches in the code. There’s a quiet “thunk” as the safe unlocks, Barry reaches inside and grabs as many bags as possible with his hand. He gets a second batch, too. There’s more than a week’s business inside that’s now in the gunman’s bag.
Barry stands, and starts walking down to the criminal, mindful of the gun that’s never wavered from his chest. “Ok, here ya go. Now get the fuck outta here.” The tension, and his anger, are getting to Barry. Were he on the other side of the bar, Barry would have attacked the guy by now; at 6’2, he stands 6 inches or so taller than the assailant, and weighs a good forty pounds more than the smaller-framed man. Only the gun—and fear of what would happen to the bar’s patrons—has stopped him so far.
At the table, there’s a conversation with eyes only going on between Joe and Ryan who are at the front edge of the table, both now facing the bar. Ryan looks down at his hand. Three fingers are resting on the armrest. Joe follows Ryan’s gaze downward, then backs up to look Ryan in the eyes. Ryan surreptitiously nods 3 times. Joe nods in agreement.
The gunman moves around, his cash bag hanging on his left forearm, his right hand still aiming the gun at Barry, as he moves to the bar’s short side to pick up the bag Jenay’s collected from the crowd. “Ok, I need a fast car. That piece of shit I’m in won’t do it. Who drives that big black Mer-Say-Dees sedan outside?”
No one says a word, but most of the crowd on the stage look toward Clayton. He’s been around the bar long enough most know what he drives.
“Fine. You’re coming with me.” The thug waves his gun at Clayton. “You’ll be my insurance. They won’t attack me with you there. And you must have money to be driving that, so you’re important. Even better.”
The grifter is at the end of the bar, wresting to get the bag Jenay’s collected from the crowd onto his tattooed left arm beside the bag of the bar’s cash. The gun is momentarily pointed at the floor as he struggles. Barry steps over toward the opening. “I’ve got a big Chrysler with a Hem ….”
In a drug-induced rage of both self-defense and anger, the robber’s hand with the gun swings up from his left side to backhand full force across Barry’s face. The effect is immediate.
Barry’s head bounces into the stucco-ed opening of the wall behind the bar with a resounding “pwop” that rings through the bar. He then falls forward, his face hitting the half-wall holding up the bar, then collapses to the floor, his bloody face half visible in the opening between the end of the bar and adjacent wall. His body is pretzel-contorted in a heap.
There’s a gasp from the crowd. A dent in the sheetrock where Barry’s head hit is clearly visible. Barry’s not moving.
“I’ve already got a fuckin’ car, you idiot!” The gunman is excitedly pacing, almost bouncing, in a small circle. He turns facing the table, the bags’ handles securely in his left hand. “Ok, Mr. Mer-Say-Dees, let’s go.” He waggles the gun at Clayton. Clayton sits frozen for a moment before starting to get up from the table and move forward.
Joe notices a movement out of the corner of his eye, and shifts his eyes over toward Ryan. There’s an almost invisible bobble to Ryan’s head, then a more obvious nod. A second nod. Then a third. Then everything goes crazy.
The Tesla Model S luxury electric car has a mode the driver can select that takes off almost all limits from its powertrain and chassis, firms up the suspension and steering, and basically transforms it into a race car. It sprints from 0-60 mph in 2.8 seconds. The acceleration puts a 1.1 g-force on the driver—meaning it’s faster than falling, more than gravity’s pull. And it races up to its speed-limited top of 155 mph in just 20 seconds. They call it the “ludicrous” mode.
Ryan is now in ludicrous mode.
With a power fueled by years spent in the gym since the loss of his legs, the merciless pushing he’s done to get prepped for his new legs, battle-tested courage, and protectiveness toward his lover, Ryan launches his wheel chair with ludicrous speed directly toward the robber. The chair zips the 15 or so feet toward the gunman at a pace the bar’s crowd can’t believe. Ryan rams directly into him, his right nub of a leg hitting the man directly in the balls. His aim was perfect.
The man’s eyes widen in both surprise and pain as he struggles to stand, and he moves his right hand, preparing to shoot Ryan. He didn’t count on Joe.
Joe’s behind Ryan by milliseconds. With his strength coming from years of hard labor, moving iron and sheet metal as a welder, Joe delivers a powerhouse upper cut to the jaw of the criminal, knocking him out almost instantly. Almost. There’s just enough time for the gunman to squeeze off a round from his gun as he collapses.
The thief lies unconscious on the floor in front of Barry’s lifeless body. There’s a small pool of blood underneath Barry’s head.
“Grab something to tie this guy up with!” Joe’s yelling, someone jumps over the bodies and heads into the back of the bar. Seconds later, there’s duct tape securely wrapped around the wrists and ankles of the bar’s intruder.
There’s a commotion at the door of the bar, and suddenly the bar is filled with both police and FBI agents, recognized by jackets with their large lettering. Four of the guys race over to where Joe and Ryan are over the unconscious felon. Handcuffing the guy, but leaving the tape in place, they manage to get him roused. One of the lawmen yanks the ski mask off.
It’s Benoit. Ben’s “partner”.
One of the cops moves over to Barry as there’s another commotion at the door. Dave’s 6’5” frame bursts through the open door, wearing boots, jeans, and a white button-down dress shirt. “Bulldog? BULLDOG?!” He’s yelling , then sees the deputy looking down at the pathway behind the bar. He freezes for a moment, then races around the bar to see Barry’s unmoving body.
He shoves the deputy out of the way, and squats in front of his prone lover. He reaches out his hand to check for a pulse in the carotid artery. Before he can find it, he jerks his hand back. It’s covered in blood.
“Oh, fucking shit no.” His face is a frozen mask of horror and pain, but he reaches back to try to find a pulse. He slumps forward and goes limp as the crowd of bar patrons and friends recoil in fear at what he’s found—or not found.
“He’s alive. Thank God.” Everyone breathes again with Dave’s words. “Get an ambulance. NOW! Come on, HURRY UP!” Dave’s relief is evident, but the pain—and rage--of seeing his lover like this contorts his face into an inhuman form. He’d cry out at the top of his lungs in frustration and hurt, but he somehow maintains control.
An ambulance must have been right behind the police cars; seconds later, Barry is loaded onto a gurney, and an IV has been started on him. Dave walks beside the gurney to the door, a bloody stain on his crisp white shirt—whether from his own bloody hand or being huddled over his lover is unknown--holding Barry’s hand, neatly sidestepping to let the gurney get through the door, then is gone from the bar as he rides the ambulance away with Bulldog.
Benoit, thankfully, had already been herded out to a waiting car, and whisked off to jail. “Thankfully”, only because had he stayed on the scene of his crime, most of the crowd believes Dave would now be facing a murder charge himself.
The bar patrons have broken down into small groups, leaning on each other as the adrenalin of the night runs out. They leave slowly, but the bar is finally empty, except for Joe and Rex, and Clayton and Ryan. Each man is holding his partner.
“You’re both heroes, guys, you know that, right? You saved all of us.” Rex looks between Joe and Ryan. Nothing else needs to be said. The energy flowing between each couple is nuclear.
Ryan looks at Joe and smiles. “Yeah, we make an ok team.” Both men laugh as the night’s tension dies down. Finally.
“Let’s get out of here guys. I’ll lock up.” Rex is moving to a spot behind the bar to turn off the lights.
“Yeah, let’s go home. We’ve got to celebrate Independence Day tomorrow—rather, today.” Clayton smiles, leaning in to kiss Ryan as the lights go out.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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