SHAKEDOWN-CHAPTER ONE

All Kirk Nolan wanted was a pint of ice cream, and a jar of pickles.
***
Large, grotesque shadows bobbled in a disjointed dance on a dim-lit alley wall. Hunched over in the darkness beside the wall two figures provided the momentum for the ghoulish shadow dance.

“Just put the damned thing on!” Dressed entirely in black, complete with ski-mask, and gloves, Clint Robins, known to his cronies as Woody, because Clint Robins just didn’t cut it as a fitting name for a budding hit-man, growled at his accomplice.

Next to the big bear of a man, a thinner, shorter man fumbled with his heavy wool mask. Steven Muttinhouse didn’t need any cronies to come up with a nickname. Named after his father, his mother dubbed him ‘Mutt’ at birth. Steve always hoped she’d been joking, and it just stuck, but he never asked.

Mutt fumbled with the cap. “It makes my head sweat.”

Woody grabbed the ski mask, opened the end, and shoved it over the smaller man’s head. Mutt stumbled and grasped for the wall while tugging at the hat to turn it so its eye and mouth openings were in the right place while Woody peered around the corner of the building.

“Asshole.” Mutt said in a low whisper. He pulled the zipper of his black jacket up tighter to his neck, then rested his hand on a bulge in the jacket pocket. He squinted as he watched the burly man in front of him. Woody was a jerk, but he never let him down. Everyone else in his life didn’t care what happened to him. Not even his mother who left him in the baking aisle of the Super Save as a two-year-old, and only came back for him because she forgot to pick up a bag of sugar. From that moment on he learned to watch out for himself. With Woody, at least he always felt like there was someone looking out for him.

Mutt followed when Woody stepped around the corner onto the deserted street in front of the building.

A light shone onto the pavement from the twenty-four hour convenience store that was the only thing open once the small town of Havendale rolled up its sidewalks at ten. Woody quickened his pace and burst through the door before Mutt managed to shift gears to keep up. Mutt made it through the door just in time to see the clerk’s mouth drop in shock at the sight of the masked man standing on the other side of the counter. Mutt scanned the store, relieved to find it empty except for the three of them.

Before the woman could scream, Woody pulled his gun and brandished it in front of the frightened woman.

Mutt figured she was in her early thirties. She looked like a younger version of his mother, minus the cigarette, vodka glass, bleached yellow hair, and blood red lipstick dear old mom always sported. The cashier’s arm shook as she fumbled along the rim of the counter trying to find something, probably an unseen panic button.

“Stupid move!” Woody growled, waving the gun in her face. “Don’t they teach you nuthin’ in training?”

The woman behind the counter nodded her head in a panic. A tight drawn ponytail bobbled behind her.

“Open the drawer.”

Mutt stood by the door alternating watching the scene unfold before him, and scanning the darkness outside for cops. “Hurry up, man!” His voice cracked as he shifted from foot to foot.

The petrified cashier looked from one man to the other. Woody shoved the gun right up to her nose. “Hand over the damned money.”
With shaking hands she shoved the remaining cash across the counter for Woody to cram into his pockets.

Woody turned and ran for the door. With one final visual sweep of the empty store he reached out one hand and grabbed a couple of bags of chips off a rack next to Mutt, and slammed right into him. “Move it!” Woody yelled as he pushed by at a trot.

Mutt ran out and passed the lumbering man as he looked down the street in the direction of the wailing sounds of sirens. “Shit, cops!”

At the entrance to the alley, Mutt grabbed the handle of their ancient boat of a getaway car.

Woody ran up behind and grabbed his shoulder, yanking him out of the way. “No chance. Outta my way.”

Matt shoved back. “You make me sick when you drive.”

“Idiot, I don’t give a shit how sick your ass gets, you drive like my grandma.” He pushed Matt toward the front of the car, and motioned for him to hurry. In the drivers seat Woody looked out the back at the eerie flashes of lights getting bolder as they approached, then back at Mutt still standing at the front of the car. “You getting’ in?”

Mutt jerked into action and rushed to get in the passenger seat anticipating the motion of the car’s lurch forward. The only movement was a grinding squeal, then a cough from the engine.

“Fuck me!” Woody slammed his fist on the dashboard.
“Hurry, damit, the cops are almost here.”

Woody turned his head and glared. “What ya wanna do, peddle like the Flintstones? It ain’t movin’.”

“We’re screwed.”

‘They jumped from the car and ran out of the alley, prepared to flee down the empty street when a sputtering grumble from a beat up old Chevy turning the corner right in front of them, stopped the pair in their tracks. When the car pulled to a halt in front of the store, Woody pulled his gun out of his pocket, loosing several bills in the process.

“What the…” The driver’s words were cut short by the flailing gun being held inches from his nose by his assailant who was busy retrieving his loot from the gutter.

“Shut up, and move over!” said Woody as he stood up and shoved his way into the driver’s seat, forcing the man to slide.

Lights from the oncoming squad cars flashed on the darkened walls as several turned the corner onto the street where the men stood in a face-off.

Mutt looked at the squads as they advanced to within blocks of the store, and back at the car where Woody wrestled the car’s driver for the key’s. “Come on. Forget it.”

Woody pointed the gun in the face of the car’s owner with a menacing growl. The man relinquished the keys. “Hey, stupid!” Woody yelled at Mutt who remained a statue in the middle of the street. “Get in the back!”

Mutt jumped for the car just as Woody commanded the man to drive, and the automobile lurched backwards, tires squealing, throwing Mutt all the way into the car before he got the door closed.

The car made to the end of the block before the squad cars reached the front of the store. Woody breathed a sigh of relief, until two of the squads took off in their direction.

“Shit! They’re comin’” He shoved the gun into the man’s side. “Get movin’… What’s your name?”

“Kirk.”

“Get movin’ Kirk.”

“This ole car can’t beat them.”

”Just drive, and hope it can.”

“You got it, just be careful with that thing.” Kirk motioned to the gun.

Woody jammed it into Kirk’s side harder. “Put your foot into it.”

“It’s an old car. It shakes at forty-five miles an hour.”

“Make the fucker shake then.” He lifted the gun to Kirk’s head.

“Hey! Keep it calm, okay? I’m trying.”

A police car edged up to the bumper of the shaking Chevy. The car lurched as the squad bumped it from the rear. Woody looked out the side mirror just as the squad veered to the side to pass.

“Okay, guys, you know, this is enough. Let’s just stop now.” Kirk said as the squad banged up against the side of the trembling Chevy.

Woody reached over and grabbed the wheel, jerking it to the side and forcing the squad backwards. “I’ll say when it’s enough.”

Mutt swung around in the backseat and popped his head up front between the men. “Shut up, man!” he yelled at Kirk.

Woody slapped him upside the head. “Get back there and make yourself useful. Shoot that muthafucka.” He pointed at the squad then turned to Kirk. “You, just drive.”

Kirk took a deep breath, and gripped the wheel. “Okay, if you say so.” He whipped the wheel around and the car skid around a corner. A smirk crossed Kirk’s face as Mutt tumbled across the backseat, sending his gun flying. Woody grabbed the passenger side handle to keep from landing in Kirk’s lap.

“What the fuck?”

“We aren’t going to out run them.”

“So you’re gonna try to evade them?” A look of pleasure crossed Woody’s face. “Not bad. You sure you ain’t never done this before?”

“Positive.” Kirk twisted and spun the wheel again, and the car dove into an alley. Mutt tumbled to the other side of the car, and Woody slammed into the passenger door.

“You’re good, man.” Woody said as he righted himself.

The car that was tailing them was nowhere to be seen. Kirk smiled at Woody. “Why thank you. Can we stop now? My wife wants ice cream, and I’d like to go back.”

Woody and Mutt scream in unison, “No!” The Chevy jumped out of the alley and bound across a quiet side street. At the next block, Kirk swung the car to the left. It fishtailed onto the street as Matt and Woody were tossed about.

Woody straightened himself out and glared at the man behind the wheel. “Head for the expressway.”

“That’s really dangerous. Don’t you think?”

Woody’s hand shook a little as he waved the gun at Kirk. “Do it!”

“Okay, okay. Put that thing away.”

The highway entrance loomed ahead. Kirk slammed on the brakes and spun the wheel. The car did donuts, throwing its inhabitants about like rag dolls. Mutt slammed into the opposite side door, then back again, and groaned before throwing up. Woody flew across the front and bashed into the steering column. His gun fell to the floor.

“Shoulda wore seat belts.” Kirk said as he reached across the prone body and slapped the glove compartment button. The door dropped down and Kirk grabbed a Glock from the interior. Swirling lights glowed in the distance. Kirk pointed his gun at Woody’s head. Mutt’s rose up from the back of the driver’s seat and shrieked at the sight of the revolver.

Kirk turned and hissed, “Shut the fuck up.” He swatted woody on the side of the head and prompted him to move. “Get your ass up, and out of the car.”

Woody and Mutt moaned as they lurched their way out of the car.

Kirk stood in front of the car and grabbed Woody. He pulled him up from the side of the car and shoved him over on the hood. Mutt puked alongside the curb, and Kirk reached down and grabbed his collar, pulling him up alongside his accomplice.

A squad pulled up alongside the Chevy. A young officer jumped from the car with his gun drawn. As he approached the front of Kirk’s car, his lips twisted into a wry smile. “Need help, officer Nolan?”

Kirk shook his head. “Nah.” He kicked Woody’s feet apart. “You have the right to remain silent.”

Check in tomorrow on my live journal AUTHOR EATER for Chapter Two of Shakedown.