Max Payne Second Chances

by kenxepe

These events take place after Max Payne 3. Max is in the Philippines. He's no longer a depressed alcoholic or drug addict, but his life has no direction, nor meaning. This is until an old police inspector friend of his offers him a job. The job requires him to avenge a young Filipina rape victim. But meeting her has also presented Max with a possible second chance at happiness.

Max Payne: Second Chances

by

Kenxepe

1. The Tourist

I was told that the Philippines is like a vacation country. Tourists come from all over the world to see the sites, go on a beach holiday, go scuba diving, and experience the nightlife. The people are known for their hospitality towards foreigners.

So what the hell am I doin' starin' down the barrel of yet another M202 revolver?!

"Wallet, American!" the gunman commands me.

There are two other guys with him. One of 'em has an M206. The last guy, the nervous one, only has a knife. Understandable. If someone in my crew was that jumpy, I wouldn't trust him with a firearm either. The armed one says something to their leader in Filipino.

"And the watch, too," the leader adds.

"OK, OK. Relax," I answer, reaching for the wallet behind me.

Another holdup. My second one in this country in as many months. This happened to me in Sao Paulo, too. Beginning to think I'm a magnet for these lowlifes. Back there, in order to avoid trouble or attention from my enemies, I let them take my wallet, my watch, even my gun. Then they pistol whip me, and throw me down a ditch. I wasn't about to let that happen here.

You could see the shock in the leader's face when, in stead of my wallet, I pull out a Beretta 92FS. Half a second or less later, I shoot him in the forehead with it.

"Tangina mo!" the other gunman exclaims in surprise. It's a common Filipino cuss. Basically means your mother's a whore. I been getting it a lot since I got here.

Now I got this thing. Don't really have a name for it. See, when I'm in a fight, sometimes I can suddenly slow everything down. Every punch, every stab, every bullet. Like all of a sudden, the whole world is moving in slow motion. I'm guessing all those years of experience in shootouts have heightened my reflexes. Maybe it's the same for anyone who's been in as many firefights as I have.

Either way, I am able to drop the first guy, switch targets, and shoot the next guy two times in the chest before he could even think about aiming his revolver at me. Like his leader, he falls in a heap on the dimly lit alley.

I point my gun at the third man. He has that deer caught in the headlights look on his face, but still he raises the knife at me.

"Come on, seriously?" I ask him. "What exactly do you think is going to happen here?! I just shot two o' your guys! They had guns! You think I'm suddenly going to be afraid of a knife?! Do you still really even want my wallet and watch after this?! What's wrong with you?!"

He looks at me blankly. In a country with a high English proficiency, I'm not sure he understood a single word of what I just said.

"Get the hell outta here!" I roar.

Finally he scampers back into the darkness.

I start to hear police sirens. Where the hell were they while I was bein' robbed? I take out my phone, and dial Jose Caballero's number. That's the name of my guardian angel, by the way.

Jose Caballero is... How do I put this? An honest dirty cop? Let's just say that as fas as crooked cops go, Jose is one o' the better ones. We met a long time ago during an American Philippine joint police training exercise. Among the other rookies, he stood out the most. Why? 'Coz he was the worst of them. He was the dumbest, laziest, and most out o' shape. We've been...friends, more or less,...ever since. He's a Senior Inspector now. Go figure.

"Hello?" he answers on the other line.

"Jose, it's Max."

"Did you kill anybody?"

I pause momentarily and sigh, then I respond sheepishly, scratching the back of my bald head, "Yeah."

"No problem. It's an overpopulated country anyway. I'll take care of it."

"What, is it me? Do I look rich?"

"You don't need to look rich. You only need to be white. To some of these guys, that's good enough. By the way, this is the second time, Max. The first one was out of courtesy. You're going to have to do me a favor, now."

I pause, again. Whatever it is, it's bound to get ugly, and end badly...like it always does.

"What do I have to do?"

"What you've been doing since you got here."

2. The Dame

Her name is Denise Palomar Hopper. The head teacher in a school that provides one on one English language training to foreign clients. The next day, Jose told me to meet her at a small videoke slash beer house on the second floor of an eatery called Bootsky's. Jose himself can't introduce us personally because it would seem too conspicuous for us to be seen with the Senior Inspector of the Philippine National Police. Personally, I thought he was just bein' lazy.

"How will she recognize me?!" I ask him on the phone over the loud singing of an obviously tone deaf patron.

"I told her to look for an old, fat, bald American."

"Thanks a lot. How will I recognize her?"

"Oh, don't worry. You'll recognize her."

He hung up. There was something obviously naughty in the tone of his voice. Maybe that means Denise is incredibly hot. Of course it could also mean that she's a two-headed freak.

I take a seat in a table for two, then call for a waiter.

"Red Horse," I tell him. It's the name of a popular, locally brewed extra strong lager. I quit being an alcoholic. I never intended to quit drinking altogether. There's a difference, dammit.

He brings me back a big, cold bottle. It's the most beautiful thing I've seen all day. That is, until the lady in the short, purple dress walks in through the double doors.

She has that dark, exotic Filipina complexion. Big beautiful eyes. Long, straight black hair tied in a ponytail. Killer body. Thighs are a little chubby, but no one's perfect. I'm just glad she didn't turn out to be a two-headed freak.

She scans the room. Easily picks out the old, fat, bald American. She smiles at me. Great set of teeth, too. Something about the look in her eyes throws me off. What is it? Attraction? Yeah, right. More like my imagination. Even in those high heels, she gracefully walks towards my table.

"Mr. Max Payne?" she asks.

"That's me," I confirm. "Denise Hopper?"

She nods. Reaches out to shake my hand. I felt a spark in that handshake.

"May I?" she gestures towards the chair.

I feel like such an ass for not getting up, and offering her a seat. My social skills are way out o' practice.

"Sure," I answer. "What'll ya' have?"

"Tanduay Ice. Thank you."

It's flavored vodka. A woman's drink. I order one from the waiter.

I'm starting to think that this isn't a job. Is Jose setting me up with one of his hot, young friends? Could she possibly be into old, fat, bald American farts like me? In other words, does she have poor taste in men? God, I hope so.

"Jose Caballero says you can help me with a problem I have."

Dammit, it is a job. Disappointed, I take a swig of my beer, and lean back in my chair.

"M-Mr. Payne?" she asks, sensing my disappointment. "Is something wrong?"

"Nah. So what's this problem you have?" I ask in obvious disinterest.

The waiter returns, and opens her vodka for her. She politely thanks him, brings the small bottle to her full lips, and then takes large gulps. Like she's trying to build the courage to answer my question. She puts the bottle down, quite hard and noisily on the wooden table. She sighs, hesitates, then takes a few more large gulps. Lowers the bottle again. Nearly empty now. She makes another heavy sigh, eyes on the table.

"Take your time," I tell her.

She looks up at me, surprised. Like I woke her up or something. Man, those eyes are beautiful. I think I said that already. She lowers her eyes, and mumbles something.

"Wuzzat?" I ask.

She inhales deeply, moves closer to me, then, while avoiding eye contact, whispers something. Man, she smells nice. Unfortunately, I still couldn't make out what she was saying. I can't hear her over some Chinese guy's overly loud rendition of Leader of the Band. I like this song. They like singing them old songs in these videoke bars. Then again, maybe I'm just getting hard of hearing, which wouldn't be unusual for someone my age.

"I still can't hear you," I tell her, raising my voice a little. "You'll have to speak up!"

She sighs, getting a little annoyed now. She takes a deep breath and shouts her answer, just as the song ends.

"I was raped!"

The room becomes quiet, and all eyes are instantly on us.

"You wanna go someplace else?" I whisper to her.

"Yes, please," she sheepishly mutters.

I pay for our drinks, but it is taking them an awkwardly long time to give me back my change. It feels like we've both aged ten years, quietly sitting on that table, trying to avoid everyone's gaze.

"You know what?" I tell the waiters. "Keep the change. We're leavin'."

We eagerly get up, and I guide Denise towards the door, putting my hand on the small of her back.

"Thank you!" one of the waiters calls after us.

I stop halfway to the door and tell him, "On second thought, I'm probably going to become a regular here, so I'll come back for that change next time."

"Seriously?" Denise asks me.

"What? Money's tight. It's not like I have a steady job or something."

"Not that. You're thinking about becoming a regular? I'll never be able to show my face in there ever again."

3. The Victim

"I'm sorry," I tell her as we walk the dark streets of Pearl Drive.

"For what? It wasn't your fault that Chinese guy's song suddenly finished."

"N-no. I mean... You know. For what happened to you."

She made a short, and very bitter laugh.

"That's what my lawyer said. Says that's why we lost the case," she recounts, her eyes on the ground as we walk. "He wanted me to cry. He says it would make me sympathetic to the jury."

"But you didn't."

"I shouldn't have to," she unexpectedly snaps with restrained fury. "He should have been convicted because he committed a crime. Not because the jury felt sorry for me."

She stops walking, crosses her arms, and looks at nothing in particular in the dark distance.

"I didn't even cry while,... Didn't even beg,..." she begins, then swallows hard. But when she next turns to look at me, I can see nothing but raw conviction on her face. "But I told him to stop! I struggled, cursed, threatened... But I did not cry."

I suddenly realize who I am talking to. This woman is no victim. She's a revenger. And she wants me to be her instrument of death.

4. The Second Chance

I walk her to her condo at the Residencia 8888. It's a dark, late night, and you can't be too careful. Although with my luck, and my apparent good looks that every mugger in the country seems to find absolutely irresistible, I wonder if she's safer with or without me.

"You should come up," she invites me. She is inviting me to her room. Is the game back on? Should I get my hopes back up? "I'm sure my husband would love to meet a fellow American."

Apparently not.

"You sure about that?" I ask.

"Yeah, I just said I was sure. He probably hasn't spoken to another American in years."

"No, I mean inviting a shady stranger with a shady past who does shady jobs into your home."

She laughs, then adds, "You know, you're right. After what happened to me, you'd think I'd be more careful, but...I don't know. I have a good feeling about you."

There it is, again. That look in her eyes. I can almost swear it's attraction. Not a lot of women give me that look, but I know it when I see it. Or at least I think I do. Unless I'm finally going senile. Or more senile than I already am, that is.

"Nah" I answer. "It's kinda' late."

"Oh, come on. Just for a nightcap?"

"Well, I'm not going to say no to free drinks."

I repeat, I quit being an alcoholic. I never intended to quit drinking altogether. There's a difference. Or so I keep tellin' myself.

We walk into the building where the doorman greets her, and gives me a courtesy nod. A lot of Filipinos are often smiling at you for no reason. I like that about them. While waiting for the elevator, she takes out her smartphone, and sends a text message. Probably to let her husband know that she's bringing a guest. We exit the elevator on the 12th floor, then walk the hallway to her door, which she unlocks. Her husband is there to greet us. And to my surprise, he's older and uglier than I am. OK, maybe not uglier, but definitely older. He gives her a kiss, then extends his hand to me. Denise does the introductions.

"Mr. Payne, this is my husband, Chip. Honey, this is the man Inspector Caballero told me about."

"Hello," he greets me cheerfully, smiling at a complete and possibly dangerous stranger for no reason. Clearly he's been in this country too long.

"Call me Max," I tell him, shaking his hand.

"I'm going to get changed first, then I'll be right back. Do you boys want anything?" Denise asks.

Yeah, you. But I think your octogenarian husband might mind.

Relax. I didn't actually say it.

"It's OK, honey," the fossil tells the hottie. "I'll take care of it."

She gives him a sweet smile, then sashays into one of the rooms. I am hypnotized by her ass the whole time.

Then Chip suddenly whispers, "I know what you're thinkin'."

"No, you don't," I answer defensively.

"You're thinkin' how did a beautiful, young girl like that end up with an old guy like me."

"Oh! Oh, well, then yeah. Kinda'."

He laughs, goes over to the bar, and takes out two Rocks Glasses.

"What'll ya have?" he asks me.

"Uhmm...ya' got any o' that Red Horse beer?"

"Uh,..." he looks under the counter. "Yeah, sure. Too strong for me, though. Not as young as I used to be."

He pours me a glass, and pours himself a San Mig Light. A drink with a much lower alcoholic content. I notice his hand shaking as he does so, and I don't think it's because of Parkinson's disease. He's putting up a good front. Being the supportive husband, being the man o' the house, both for his wife's benefit and mine. But it's clear that this incident has him terribly rattled. When next he looks up at me, his face has reddened some. He is aware that his shaking hands may have destroyed the facade. He walks towards me from behind the counter, glasses in either hand, and extends my drink to me, hand still shaking. I take it.

"Thanks," I tell him, pretending not to notice.

"Join me in the balcony?"

He doesn't wait for an answer, and in stead he trudges to the balcony, eyes staring blankly in the distance. I follow him, and hope that this poor Joe doesn't throw himself over the ledge.

"I love this country, Max. I really do," he tells me, leaning on the railing overlooking the city's night view. "Second chances, you know? That's what this country gives us."

I get a little nervous with him standing so close to the edge, so I say, "Hey, you guys got some chairs out here. How about we siddown, eh, Chip?"

"Huh? Oh. Oh, yeah."

Thankfully he does as I say, but he still has that blank stare in his eyes. I've seen it way too many times before. My late father was a Vietnam vet who had PTSD.

"Second chances," he repeats. "You know I was a pretty good salesman over in the States."

"What happened?"

"I quit. Couldn't take the stress, the late hours, the irate clients. It was slowly killing me. My first wife left me shortly after that. And I was so old and tired, that I had lost my spirit. I was basically broke, broken, and heartbroken all at the same time."

He laughs a little at that. But it is a sad laugh. And I start to wonder if he had already been drinking before I even got here.

"At my age, I thought it was too late to start over from scratch," he continues. "I went to this country because of the beaches. I literally just planned to go to Boracay, sit on a beach chair, watch the sunset, and drink myself to death."

This is a depressing topic. Sadly, one that I can relate to. Is that what we're doin' here? Two old, washed up Americans in a foreign land, watching the night sky, waiting for death?

"Then I met Denise," his face suddenly lights up some. Only a little, but it's definitely there. "God, she was like... I have no idea what she saw in a loser like me but... She made me feel young again, you know? I was alive again. This late in the game,... The things the lawyer said,... She isn't like that."

He turns to talk to me. It's actually the first time since we went out here in this balcony that he finally acknowledges my presence. All that stuff he said before seemed more like some kind of interior monologue.

"I don't know your past, Max. I think I have some idea about what you do now, but I'd rather not get into it. Whatever tragedy happened to you before, whatever heartache you've felt, whatever horrible things you done, whatever demons you may carry,...it is never too late to start over in this country. Never!"

Shit. It's like he knows me! He said he doesn't know my past, but he was very nearly spot on! Could it be true? Is it possible? This late in my life, can I still find happiness here like he did?!

"A bad thing happened to Denise. A very bad thing but," he chokes up. "But we'll move on from this. We'll be happy again. Because you never run out of second chances in this country. You never-"

He couldn't fake it much longer, and he finally bawls. Good for him, actually. He looked like he needed to let it all out. Uncomfortable for me, though. Even as a cop, I was never really good at this part of the job. Comforting victims. I don't know what to do. Do I pat him gently on the shoulder? Give em words of comfort? If I was a doctor I'd have terrible bedside manners. I realize then that Denise is the stronger, the prouder of the two of them. She gets raped, but refuses to cry. So he cries for her.

Denise returns to joins us, now dressed in a plain white shirt, and casual denim shorts. She has a smile on her face which instantly vanishes the moment she sees her husband in such a state. But she doesn't seem surprised. This has probably been happening a lot since the incident. And she knows exactly what to do.

Without a word, she cradles his head to her chest, where he sobs uncontrollably, wrapping his arms around her waist. She gives me an apologetic smile. I nod, and wave my hand to show that I understand.

Oh, I understand alright. Chip Hopper had found a second chance at happiness in this country. A happiness that was suddenly, and mercilessly shattered. And he was right. They would be able to move on with their lives, and be happy again. But first they need closure. They need justice. The law failed to give them that. Now, I suppose it's my turn.

5. The Superman

"Sandali lang! Ano ba?" Jose, wearing only an undershirt, shorts, and slippers, angrily but drowsily calls out to the person noisily hammering his front door with the side of a fist. I have no idea what he just said, but it's probably something similar to "Hold your horses."

"Max!" he exclaims after looking through the peephole. "What the hell, man?! Do you know what time-"

"What the hell did you just get me into?" I shove him back just as he opens the door for me.

"What?! What's the problem?" he asks, stumbling back a little. "You're not happy? I thought you like doing this stuff!"

"What stuff?!"

"You know. Killing people. That's all you been doing since you got here."

"That was self defense!"

"Well, not everyone can defend themselves like you can, Max! Denise Hopper certainly couldn't! Who's going to defend these people?!"

I sigh, shake my head, and seat myself on an unusually comfortable armchair. The back of my head is starting to hurt some. Don't know if it's the drinking or the lack of sleep.

"Sure. Take a load off," Jose sarcastically tells me, starting to calm down himself. "I need a drink. You want anything? What kind of question is that? Of course, you do."

"I'll have whatever you're having."

He goes off into the kitchen. Gives me time to observe the living room. Spacious, clean, classy, with expensive, classic high quality mahogany furniture. I shake my head. Dirty cop's doin' awright for himself. They always do. So why this job? He comes back with a couple of Colt 45s. The beer, not the pistol. He hands me an open bottle. I should be drinking coffee. Screw that. I drink.

"Sad thing is, on any other night, Denise Hopper should have been able to defend herself," Jose states after taking a few gulps himself, "Girl's young, strong, fit, athletic,... Got a black belt in Shotokan karate. Unfortunately, she was so drunk that night. She insists that something must have been put in her drink, but that must be just her pride talking. The doctor's test came back negative."

"Yeah. Very proud. I noticed that about her. Except this isn't about defense, Jose. What she wants is vengeance."

"What we're giving them is justice."

"No, we're not. We're not vigilantes. We're guns for hire. They made me an offer. Not a very attractive one, at that. But with a teacher's salary, I guess I shouldn't expect much. How much are they paying you?"

He laughs, "Look around you, Max. Do I look like I need their money?"

"Oh, right. You only take money from gambling and prostitution dens."

Jose sighs, takes a gulp of his Colt 45 then answers, "You know, Max,...if there's one thing I learned, it's that you can't do any real good,...without getting your hands a little dirty. That is, unless, I was more like you."

I laugh, "You wanna be a fat, bald, washed up old fart? Wait a couple o' years. Well, at the rate you're going, maybe a couple o' months."

"Aw, come on, Max. You don't give yourself enough credit. You graduated at the top of your class in the academy. You're an excellent marksman. Plus you got that thing you do."

"That thing I do?"

"Yeah, you know. That thing you do where you become faster than bullets."

"I don't become faster than bullets. That's ridiculous. Who am I, Superman now?"

"I hear he just goes by Clark these days. And that he's not really faster than bullets anymore either. My point is, I don't have that. I don't have any of your skills. I mean, let's face it. I'm not hero material. The best I can do is either comic relief sidekick, or short tempered police captain with high blood pressure. Embrace your stereotype, I always say."

"You were telling me about your point?"

"Right! The point is, if I had played it straight and narrow, I'd be just a traffic cop now. So yeah, I accepted a bribe here and there. I formed connections with all the right, or rather wrong, people. All so that I could get into a position where I can do some real good for my country."

I just sit there, drinking my beer, staring at him quietly for a moment, before finally making my comment, "Well, that was almost convincing."

"Convincing enough for you to take the job?"

"Convincing enough for me to consider it."

6. The Verdict

Oh, how the mighty have fallen, indeed. I used to take on drug cartels, the mafia, corrupt politicians. Now, here I am in a small room with the lights closed, at a cheap hotel, looking through binoculars to spy on some rich Korean kid in the fancy condo across the street.

The rich Korean kid's name is Baek Yoo Jin. Son of information tech tycoon Baek ji Jeong. I'm not sure if I'm pronouncing these names right. Not long ago this kid was Denise's favorite student,...until he became her least favorite rapist. OK, that doesn't make sense. That would mean she has other rapists. Should just stick to shooting people, Max.

He's talking to someone on the phone. Actually, based on his actions, and facial expression, it looks more like he's apologizing to someone on the phone. Can't hear a thing he's saying. I didn't bug the room. Wouldn't have mattered. My Korean is very rusty. Good thing I can read body language. And his body language is speaking volumes. He bows every time he apologizes, even if the person on the other line can't see him. He's bowed quite a few times now.

I glance at the case file Jose provided me on the table to my left. On a late Friday night, Denise Hopper had met Baek Yoo Jin for drinks at the Watering Hole Restobar. After a couple of hours they went up to his room at the Grande Tower.

"Why in the hell did she agree to go up to his room?" I ask myself out loud.

I step away from the window, close the blinds, switch on the table lamp, and undo the rubber band on the folder to reread the file. Chip Hopper had mentioned that the lawyer, I'm assuming Baek Yoo Jin's defense attorney, had said some things about Denise. In a case like this, it's the usual strategy to discredit the victim. And from what I'm reading, Denise made it easy for him.

The girl has a list of exes and one night stands longer than my holster belt.

From the back o' my mind I could almost hear Jose quip, "And with the weight you've put on lately, that is a very long belt indeed."

Filipinos, Australians, Americans, Japanese, Koreans, Chinese,... Denise was collecting men from all over the globe like how gun enthusiasts collect antique revolvers.

On the other hand, Yoo Jin has been charged with sexual assault before in his native Korea. The case was settled out of court with the complainant withdrawing her allegation. I'm guessing she was either paid of or intimidated by the accused's powerful father. Money talks as always.

Right now, I'm probably feeling as conflicted as the jury did during the trial. Except my decision is much more difficult, because the verdict is going to be fatal. The next time I watch Yoo Jin through this window, it'll be through the scope of a sniper rifle.

7. The Silence

Back at Bootsky's. Drinking something even stronger tonight. Think I both need and deserve it. It's loud and crowded tonight. There's an attractive, young Filipino girl singing some Korean pop song on the videoke machine. A Korean man is in her group. Maybe he's her boss. Maybe she's trying to impress him. Maybe she just likes Korean pop songs. Can't blame 'er. Korean pop music is very energetic, and upbeat. But I'm more of a Jazz guy. Of course I'm a Jazz guy. No big surprise there, I guess.

Denise walks in, wearing blue jeans, and a shirt with a dizzying pattern on it. She scans the room, sees me, smiles, then sexily walks towards my table to join me. I get a feeling of Deja vu.

"Max!" she playfully scolds me, slapping me lightly on the shoulder. "I told you I would never show my face in here again!"

"Had to come back for my change."

She laughs heartily, sits down, then touches my leg. The waiter comes to take her order. She asks for the same drink as before. The waiter leaves. She turns her attention back to me. Her hand is still on my leg. She leans in closer.

"So why are we here?" she asks, or flirts rather, then adds in jest, "Aside from your change, that is."

"You intended to sleep with Yoo Jin that night, didn't you?"

Her smile vanishes, along with the soft, warm hand on my leg. I feel a pang of regret. She straightens her back. Her large, beautiful eyes glaring at me.

"So what if I did?" she answers defiantly. "It doesn't give him the right to do what he did to me! To use me like-" She pauses, remembering something truly revolting to her. She is on the verge of tears. But only on the verge, and she fights it back with all she has. "Not...that way. I still had the right to say no."

I nod slowly. "Yes. Yes, you did." Then I put the bottle to my mouth and drink.

"This doesn't change anything, right?" she asks. But it doesn't sound like a question. It sounds like a plea. "I mean...you are still doing it, aren't you?"

I put the bottle down. "I'm still thinkin' about it."

"But Inspector Caballero said... He said you owed him. He said that as long as we could pay you-"

"Well, maybe Jose doesn't know me as well as he thinks."

We sit in silence. She stares down at her hands clasped together on the table. The waiter returns with her drink. I take another gulp of mine.

8. The Job

"Wait up! What the hell?!" I angrily but drowsily call out to the person noisily hammering my front door with the side of a fist. I'm only in my undershirt, shorts, and slippers.

It's one of those many hot and sweaty nights here in Manila, that make it difficult to sleep. Slept restlessly for only a few minutes, myself. But tonight, I don't think it's because of the heat. Instinctively, I take one of my pistols from under my bed, and hide the gun behind me with my right hand before answering the door.

"What in God's name did you tell the Hoppers, Max?!" Jose demands, striding right past me on his stubby legs, and into the middle of the room. He puts his hands on his hips while waiting for an answer.

"Well come on right in. Make yourself at home," I tell him sarcastically.

"Is that a gun?", he angrily asks, noticing the weapon in my hand, "So you have no trouble shooting me, but your conscience wont let you shoot some rich kid rapist?!"

"I didn't say I wouldn't do it!" I shout back, heading toward the kitchen. I need to get myself a drink. "I said I would think about it."

"Well, you took too long! Chip Hopper is dead."

The shocking news felt like a SWAT battering ram to the chest.

"What?! Are you kidding me?! How in the hell did that happen?!"

"He was shot by a bouncer at a club while trying to do your job."

"He tried to kill Yoo Jin?!"

I grab my pants from the back of one of the chairs, and start putting it on.

"Where are you going?!" he asks me impatiently.

"You're going to take me to Denise right now."

"Why? So you can ask her out? Too soon, Max. First thing I thought about, too."

"This rich kid rapist has a powerful father. If they believe that Denise sent her husband to kill Yoo Jin, they could send someone to deal with her!"

"Seriously? You think they'd do that? OK, I'll send some of my guys to pick her up!"

9. The Asshole

The traffic in the city is horrible as usual, so Jose does everything he can to drive us to Denise as fast as possible. When I say "everything", this includes driving at top speed on sidewalks, or on the opposite lane, the whole time, yelling in Tagalog at his police radio. I think he believes that having his siren on gives his police car some kind of force field.

"Hey, how about you let me drive, Jose? You'll be able to really focus on your cussing there."

"You don't know where to go!"

"Where are we going? To a safe house?"

"No. To the hospital!"

"The hospital?! Your men don't have her yet?!"

"Why do you think I'm yelling at them?! You think this is how I normally talk?!"

We screech to a halt in front of the hospital. Two plain clothes police officers meet us as we exit the car. One of them starts speaking frantically and apologetically to Jose.

"In English, Hernandez! In English!" Jose interrupts her. "I don't want to waste time translating everything you two say for the American."

"Sorry, sir," Hernandez responds. "But she refuses to leave her husband. We left Hizon and Castillo with her."

"Did you tell her that she was in danger?!"

"Yes. But she said that the only way we can take her is if we arrest her."

"Then arrest her!"

"On what charge?"

"I don't know! Conspiracy to commit murder!"

"Might not be that far from the truth," I comment.

The hospital security let us in without trouble. Hernandez had probably already given them the heads up. We enter the building, and walk the hallways until we get to the one that leads to the ER. Two more armed plain clothes policemen were waiting for us there. One of them comes to greet us. The other stays with the grieving widow. Denise doesn't even look up. She just sits there staring at nothing, her hands on her lap, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Denise," I call her name. She doesn't move. Not sure she even hears me. "Denise, I'm sorry for your loss."

It's obvious that she loved him. It is equally obvious that she was unsatisfied with him. Cheated on him routinely. But loved him nonetheless. And he loved her. So much that he attempted to murder her rapist. I wonder if he knew about the cheating, though. Maybe he did, but was in denial. He told me the lawyer didn't really know Denise, but maybe everybody knew her, and he was the only one that didn't. Or maybe...he was the only one that knew that side of her. The best side. The side of her that she only revealed to the one she really loved.

Tch! Love. Hell of a thing.

"You all wanted to see if the heartless slut could cry, right?" she finally answers. "Well, I'm crying now. Hope you're all happy."

I'm speechless. Just like I was with her husband back at their balcony. I don't know what to do here. Do I pat her gently on the shoulder? Give 'er words of comfort? Man, I hate this. Why can't I just be in another shootout?

And as if on cue, we hear gunshots coming from the direction of the entrance, followed by several frightened screams.

"What the hell are you two doing here?!" Jose shrieks at Hernandez and her partner. "Why weren't you guarding the entrance?!"

Hernandez is dumbfounded. Then, in panic, she and her partner draw their firearms, and make a careless, mad dash towards the entrance.

"No! No! Don't just run back there-!" Jose calls after them, but he is too late.

As the two rushing officers turn the corner, they are immediately sprayed by a hail of gunfire. They die almost instantly, the blue colored, disinfected hospital walls, tainted with their blood. Powerful weapons were used. By the sound of it, I'm guessing 9mm submachine guns.

Denise looks up, visibly shaken. Didn't know those large eyes could get even larger. Like they wanted to just pop out of her pretty, little head. Doesn't scream, though. Not like Jose. He was screamin' like a woman in labor. With twins! Coming out at the same time!

"Max! Max! Max! Max!" he screams, running around in circles like a chicken that just got its head cut off.

I ignore 'im. "Stay here. Keep low," I whisper to Denise.

She nods fearfully. But at least she isn't so afraid that she can still comprehend my instructions.

I take cover behind a wall, but as I carefully peek around to assess the situation, the side of the wall, just about half an inch from my bald head, bursts as it is peppered by a barrage of bullets. I turn my head and shut my eyes, as dirt, and splinters of wood spatter my face. I never saw a thing. I have no idea who, and how many they are.

My usual strategy here would be to blind fire. They would take cover. I would peek to see how many there were, and where they were hiding. It would only take me a second to gather all this information. Maybe even half a second. But the problem with this current set up is...I'm in a goddamn hospital! Even I'm not stupid enough to blind fire in a hospital! The last thing my already battle-worn, guilt ridden conscience needs now is someone's new born baby killed by one of my stray bullets. Sure, maybe I'll get lucky, and hit an ambulance chaser, but it's not worth the risk.

"There's no goin' through here!" I yell to Denise and the others. "Come on! We'll take the stairs!"

"Go on!" Hizon, a Filipino-Chinese police officer, offers. "We'll cover for you!"

"No! Come with us! We can't have a shoot out in the hospital! Denise is the one they want! We're putting people in danger by staying here!"

I smash open the fire exit door, hurt my shoulder in the process, by the way, and rush down the stairs, which at my age, really isn't that fast anymore. Denise is behind me. Every once in a while, she has to give me a little push because she catches up too easily. She is followed by the whimpering Jose. Hizon and Castillo, a Filipino-Spanish police officer, are bringing up the rear. Gee I really hope I'm not slowing everybody down too much. Maybe I shoulda' let everybody else go first.

"Hey, how about we go a little faster, Max?" Denise whispers. "You know, on account of the people after us. You remember them? The ones with guns? The ones who want to kill me?"

"I'm being cautious. They could have people downstairs waiting for us."

"Hey! What's the hold up down there?!" Castillo screams.

"I'm goin' as fast as I can, alright!"

"You know, Max," Jose begins, panting. "Let's just... Let's just give her to them already. OK?"

"Excuse me?!" Denise snaps around at him. "You're a Senior Inspector in the Philippine National police force! How could you even suggest that?!"

"Ignore 'im," I tell her calmly. "He just saw two of his officers gunned down. He's in shock. He doesn't know what he's sayin'."

"Yes, I do," Jose contests. "She's a cheating tramp. She's not worth dying for."

Denise has heard enough. She punches him square in the nose. He collapses against the wall, and falls down fast and hard. I'm not too worried about 'em. His fat ass broke the fall. His two officers just stare at him in quiet shock. Or is it amusement?

"Awright, you had that comin'," I tell him, helping him back on his feet with my free arm. "But seriously, we gotta keep movin'."

"Shit!" Castillo suddenly exclaims, raising his Glock 17 upwards.

But he never even got to pull the trigger before bullets rain down, cutting him to bloody shreds.

Hizon screams in anger, and fires repeatedly at his partner's killers. Then he leaps out of the way, just in time as they return fire.

"Did you get any of them?" I ask him.

"I don't think so. They have the higher ground. Puts us at a disadvantage. Shit, they killed Castillo!"

"How many were there?"

"Two or three. With submachine guns!"

"We gotta fight them on level ground. Come on! We'll take them at the basement parking lot!"

"There's the way out!" Jose screams in elation, pulling away from me, and hurriedly taking the lead.

The moment he opens the door, I hear a single gunshot, and Jose stops dead in his tracks. Bad choice of words on my part there. The Senior Inspector wobbles, and then falls. Apparently I was right. They actually did have people downstairs waiting for us.

"Cover me!" I command.

Hizon complies. Our enemies, three of them, armed with M&P360 revolvers, take cover. Two behind a gray LiteAce, one behind a black Pajero.

I walk out into the parking lot, a Beretta 92FS in either hand, and...as Jose put it, "I do that thing I do."

The one crouched behind the Pajero, takes a peek. I scalp him with a bullet. Another one comes out from behind the gray van, takes aim. Too slow. I put two slugs in him from each gun. I feel like I'm back at the police shooting range. The only difference is, the targets there don't shoot back. By the time I turn my attention to the last man, he had already squeezed the trigger. I leap out of the way. Hmmm... Maybe Jose was right. Maybe I can become faster than bullets. Even before I could fall on my side, I had already shot him in the chest four times.

This is where I truly belong. In a gunfight, there is no uncertainty, no guilt. You just kill the other guy before he kills you. And I am good at killing the other guy. I wasn't a very good cop. Otherwise, I'd still be one. I wasn't a very good husband and father. Otherwise, I would still have my family. I wasn't a very good friend either. Otherwise, Jose would still be alive. But I killed the other guys for you, Jose. Because I'm good at it. Because a gunfight is home to me.

Now, my next immediate concern is the three other guys with submachine guns after us. Still on the ground, I turn to see Hizon and Denise fleeing the stairwell. Our pursuers must have caught up! Denise goes left, and hides, pressing her back against the wall right next to the doorway. Hizon goes straight and attempts a T.J. Hooker car hood slide. Didn't have enough momentum. The slide is short, and he falls backward, hitting his head on the concrete floor, knocking himself out, possibly breaking his neck.

I hope he's OK, but seriously?! A T.J. Hooker car hood slide?! What year is it?! It's like the gods always want me to fight multiple opponents on my own.

The submachine gun trio will be bursting out of the doorway into the parking lot, guns blazing anytime now! I have to get on my feet. I feel like it took me a couple of years to get back up. At first, I thought it was just the old age, or that I may have thrown my hip when I hit the floor. Then I become aware of the bullet wound on my lower left leg. So I wasn't faster than bullets after all. Wish I had picked up some painkillers while I was still in the hospital.

The first submachine gun guy recklessly rushes through the door. He is directly followed by one of his buddies. So intent on catching up with us, they didn't exercise any caution at all. Jose made the same mistake, and it cost him his life. Now, it's their turn.

I fire on the first guy with both guns. His body is catapulted into his buddy's arms. I continue firing, hoping the bullets would rip through the corpse, and hit the guy behind. It doesn't happen, or it does but I don't hit anything vital.

He's still holding his dead buddy up. I don't know if it's out of compassion or he's using him as a human shield. Finally, he returns fire, but has difficulty aiming well, and balancing his heavy, protective, human body armor at the same time.

I try that thing I do. It doesn't work. That happens sometimes. Like there's this invisible gauge that runs out whenever I use it too often or for too long.

Fortunately, he misses me, but only barely, and I not so quickly nor gracefully limp behind the safety of a concrete pillar. He clumsily fires at me again, the bullets causing numerous small rocks to fly from the pillar's surface. Where the hell is security? Are they dead already? Did they manage to call the cops?

I fire back from cover, but still only hit the already badly mangled dead guy he's hiding behind.

"Oh, come on!" I call out from behind the pillar, while I reload. "Drop the body, and hide somewhere else! Show some respect!"

"It's OK! I don't think he minds!" he retorts.

"This is a predominantly religious country! I'm sure hiding behind a dead body is sacrilegious!"

"Hey, you're the one that keeps shooting at him! Besides, I'm also trying to kill you, so I'm a sinner one way or another, right?!"

From out of nowhere, Denise suddenly throws a flying elbow strike to the side of his head. Guess the gods don't want me to fight alone after all. He drops his friend's body, and swings the submachine gun in her direction. But she catches the weapon's barrel with one hand, and shoves a quick knee into his groin. He buckles, and just as she jumps to deliver one last downward elbow to the back of his head, the killing blow, a knife is thrown into her shoulder.

The third pursuer. I had forgotten all about him.

Just as the second pursuer seems to have forgotten all about me. Denise aborts her attack. She shrieks in pain, and almost falls, putting a hand on her bleeding shoulder. Her enemy recovers, trains his gun on her.

I don't give him the chance to shoot. I come out of hiding, raise both guns, and walk towards him while filling him with thunderous, ear-splitting, hot lead. He falls. Nobody catches his dead body.

I spot the last attacker just outside the fire exit. He doesn't even have a gun. Just another knife, which he expertly hurls at me. I shoot it in mid air. Lemme just say that again, just in case you missed it. I shoot...the knife...in mid air! It made a clang as it harmlessly fell on the pavement. He takes yet another knife from the waistband of his trousers, and prepares to chuck that one at me, too. I realize then that this guy is never gonna run out of knives. So I shoot him in his hand.

He drops the knife, squeals in pain, gives me a frightened look, then turns to flee the parking lot.

"Stop!" I yell at him.

He doesn't, so I shoot him in the left leg. He squeals again before falling on his face. I casually limp towards him.

"You OK?" I ask Denise as I pass her.

"Yeah," she grimaces, still holding onto her injured shoulder.

The thug on the ground moans, and then turns to wearily lie on his back.

"Where's Yoo Jin?" I ask gravely.

"Who?" he weakly asks back.

I point one of my guns right at his face. His eyes widen with fear. I ask him again, slowly this time.

"Where's...Yoo Jin?"

"I don't know any Yoo Jin!"

"Then why were you after Denise Hopper?!"

"Who?"

"Ask me who one more time, asshole!"

"Look, man, I don't know any Denise! We were after you!"

"Me?! Why?!"

"Why?! You killed so many of us! You think the syndicate would just let you get away with that?!"

Suddenly, I recognize him. He's one of the three punks that tried to get my wallet and watch a few days ago. The nervous one. The one that wasn't even given a gun. He understands and speaks English, after all.

Yoo Jin never sent these guys. These thugs are part of some crime syndicate operating in this city.

"H-hey. Just let me go, man," he begs. "I can talk to the syndicate for you. Put in a good word. They'll see it as a nice gesture of peace if you let me go."

I shake my head.

"I already let you go once."

Then I knock him out with a pistol whip.

10. The Survivors

"You know, I- I really didn't mean what I said earlier," Jose, who apparently survived, sheepishly explains to Denise as he lies in his gurney in the back of the speeding ambulance. "You know, about giving you up to those hoodlums. I was in shock. Two of my officers just died. I-I really didn't know what I was saying."

"I understand," she answers, her injured shoulder heavily bandaged. "Sorry for breaking your nose."

"Oh, that's OK. Like Max said, I had it coming. Sorry for calling you a cheating tramp."

"No, I am a cheating tramp," she admits, lowering her head. "I really should stop it with that."

I just smile at them silently, and then look out the back window. Hizon survived, too. But he's so embarrassed, he probably wishes he hadn't. As for me, I'm just gonna wait for my injured leg to heal up some. Then I have some unfinished business to take care of.

11. The Rapist

I don't know what I'm doin' here. Maybe I'm the one looking for closure now. Or maybe I feel guilty for putting Denise's life in danger with those gangsters after me.

I don't even know what I'm gonna do with the kid, once I find 'em. He was already found innocent in a court of law. Then again, I've seen lots of guilty men go free. But I've also seen innocent men get punished.

It just doesn't seem right that, after everything that happened, Chip's death, the attack at the hospital,... It doesn't seem right that Yoo Jin is left totally unscathed. This whole thing started because of him. Maybe I'll just scare him, or rough him up some. I don't know.

I still don't know by the time I reach the front door of his suite at the Grande Tower. I take out my Beretta 92FS, just in case he has bodyguards or something, then I try the door. It's unlocked. I walk in. All the lights are closed, but the bright city lights illuminate the room through a large window. Music is playing from a smartphone. Some Korean ballad. Yoo Jin is sitting on a gray, modern luxury chair by the large window, crying his eyes out. He has a huge, nearly empty bottle of liquor in one hand. A DP-51 pistol in the other.

I point my gun at him.

"Put the gun down, kid."

He doesn't even look at me.

"Are going to try kill me, too? Like teacher's husband?"

"To be honest, I'm still thinkin' about it."

He finishes the bottle. Seems disappointed that there wasn't any left, and he angrily tosses the bottle away into a corner.

"Girls don't like me in Korea. My friends say... Come to Philippines! You gonna be playboy! But when I come here, I'm still loser!"

Actually, he wasn't. If he had been a little more patient, Denise was going to give it to 'em anyway. I just stay quiet. As I always seem to do when in the company of a crying person.

"My father says I am embarrassment!" he sobs. "He ashame of me!"

He raises the gun, stares at it. I know what he's contemplating, and I am just tired of this whole mess already. I don't want to see what he might do. I don't wanna be a part of any of this, anymore. I turn around, close the door, and quickly walk away.

"Let me get outta here first," I think to myself. "Let me leave before you pull the trigger 'coz I don't wanna hear it."

12. The Girl

Second chances. Pft! Chip had come here, and thought he had gotten a second chance. Yoo Jin came here in search of a second chance. Well, lookit both of 'em now. Second chances. Yeah, right.

Another late night at Bootsky's, and I am just about to take another swig of my beer, when I notice a cute, young, brown haired Filipina staring at me. She's sharing a table with a group of friends or colleagues. I think she was that chick from the other night who was singin' that Korean pop song. She gives me a little smile.

I raise my bottle to her. She giggles.

"Second chances," I sigh to myself. I stare at the bottle in my hand, and laugh wryly. "Sure. Why the hell not?"

I pick up my bottle, and walk over to her table.

END