Chapter 11: Showdown
It was a sunny Thursday morning at Karina's Fine Diamonds. Freddy shrugged into a bullet-proof vest while Jeff leaned against the front of the brick building in what was supposed to be a nonchalant manner. Freddy could tell that the kid was fucking nervous, and so was he. Checking to see that nobody was watching, he looked at his reflection in a car window. "Don't pussy out on me now," he whispered. "If you do, I'll fuckin' kill you." He glared so that his reflection got the point, checked that his hands weren't shaking, and strolled over to Jeff. "Everything set?"
"I think so," the younger man answered, handing Freddy one of his radios. "Cops dressed as employees are inside the store. We got the street covered, and uniformed patrolmen are waiting to move in once we spring the ambush." Freddy nodded and started for the door, but Jeff stopped him. "Look man," the other cop said. "You sure about this? Maybe you shouldn't –" Freddy silenced him with a look, grasped Jeff's shoulder in reassurance, and went inside the store.
Posted around the room were cops dressed as store clerks, each with a firearm under the counter. Freddy quietly took his position behind the display cases lining the back wall, crouching down so that he had a view of the front doors through the glass. Everything was set for the ambush, and now all they could do was wait. Christ, he needed a smoke.
According to witness reports of the arsons, Vega had simply strolled into a place, spilled a can of gasoline all over the floor, set fire to it, and walked out cool as fucking ice. Freddy hoped to god they could apprehend the bastard before had a chance to resist, but telling from his previous experiences with Vega that wasn't going to happen. Also, Freddy felt like shit. Last night he'd had a flashback so vivid he'd been clutching his stomach in pain, the fear of death as chilling and real as it had been the day of the robbery. It had been triggered by an ad for a red car. Driven by a woman. Dr. Moss' advice had been nagging him all morning. I know you are resistant to the idea, but you must revisit your experiences in order to even hope for a full recovery. In short, you must confess everything to someone. He couldn't fucking drive to a church and come back in time to nab Vega. Still, the symptoms were getting worse, and he was fucking exhausted. He'd stopped sleeping to avoid intense dreams about the warehouse and the fucking garage. Freddy knew that he was near breaking point, and he had to catch Vega and finish it. Now or never.
As if on cue, the radio in the pocket of Freddy's vest crackled. Jeff's voice came through as a static-laced whisper: "Andrews to Newendyke. Subject is in sight. ETA, two minutes."
"Copy that, Andrews. Signing off." Freddy carefully switched off his radio and drew his Beretta with his right hand, and signalled to the undercover cops with his left. Under the counters fingers were curling around weapons, all of them getting ready to give Vega a warm welcome.
The door squeaked as it opened. The first thing Freddy saw through the display case was a hand carrying a gas can. Instantly he was drenched in sweat. His hands began to shake. His stomach flipped over, his mouth went dry, and he struggled frantically for control. He couldn't lose it, he couldn't have a fucking flashback for fuck's sake, not here, not now –
"Freeze! LAPD!" People were shouting, weapons were raised, and Freddy blinked and jumped to his feet. He levelled his gun at Vega – who was holding an H&K MP5A4, a sub-machine gun for fuck's sake! Bastard could take out the whole room with that fucking thing. The gun hung from a shoulder strap, and Vega's finger rested comfortably on the trigger.
The man looked around in mild surprise at the "clerks," quickly spotted Freddy, and grinned in recognition. As the others screamed at Vega to put down his weapon, Freddy locked eyes with the man. They could've been the only two people in the store. And Vega repeated his words from four months ago, the first time they'd met after the robbery: "Hey Orange. Nice scar."
Freddy barely had time to throw himself to the ground before Vega opened fire.
Bullets smashed into the display case and riddled the wall. The gas can clattered to the ground. Freddy pushed himself up on his elbows, shaking pieces of glass from his hair. The sub-machine gun kept on firing, sweeping around the store. Someone screamed in pain. Heart pounding, adrenaline running high. Freddy pulled himself up to see Vega disappearing into the back room, firing a wild spray of bullets over his shoulder. Shit. Some fucking ambush.
Freddy didn't look to see who was injured – that crazy motherfucker had just blasted his way out! He vaulted over the ruined display case and raced for the back door. Two or three cops followed him. Like Vega, Freddy knew this building inside and out; they'd gone over Joe's chalk drawing of the place a million fucking times. He turned right, went through a small office, and emerged cautiously in a hallway. To the left was a door to the alleyway behind the store – open.
"Freddy?" He glanced over his shoulder. Tony, Ruthie, and Stevo were all staring at him. He would've liked some more experienced cops backing him up, but he couldn't be choosy.
"He's gone out the back. C'mon!" Stepping out into sunlight, Freddy just registered an open dumpster on one side of the door and a parked truck on the other when another volley of bullets came his way. He ducked and rolled gracelessly into the dumpster, smashing his knee into the metal. Tony and Ruthie sprawled beside him, and Stevo dove back through the door.
The firing stopped. "That was a mean trick you just pulled," called Vega. His wheezy voice carried over a muffled whimpering sound. Freddy's stomach froze – had that fucking psycho taken a hostage? Oh, shit... "It's my turn now, Orange. C'mon, take a look."
"Don't do it!" Tony hissed, his eyes wide with terror. Freddy shushed him with an impatient gesture and crawled to the edge of the dumpster. Cautiously, he poked his head around the side. Vega stood in the middle of the alley, the sub-machine gun hanging from his shoulder. He had his arm around the neck of a young woman and was holding a pistol to her head. As she struggled, Freddy spotted a tattoo on her arm. A snake. His breath caught in his throat: it was his little Asian waitress. The world was really fucking with him now.
Freddy ducked back behind the dumpster. "He's got a hostage," he said in an undertone.
Stevo withdrew further into the building looking scared out of his mind. So much for him, the gutless little bitch. Tony was cursing nonstop under his breath. Ruthie set her jaw. "I'll call for backup," she said, taking Freddy's radio with shaking hands.
"Fine. But nobody's gonna fuckin' try to attack Vega," Freddy ordered. Tony and Ruthie stared at him like he was out of his fucking mind. "Listen, this guy's nuts. He wants me. That's the only thing keeping him from killing the hostage." The two rookie cops nodded reluctantly, and Freddy crawled back to the edge of the dumpster. "What now, Blonde?" he called, peering around the corner. Ruthie was fumbling with the radio.
"What now?" Vega shoved the gun against the side of the girl's head, and Freddy winced. "Well, I guess I'd like you to throw your gun away and come on outta there."
Freddy ignored the panicked whispers of the other cops and tossed his Beretta across the alley. Though he didn't show it, he was scared shitless. But if he did nothing, that girl would die. He emerged from his cover, holding up his hands to show that he was unarmed. Out in the open he finally got a clear look at the girl. Vega's arm was tight around her neck. Her purse lay where she had dropped it, contents spilt over the asphalt. She looked about as scared as he felt, and Freddy glared at Vega – that bastard had no right to involve her in this. "You gonna let her go?"
"Not just yet." Vega flashed him a friendly smile, which pissed Freddy off even more. "Come a little closer... a couple more steps... that's it. Now get down on your knees, kid. Hands behind your head." A polite request. "I'm afraid we don't have time to finish this properly, and that's a real shame, Orange. I would've enjoyed slicing you up." He shook his head sadly.
Freddy stared at Vega. "Yeah, that's a real fucking shame." Asshole.
"Why'd you fucking shoot me, Orange?" Vega rasped. He was looking at him like this was all some sort of misunderstanding. Freddy couldn't fucking believe him.
"What, you really wanna know?" He gave a small disbelieving laugh. "I shot you because I didn't like your hairstyle, man. Not just your hairstyle, I didn't like your shoes either. What the fuck d'you think?" He burst out. "I fuckin' shot you because you were gonna burn Marvin!"
"Marvin... huh." Vega thoughtfully tapped the Desert Eagle against the girl's head. He shrugged and smiled. "I was done with him anyway. For you, it's too bad I gotta do it quick like this. But I'm still gonna enjoy it. Regardless." The corners of his eyes crinkled.
The gun left the girl's temple to point directly at Freddy's head. The young cop licked his suddenly-dry lips. It was uncomfortably hot in his bullet-proof vest; a lot of fucking good it would do him at point-blank range. Vega was going to execute him, like the people in the store. It was fucking ridiculous. He'd been shot in the head, woke from a fucking coma, and worked his ass off to track down this crazy motherfucker, only to die now at his hands.
As Freddy knelt in the alleyway, looking down the barrel of Vega's gun, he became hyperaware of his body. His senses raced to record everything they could of this world before he left it. He heard traffic passing on the streets. He tasted bitterness on his tongue. He felt... He felt rigid tape on his healing fingers. He felt his heart pounding in his throat. Sweat forming on his back under the heavy vest. Asphalt digging into his knees. Tightness around his right ankle... wait a minute...
The sound of quickly-approaching footsteps shattered the air like firecrackers. A frantic babble of raised voices. Vega turned, distracted, to look over his shoulder.
This was his chance! Freddy rolled onto his side and reached for his right ankle in one swift motion – the girl watched in alarm. He pulled a gun from the holster – Vega was turning back. Raised the gun – the girl shut her eyes. Aimed – Vega glanced at him, his expression turning to one of surprise.
Squeezed the trigger.
Sound. Recoil. Vega toppled to the ground. Right between the eyes.
Freddy remained propped up on his side, gun still extended. Silently he mimed the action of shooting Vega one more time, and felt a strange sense of déjà vu – emptying his clip into Vega in the warehouse, raising the gun, pointing – gotcha. A feeling of closure washed over him, and he quietly returned the gun to its holster. Only then did he look to see what had distracted Vega: Jeff and the other cops had run around to the back of the building upon receiving Ruthie's call.
The girl scrambled away from Vega's unmoving body and stared at it in shock. A dark pool of blood was slowly spreading from under Vega's head. Freddy crawled over to her on bruised knees, reached out, and shook her arm gently. "You all right? Hey are you all right, yes or no?"
The girl blinked and finally looked at him. There was blood on her shoulder. Vega's. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm all right." Her voice was strained. They stood up and he led her a little ways away from the chaos. Cops swarmed around Vega. Ruthie and Tony were gaping at the body. Stevo crawled timidly out from behind the dumpster. And Jeff, good old Jeff, was talking on his radio and barking out instructions at the same time. Jesus Christ, it was fucking over, Vega was –
"Nice shot," the girl said, laughing shakily, still looking at Vega's body and trying not to look at it. She gave a wry grin. "I think I'll have to give you my number now."
Freddy glanced quickly at her. "I've seen you around town," he hazarded. Don't push it, stay casual, don't let her know what a fucking nutcase you are. "But I could never talk to you."
A pause. "You can now."
Freddy hesitated. Dozens of police were crowding around Vega, and he could hear more sirens approaching. Not exactly a fitting place to ask a girl out. But then, his life been pretty fucked up recently. Fuck it. "Will you have dinner with me?"
She looked up at him. Smiled. "Yes."
They turned to look at Vega's body, both still rather stunned by what had just happened. Eight months after the robbery, eight months after talking with Marvin, eight months after the worst fucking day of Freddy's life, it was finally over. He didn't know what he wanted to do first, fall into bed or get fucking plastered. And he had a date. Life was already getting better. Suddenly, Freddy realized that he was missing one important detail: "What's your name?"
The girl self-consciously rubbed her elbow. "Toby."
Freddy stared at her, a fragment of a conversation that seemed so long ago tickling his memory. The chink of cutlery on plates, and Joe Cabot's trademark growl. Oh Toby's that little Chinese girl. What was her last name? It just couldn't be… "Toby Chu?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Wong."
A/N: My birthday was yesterday; I brought my coworkers brownies, and you guys get this chapter which I know you've been waiting for. And so dies Mr. Blonde, one messed-up son of a bitch. I couldn't wait to have Freddy use the gun in his ankle holster. I was kind of disappointed when he didn't get to use it in the movie. And yes, Joe eventually got the name right: it's Toby Wong. Only one more chapter to go.
