Part 14
A terrific BANG exploded through the air around them. The window in front of the booth where they sat exploded into a million pieces of sharp, shattering glass.
"What the fuck!" Murdock screamed.
Peck threw himself away from the fragmenting glass and found he was sprawled on the floor, covered in shards of skin piercing material and shivering uncontrollably. He leant back pushing himself into the side of the seat and tried to force his lungs to slow down their hyperventilating rush for oxygen.
Murdock was in a similar position at the other side of the table. "You OK, Facey?" he asked.
Peck's face was pale and strained, his eyes tightly closed and he was shaking his head slowly as he whispered, "Shit."
"Face?" Murdock tried again.
The diner had descended into pure chaos. People were screaming and weeping, some on the floor, some crouched down on to their chairs. Mercifully it had not been a busy time of day but still there were enough people there for the air to be rent by various sounds of fear and shock.
Murdock reached out his hand to firmly clasp hold of Peck's shoulder, ignoring as he did so the little cuts that were weeping blood on both of their exposed skin areas. "Face?" he asked again.
Peck was shuddering, pure adrenaline was rushing through his veins and, as he turned to look at his friend, Murdock saw that his eyes were wide and wild. He groaned dejectedly. "I fucked up, again!" he muttered.
"Why?"
Peck simply shook his head as the dread fingered through him like a creeping darkness, chilling deep down into his very soul. He had seen what had broken the window because the brick had landed on the table in front of him as he instinctively threw himself out of the way. It was just any old brick but around it was tied a piece of material that was there to give a message and Peck had understood it all too well. The material was a violent red bandana decorated with black dog shapes – the Brotherhood of the Black Coyote were in town!
Bubba Bop was not born a patient man. It was hardly surprising; the son of a heroin addict and a street hooker, the world that had shaped him included many sensations – hatred, violence, fear and pain but never any time for patience. Through his informative years his eyes were presented with the constant re-enactment of the need for instant gratification, the need to reach out and take, and consequently the selfish primeval desire was etched deep into him. From the day four year old Bubba witnessed his father gunned down on the street in front of him after an argument over less than twenty dollars worth of crack, Bubba knew that life was cheap and nasty. Wasn't nobody going to help or support him through any of it – whatever he wanted he would have to get himself and probably fight for in the process.
But Bubba was an intelligent boy and despite it all he did learn patience, learnt that in using it he was arming himself with an advantage over most of the other unfortunates condemned to live and die on the brutal streets of LA. For with patience came the concepts of thought and planning ahead and the insightful recognition that something worked for could bring greater satisfaction than any instant high. And for Bubba there was more too – he made himself learn to read and while other kids his age shot up in alleys or mumbled and fumbled with two bit whores, Bubba went down to the city library and read. He read all books but his favourites were biographies, and not just any old stories but those that centred on great and infamous leaders – Hitler, Alexander, Stalin and Hannibal; he devoured them all. He read of leaders and generals, tyrants and despots and with his growing understanding his lust for power grew correspondingly.
He began to believe that he shared certain characteristics with these great men; that he was special, that he would achieve more than the mere mortals he lived around. His first stay in the penitentiary, after he was found guilty of a violent assault, brought him even greater insight. He shared a cell with a wily old character by the name of Blackjack who introduced Bubba to a whole new concept – the idea that the colour of your skin was important. All the histories he had read, all his idols had been white men. Blackjack opened up a whole new catalogue of heroes – men like Malcolm X and Nat Turner, Marcus Garvey and Idi Amin and Bubba accepted this new information with gratitude and a feeling far down in his soul that this was the ultimate of truths. A deep seated pride began to blossom in the young man and with it came a hatred of anything that was not like him, specifically anyone who did not share his ebony colouring – yellow, red or white, it did not matter, if they were not black, they were the enemy.
After he came out of prison, the blood running through his veins fired by indignation and his sense of oppression, Bubba founded the Brotherhood of the Black Coyote. Those first years were hard; Bubba had to win respect from not only his own men but also the rest of the world. He did it by putting into practice the theories he had read about – he was simply more violent, more aggressive and more inhuman than any other leader on the block and he demanded that his gang members act likewise. The streets simmered with inter-racial tension boiling into violence often and Bubba fed off it, bathing himself in blood and using it to increase his power base along with his reputation.
The past year had seen the Brotherhood increase in influence through a series of horrifically violent attacks and also via its involvement in the drugs market. Bubba saw no moral dilemma in associating with the races he abhorred if it brought him personal gain. He had dealings with Lorelei's organisation regularly but although they knew each other, neither one knew they shared a common hatred of a man called Peck.
That Bubba hated Peck was obvious – he did so by definition since Peck's skin was the wrong colour and of all races, Bubba hated all white man with the most intense of passions – they were the embodiment of all the tyranny and oppression suffered by the black man for centuries. But Bubba's hatred of Peck, much to the conman's bad fortunate, ran far deeper than that which he felt for the average white man. This time it was personal. Ramba, currently languishing in Folsom State Prison, was Bubba's younger brother, and the fact that he had almost died because some piece of old white trash had jumped him in the shower, could not be tolerated. Peck had humiliated Ramba and as a consequence humiliated not only the Brotherhood but Bubba himself. It would not be allowed, of course, Peck would pay.
That was when Bubba's patience came into play – he had waited a long time for this moment. He had tracked Peck when he left prison but Lorelei's goons had got in the way. The Brotherhood had been close at Sheriff Wyatt Hopkins' small cell block next to Sierra Creek. Maddened by the need for vengeance and invigorated by the crack flooding their blood, the Brotherhood had arrived too late to find their quarry. Frustrated and furious they had nevertheless enjoyed a wonderful time by trashing the place and killing its occupants in a wild orgy of violence and destruction that even Sheriff Hopkins, for all his years of upholding the law, was powerless to battle against.
Bubba had lost track of Peck for a while after that but he had not forgotten that he owed him. It was only luck that had brought the conman back on to the Brotherhood's radar, but Bubba knew all great leaders benefited from that – it was how they used their luck that made them great. Luck, in this particular case, came in the form of Robby Blake. He was another piece of white trash who had insulted the Brotherhood, but word had come from the top of the drug supply chain that Blake was not to be touched. Blake may have borne a charmed life but on a hunch Bubba had one of his boys follow the kid and his patience had been rewarded. Blake had led them to Peck. Bubba had checked and Peck had no similar edict in place to save his skin; he was there for the taking! And taking him was exactly what Bubba had in mind.
Itching to move, Bubba had waited, biding his time and making his plans, waited until the furore about Lorelei had died down, waited until Peck and his boyfriend had come to this quiet, out of the way motel… waited, knowing that taking the prize was going to give him such satisfaction.
Now Bubba stood in the parking lot, having watched Peck arrogantly cross to the diner, sure that the piece of white trash had no notion of what was about to happen. The gathered legions of the Brotherhood silently moved out of the surrounding pine tree, guns ready and Bubba had never felt so powerful, so alive. His plans were made, the trap was set, and now all he had to do was watch Peck die!
Peck closed his eyes again – how could he have been so goddamn stupid? How could he have taken his eye off the ball? All right bringing Lorelei down had been a challenge and her final downfall had been so sweet, but that was no excuse for him misjudging the rest of the situation!
He remembered BA's warning on the beach – "I still hear the word on the street. Brotherhood of the Black Coyotes is bad news and they is getting worse." And "You don't wanna cross 'em, Face. That's all I'm saying. And if you did, you better tell cos I can help." Why in hell hadn't he confessed to BA what was going on?
Then there were the painful reminders in prison. And to think he'd only put himself on the line to rescue Robby Blake who turned out to be Lorelei's stool pigeon all along. It just was not fair!
He remembered his dreams, unconsciously glancing up at the clock, he could not control the twist in his belly that radiated through the rest of his body when he saw the time – 10.50. He was going to die at 11 o'clock… there was something he had not done, something he had forgotten and for that he was going to die! He was going to die because he had misjudged the Brotherhood of the Black Coyotes! The dream had shown him it so often, but only now was it really clear to him. And then the one thought cutting through everything else with razor sharp precision; did he really have less than ten more minutes to live?
"Face?" Murdock hissed again.
Peck drew in a deep breath. He had to get himself together! He had to think his way through this! Shit, Murdock was here – he deserved an explanation. And there were other people, innocents, who had no idea what was going on. They surely did not deserve this.
"Templeton Peck – you piece of white trash. We are here to make you pay!" The voice boomed towards them, deep and rich and dripping with potential violence.
"What the hell?" Murdock questioned.
Peck gulped and then started talking. "I fucked up HM. Remember the beach – BA talking about the Brotherhood of the Black Coyotes? And in prison, when I saved Robby Blake in the shower?"
Murdock moved across the floor to be closer, ignoring the broken glass. He was nodding now, his tongue nervously running across his lips as he sought to understand.
"I didn't think they were serious," Peck continued. "I thought it was all show, all about their twisted male egos, posturing bullshit. I mean I knew I got them pissed at me but I thought…."
"What did they say they were going to do to you, Face?" Murdock asked gently, suspecting he already knew the answer.
"Kill me," Peck said, shaking his head. "It's not fair!"
"Figures," Murdock let his breath whistle out through his teeth. "It's never fair. We need a plan."
Peck nodded, forcing his heart to slow and breathing as deeply as he could. He glanced around the diner. People were cowering behind tables and sniffling with fear. Peck cleared his throat. "It's all going to be OK, guys!" he pronounced as bleak, frightened eyes moved to rest of him. "Everybody move slowly to the back of the room, behind the counter." He was a little shocked when they all complied. "I'm the one they want," Peck continued as bravely as he could. "You guys will all be fine – trust me!"
"You're not going out there," Murdock hissed.
"You wanted a plan!" Peck retorted.
Murdock took a deep breath as he resisted the urge to argue. He thought for awhile. "You got your gun?"
Peck nodded, his hand going instinctively to the bulge beneath his jacket.
"OK. Here's what we do," Murdock said. "The Viper is only a couple of yards away. I got the keys here. You go left and I go right. Meet you there."
Peck stared at him open mouthed. "Is that it?" he said.
Murdock pouted. "Yeah," he said defensively.
"Well, it's not much better than my plan. Anyway I am not…."
Peck was cut off as a deafening volley of automatic machine gun fire burst through the window. Bullets thudded into the wood of the tables and chairs and shattered the glasses and crockery that were spread about the place. Peck cowered behind the booth as the screaming started again.
After the gun fire stopped Bubba shouted. "I'm waiting Peck! You disrespect the Brotherhood, you gotta pay! Or is your little white ass too yellow to come out here? Am I gonna have to come in there and get you?"
Peck turned to look at Murdock. "Murdock, I can't let you…"
Murdock bent forwards and kissed him on the mouth, forcing his tongue inside to shut Peck up. As he withdrew he smiled bravely. "Muchado, we're in this together and we'll get out of it together. Now, how many of them do you think there are?"
Peck shrugged. "I have no idea. Can't be many – they'd have to hire a bus to get up here!" As he talked he took the gun out of his shoulder holster and checked the barrel. "OK," he said softly but firmly. "I go right…"
"No, I go right," Murdock corrected him.
Peck snorted. "Whatever!" His face was suddenly even paler and he gulped. "Murdock, do you remember the end of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid?"
The pilot grimaced. "Face, you told me real often, this is not the film. I'm choosing to believe that right now!"
Peck nodded and moved towards the far exit but stopped. "There's something else I never told you," he began.
Murdock snorted. "Faceyman, we haven't got the time for confession – save it for later!"
"No. It's important. I have to tell you now." Peck hesitated before continuing. "I've been seeing Hannibal."
"In your dreams, you told me," Murdock tried not to let his impatience show in his voice.
"No, not just in my dreams. I see him everywhere, when I'm awake. I've been talking to him. I think I'm going mad!"
Murdock let out a long guffaw that sounded strange in their current predicament. "I love you, Templeton Peck!" He reached over and kissed him again. "I've been having conversations with Hannibal ever since he died!"
"You have? Why didn't you tell me?" Peck pressed.
Murdock shrugged. "Guess I thought it was natural," he said with a grin. "Man, the Colonel was never gonna leave us!"
Another staccato volley of gun fire cut through the peaceful morning air and they cringed together until it had stopped.
"Lots of innocent people are gonna die, Peck!" Bubba shouted. "Just because you ain't no man!"
Peck felt the eyes of everyone in the room suddenly turn to stare at him. The weight of their expectation suddenly seemed unbearably heavy. He pursed his lips in determination. "Let's do it!" he said and started to crawl away to the exit again.
"Face," Murdock called to him. Peck turned back expectantly. "You might want to send up a few prayers round about now!"
Peck smiled and nodded. As he reached the door, he leaned against the frame. "Jeez, I'm getting too old for this, Murdock!" he muttered.
Finally both of them knelt beside their respective exits. "Ready, Sundance?" Murdock called.
Peck nodded as their eyes met for one last time. A whole lifetime of understanding passed between them – memories that defined their lives, so many moments, hopes and dreams; all in the past. Murdock nodded back. It was enough.
Both men raised their guns, took a huge gulp and then stepped out into the bright sunlight to meet their destiny.
"Fire!" Bubba screamed.
Peck was firing himself as he exited the door, scattering bullets towards his enemies as best he could. He threw a glance across the lot to where the Viper was parked but it looked so very far away and he knew with stunning clarity that there was no way he was going to make it. He thought about retreating back into the diner but he was aware of gunfire coming from beside him that must be Murdock and he knew he could never leave him to face this mess of his making alone.
The first bullet hit him high on the thigh and he staggered but kept running. The second went low into his abdomen in almost exactly the same place as the VC bullet from so long ago and the third was in his shoulder, high velocity and spinning him around as he dropped his gun. And then he was falling forwards as the dusty surface of the parking lot rushed up to meet him.
The pain was intense and paralysing, his body spasming out of control as further bullets ripped into him embedding themselves deep into his bleeding being. He was lying in the dirt quivering violently and fighting for the next breath. Desperately he looked up seeing the immense clear, blue sky gazing down on him from above and he felt suddenly so small and insignificant.
He was fading away, could feel the life dripping out of him through the many wounds and with it went the pain too. All of his senses were losing clarity but he fought to hold on to them. Gathering what little strength he had left, he forced his head to move and his eyes to focus. He saw Murdock laying only a few feet away from him, those beloved eyes, always so full of life, were glazed and his left hand was reaching out towards Peck. Peck gulped. He felt like a huge weight was sitting on his chest and he could no longer inflate his lungs. The world around him continued to dim, the colours fading into grey as all intensity was lost. He wanted to touch his lover one last time but he knew he could not move, so he simply stared at Murdock, consuming the sight hungrily.
Peck did not care about the black shadow of the Brotherhood coming towards his twitching body nor the fact that the shooting had stopped. He did not hear the new noise – the police sirens blaring incessantly through the morning air. He perceived none of it. He simply lay and looked at his lover and waited for the next heart beat or for eternity – it did not matter to him now.
And then the world blurred into nothingness, falling away completely into a shroud of searing, sweltering light. Peck's lips curved into one last brilliant smile – a smile to end all smiles.
The white light of gossamer softness and warmth enveloped him taking away all thought, all desire, all pain and he was at peace. He saw a figure before him and, as he breathed out his last breath, he whispered, "Hannibal…………….."
