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“It has to start some place,
It has to start sometime.
What better place then here?
What better time than now?”
Rage Against the Machine,
Guerilla Radio
Strobe light lightning filled the
world as thunderous music sealed the darkness.
In the black realm of the dance
club, the music set the heartbeat for the crowded room. On the dance-floor
and off, the music radiated throughout the giant metal building, filling
every crevice with deafness. In the darkness, the music reflected off the
walls. And the light, the dancers danced.
“What are we doing here?” called
the younger man as the two sat in the far rear of the club, at the back of
the few tables. Alone and displaced from the rest of the crowd, the two
watched patiently. The table was empty, the music vibrating the glass top.
But the two ignored it, instead watching the crowd.
“We’re waiting,” said the elder
one. “There’s going to be trouble tonight. That’s why we’re here.”
“How can you be so sure?”
yelled the other one, trying to speak over the music as he watched the
faceless crowd.
“Because I’m a knight,” said the
calm one, his dark skin blending him into the shadows better than his black
clothing did. With only a red shirt barely visible beneath his black
jacket, he was entrenched in the darkness. Next to him, dressed in black,
with a red shirt proudly displayed from beneath his black trench coat, the
honey-skinned younger one watched.
“I’m a knight too, you know,” he
yelled. “I swore the Oath, just like you, Everett.”
“Please don’t say my name,
Armand,” Everett
said calmly, emphasizing the other’s name as he sat, still searching the
crowd. “These walls have ears.”
“But what are we looking for?”
Armand asked loudly.
“We’re looking for the owner,” the
girl said, as she stood with the two guys. A young black man was dressed to
kill, standing well with the crowd. Next to him, a taller, thicker Mexican
student subtly watched the people in the line around the three.
“We need to find him first then
we need to locate his two men,” the dark-haired girl went on, whispering
over the thumping of the brick walls. “If we can find all three, then we
need to isolate the one who has the key.”
“We palm the key, and then head
back to the apartment,” said the tan-skinned youth. “Right, Marilyn. We
know the plan.”
“We can’t just steal the key,
Malcolm,” Marilyn began to protest.
“Why not?” asked the darker
skinned boy next to her. She turned to him, his intense eyes waiting for an
answer.
“Because, Victor, if we just steal
it, then we’ll have to get it back to him somehow,” she said.
“Why not just call the police,
from the apartment?” Malcolm asked, shrugging. “I mean, seriously. If
they’re really smuggling in illegal aliens, then forcing them into slavery,
especially white-slavery, why bother with getting the key back? Let’s just
get the police there right then. They can handle it.”
Marilyn was about to protest but
the door to the club opened, several people coming out. The crowd came
alive as the line began to shuffle a delicate few feet forward. “I…it’s
just that we need to find him first,” she insisted clearly, taking the
precious steps forward.
“Yeah, but is he here?” Victor
asked to Marilyn. “And if so, where is he?”
“There he is, Morgan,” said the
older man as he stared in the mirror of the bar. Morgan looked up from his
bottled water, carefully glancing into the mirror over the back of the bar.
Standing on the edge of the dance floor, a man in a business suit stood out
like a sore thumb.
“You sure that’s him, Edgar?”
Morgan asked, looking back down to his water. He hunched over and looked at
the older man to his right. “He’s standing out too much.”
“Did you expect him to dress like
these people?” Edgar asked, smiling at Morgan. “Old people like us don’t
fit in with the hip crowd.”
“You’re not old, Edgar,” Morgan
said humorlessly. “You’re thirty-five. As for him, it’s not that I expected
him to dress like clubbers, but I didn’t expect him to stand out like
that,” the younger man said, taking a deep breath and looking back into the
mirror. “I expected him to be smarter than to stand in the middle of a
dance club dressed like that.”
Edgar looked up into the mirror also,
then sat down to his own water. “What do you think?” he asked, glancing at
Morgan.
“I think he’s a decoy,” Morgan
said, checking over his shoulder.
“There he is,” Everett said, sitting up quickly. Armand
turned also, following the older knight’s gaze. “There,” Everett said, watching the edge of the
dance floor. “In the suit.”
“That’s the owner of the club?”
Armand said. “You sure?”
“Pretty sure,” Everett said, sitting up more
attentively. “Pretty sure.”
“Well, let’s go,” Armand said,
about to stand up.
“Sit down!” Everett said, forcing the younger knight
back into his seat. “We don’t make a move until something happens. Just
because he’s showed up doesn’t mean anything.”
“But you said something bad was
going to happen?” Armand said.
“Are you anxious to start
something?” Everett
asked rhetorically, looking harshly at Armand. “For a knight, you certainly
are antsy. Stay calm and see this thing out. Nothing may happen.”
“But you said…” Armand started to
protest.
“What are you? Twelve?” Everett said. “Jesus,
man. I heard from a friend who knows a guy who knows it a guy. It’s hardly
concrete. But it was enough for me to check out. And you said you wanted to
come. So just sit there and stay calm.”
“There he is!” Marilyn exclaimed,
pointing into the crowd. Malcolm and Victor both turned from the dance
floor, following Marilyn’s arm and gaze to the man in the business suit on
the edge of the dance floor. “That’s him,” he said. “That’s the owner of
the club.”
“Then let’s go,” Victor said,
getting ready to head towards the business-suit clad man. But as he took
his first step, the man turned towards the three, his eyes settling
directly onto Marilyn. She froze, as did Victor and Malcolm. The man turned
towards the three, looking clearly at Marilyn, his eyes filled with anger.
“Oh crap,” Victor said, coming
around in front of Marilyn, standing between her and the owner. As Victor
moved, Malcolm subtly but quickly stepped away, moving through the crowd,
following a wide curve as he kept an eye on the owner.
The middle-aged man on the edge of
the dance floor glared at Marilyn for a moment, then he turned away.
Adjusting his jacket, he began to walk towards the bar.
“He’s coming this way,” Edgar
said, still staring at his water.
“I know,” Morgan said, keeping
calm. “Just stay cool and he won’t notice us.”
“You know, I was doing this
before you were out of middle school,” Edgar said as he leaned back,
pretending to listen to the music. “Just because my beard started to turn
gray doesn’t mean I’ve lost my edge.”
“Maybe not,” Morgan said, glancing
up to the mirror. His eyes narrowed. “But apparently, at least two of your
boys have.”
“He’s heading towards the bar,”
Armand said, watching. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Everett.” He moved
unconsciously, gripping the long handle beneath his trench coat.
“I know,” the black-skinned knight
next to him said reassuringly. He looked around the room, considering
everyone in the club. “It’s not him you need to worry about,” Everett said suddenly,
his eyes going wide. “It’s him!” He stood up in a flash, his hand reaching
behind his back.
“Look out!” screamed Marilyn.
The man in the suit turned just
in time to see another man with a pistol level it right at his chest.
Surprise rushed over the owner’s face as the pistol flashed once. The sound
of the silenced shot was drowned out by the throbbing music, while the
flash disappeared within the lights of the strobe over head. The crowd was
totally oblivious to the shot. Even those within a few feet of the gunmen weren’t
even aware of what had happened.
The man with the gun stepped back,
lowering the matte black pistol down. He turned his head slightly, seeing
Morgan at the bar out of the corner of his eye. Morgan turned his head
also, meeting the gaze of the shooter. In the silence of the throbbing
music, the shooter smiled at Morgan, but the black-clad Morgan made no
response as he stared back at the man with a detached gaze. Overhead,
lightning from the strobe above flashed across the interior world.
“You’re dead,” Morgan said calmly,
looking into the man’s eyes.
The sword blade drove so deep into
back of the shooter’s legs that the blade tore deep into the hamstrings,
driving all the way to the bone. Everett
yanked his straight sword out of the wound as the shooter hit the ground
hard. Those immediately next to Everett
shrieked in horror, but the scream was drowned out by the music.
The shooter rolled over in his
pain, his gun leveling at the black knight. But from the other side,
another sword, similar, but larger, collided with the man’s extended arm,
biting into the muscle and bone of the arm.
Armand’s sword nearly cut the
shooter’s arm off with one swing. The gun fired again, but into the air,
disappearing into the music and light of the club. Everett stepped back from the shooter as
he slid his straight sword into the sheath hidden underneath his jacket.
The gunman rolled around on the floor in pain, holding his arm as he
shouted deafly. Everett
looked up at Armand, but saw past him, seeing the two at the bar.
“Morgan?” Everett asked, surprise filling him.
A shot rang out.
The music died instantly as five
armed guards rushed into the club from the front doors. The crowd burst
into a panic as the people tried to flood out of the club, in the same
direction as the guards were coming.
“Damn!” Armand shouted, frozen in
fear. Everett
stared at the guards for one moment, then looked to the younger knight.
“The sword,” he yelled. Armand
looked at Everett,
but didn’t seem to register the shout. “Armand, the sword!” Everett yelled again.
From behind Armand, Morgan grabbed
the long, straight sword, taking it respectfully from his hand. He threw
open his own trench coat, holding Armand’s sword against the sheath of his
own sword. He draped his trench coat back over his leg and looked to Everett, giving him a
quick nod. He held up his two fingers directly between his eyes, then he
turned from the two knights as he started to fight through the panic of the
crowd to get away.
“Let’s get out of here,” Everett yelled to
Armand. But as the two turned, the guards were right on top of them.
Three more shots.
Into the man on the ground.
“Oh my god,” Marilyn said, as the
gunman’s body went motionless. Horror filled her as she stared. “They . . .
they killed him,” she whispered.
“And they’re going to kill those
guys, too,” Victor yelled. He jumped forward, rushing across the dance
floor to intercept the guards. The five arrived at the scene of the
shooting, their guns leveled at Armand and Everett.
Victor ran up to the rear guard,
throwing his shin straight into the man’s stomach. The guard doubled over,
allowing Victor to slam his open fist into the back of the man’s neck. The
man fell to the floor, not moving.
The other five guards turned
instantly, their guns drawing beads on Victor. But as their attention
turned, Everett and Armand jumped into action. Armand grabbed the closest
guard, spinning him around. A fast blow to the side of the neck and the
guard’s vision blurred. Armand grabbed his hand and head, whipping him
back, sending him flying over the side of the bar.
Everett slammed his foot into the closest
guard’s stomach, following it with a fast kick to the next guard's face.
The guard he had kicked tried to bring his gun to bear, but Everett leapt forward,
reaching behind his back. A flash of steel and Everett slid his sword back behind his
back, into the sheath hidden by his jacket. The guard fell down, his chest
sliced open.
The remaining guards turned their
weapons on Armand and Everett,
just as Malcolm and Marilyn joined the fight. Malcolm came flying out of
the darkness, tackling the closet guard right around the waist. The force
and speed of the blow knocked them both to the ground, the two skidding
across the dance floor.
Marilyn rushed up, jumping
forward. She threw her leg into the guard’s chest, knocking him back a
step. The guard took the blow and leveled his gun at Marilyn, but she
grabbed the gun, catching him in the chest with the open palm of her right
hand. Victor came in from behind the guard, kicking him in the kidney, then
dropping down low, sweeping the armed guard’s legs out from underneath him.
Malcolm ran over to the two
knights, but he was stopped by the image of the dead shooter. He skidded to
a halt, his hand rushing to his face. The man’s entire back had been blown
open by the bullets. But as Malcolm stared at the body, a disturbing fact
dawned on him. “Holy…” he barely got out. He leaned down just a bit,
looking closer in the flashing lights. “He looks like me.”
“Sirens,” Armand said, his eyes
lifting up to the sky. He looked to Everett.
“We’ve got to…”
“Get out of here!” Everett yelled to
Marilyn and Victor. Victor said nothing. He simply grabbed Marilyn by the
arm and started to drag her towards the fire exit of the empty dance club.
Armand took a few steps after
them, then looked back at Everett.
“Come on!” he yelled.
“Move it,” Everett yelled, grabbing Malcolm’s arm,
trying to lift the man to his feet.
“He looks just like me,” Malcolm
said, letting himself be carried away, even against his own hysteria. “Why
does he look like me?”
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