Ask the Dice by Ed Lynskey Page B

before you stir a muscle. Fair warning. I'll pop you if I see you again."
    He nodded. "Today I'm hauling ass. Old Yvor City is getting too unhealthy for me."
    He didn't know yet how correct he was. I yanked the coupé door shut behind me at the wheel and cranked the engine. I snaked my hand around the front seat and lifted his sawed-off. The chamber I'd inspected was loaded for bear. This would go down noisy and messy, but still effective. His big mouth had enabled Mr. Ogg's pursuit and set the ambush back there for me.
    Before I finished powering down my window, the spooked Arky broke into a sprint across the lot. I gassed it and took off after him. His eye whites flared looking back at me as I stuck out his sawed-off. He registered the muzzle flash before the 00-buckshot volley yapping out took a fireman's axe to rent apart his upper back just below his flamboyant dragon tattoo.
    He didn't fly forward from the 12-gauge's blast force like seen in the shoot-'em-ups, but he caved at the knees and crumbled on the spot. I knew I'd just sabotaged my chance at taking out Mr. Ogg when the sawed-off's loud blast alerted the dark suits lulling on the street behind me. The motorcade revved up their engines, screeched tire rubber on the asphalt, and moved out to converge here. As I gassed off down the street, I checked in the rearview mirror at the three navy blue sedans slamming into the Gas-N-Sip's lot where I'd just vacated.
    They'd collect their pal Arky, gunned down and bleeding out. They'd catch on that I was a serious player to reckon with in their high stakes game. They'd see how savage I turned when I got backed into a corner. This incident was the opening salvo to Mr. Ogg's Waterloo .

Chapter 13
     
    I slammed the coupé through the labyrinth of side lanes, traffic circles, and parking lot cut-throughs. I added in my backtracking to also flummox any pursuit. My edgy glances at the three mirrors didn't snag any ominous glimpses of the dark suits in their navy blue sedans. Feeling securer for the time being, I choked my jets to cruise at the posted speed limit. I rubbed at my red skin rash contracted from holding the sawed-off's steel barrel to do Arky. Then I blazed a Blue Castle to curb my skin allergy and jangled nerves.
    One fact was solid: Mr. Ogg had painted a bull's-eye on me. My temptation was to flee down the interstate, but wasn't that gambit just a short term plan? After you antagonized Mr. Ogg, he never quit coming at you. I knew that firsthand. Paid a fee, I had flown off to far-flung corners of the nation and erased problems like I was now in his eyes. I flicked away the cigarette puffed down to its filter and matched up a new Blue Castle .
    My brain rioted, looking for an out—any out—to escape this jam. My simple answer circled back to obliterating the alpha wolf of the pack. If Mr. Ogg went down, there'd be no crime boss left ordering the contract on me. I yearned for breathing the air of an unmarked man, and I yearned for reclaiming my old life.
    I was a somebody not deserving this fate. I possessed a unique talent to add value to the outfit. I was the closer. I made the wrong things right. My track record had been flawless for two decades, and I was going stronger than ever. Nobody did it better. I'd grown indispensible.
    All good things ran their course, and I was ready to concede that was me some day, but not today. Age 54 wasn't so old. Hell, Satchel Paige hurled in the big leagues at 59 and fanned Hall of Famer Yaz. Julio Franco had played major league ball until 51. Hammering Hank still slugged home runs at 42. I also excelled, and I wasn't ready to hang it up. I hadn't lost a step, and my aim was still true dead center. My fired shots never shanked wide of the target. Foremost, I'd never bungled an assignment.
    That wasn't what this was about. If Mr. Ogg saw me as a slacker or felt I was slipping, he'd let me resign. No big deal. We'd discussed my retirement plan was to go loaf on a beach, say, down