Bullets Are My Business (9781101616413) by Josh K. Stevens Page A

be as fast as possible. I stopped worrying about the noise when the car veered to the left and we clearly headed off the beaten path. Whatever road we were on now was no longer paved. The car jostled from side to side and up and down as we headed forward to our destination. The only problem was, now I had to concentrate harder on keeping my hands where they were supposed to be. Back and forth. Back and forth. After what felt like an eternity, the frayed rope slid away from my arms. I rubbed my wrists and looked around the trunk. The problem I faced now was that I had no arsenal to defend myself with. Had we been on a level playing field, this wouldn’t have been an issue. I might have enjoyed a bare-knuckle boxing match. My grandfather had been a boxer. He taught me a thing or two and I could’ve held my own. From my vantage point, however, I couldn’t use my fists. They had guns. All I had was the element of surprise. Even a surprise punch wouldn’t be enough, depending on how many people were in the car. I assumed there was more than one.
    The brake lights glowed to life again and I heard the sound of the parking brake being set. There was a brief scuffling in the car before the doors opened and then slammed shut. I couldn’t be certain, but it sounded like all four doors, which meant that there was a minimum of four guys getting out. I just hoped that it wasn’t a clown car. Four guys was bad enough. I figured I had thirty seconds, tops, before they opened the trunk. I reached beneath the plywood that was covering the spare tire. My fingers felt around blindly, finally landing on something hard and metallic. A crowbar. I continued rummaging around and I gripped hold of a tire iron. As I pulled the crowbar and the tire iron up into the trunk, the back of my hand grazed a cold aerosol can of something. I pulled that up from the cavern beneath the wood, into the darkness of the trunk, arming myself like a Spartan warrior. The key hit the lock on the outside of the trunk. I froze. I could hear the guys bullshitting as they stood before the unopened trunk.
    â€œJerry, hurry up and finish pissing. We got a grave to dig. . . .” The latch on the trunk clicked free. Here we go. As the trunk opened, I thrust the crowbar forward and it caught the guy with the keys just off center of his stomach. I could feel it puncture the skin. I kept pushing until the guy stumbled backward. His face was twisted in agony. I released the crowbar and my fingers gripped the tire iron and the aerosol can as I launched myself from the trunk. The other guys didn’t even have a chance to register the fate of their buddy or what was going on. Before my feet hit the ground, I cracked the closest guy in the head with the iron. I could feel his skull shatter on impact. I turned on my heels. The third man had pulled his gun. I brought the can up to shoulder level and let loose a spray from the aerosol container. The liquid hit him directly in the face. He squeezed his eyes shut. I dove behind the car just as he started pulling the trigger of his gun. I glanced at the bottle in my hand, thinking that I really had to get myself a can of WD-40. I could hear someone running back from the woods on the opposite side of the car.
    â€œTony?” I could hear the guy in the woods yelling. This must’ve been Jerry. Tony, in his blind fury, wheeled around and fired off three shots. There was a gurgled cry of surprise followed by the thump of a body hitting the ground. I certainly hoped that piss was the best one he ever had because it had just been his last. I poked my head around the bumper of the car. Tony was angrily wiping his eyes. His back was turned toward me. Just in front of me, I could see the butt of the gun poking out of the waistband of the guy whose skull I had crushed with the tire iron. Tony was still facing the trees. I had to be quick. I didn’t have any other thoughts. I darted from behind the