Chemical Burn by Quincy J. Allen Page A

immediately that I had to do something or he would hose the truck and kill Natalia.
    I dropped to the ground and grabbed the MAC-11 at my feet. Dino crossed the fifteen feet of the porch quickly and raised his weapon.
    “I got you now, bitch!” he hissed. Focused completely on Natalia, he didn’t see me stand up and raise the machine gun. I hated to use the thing, but there weren’t any options.
    “Excuse me,” I said as pleasantly as I could. Dino snapped a surprised look in my direction as I pulled the trigger. A quick, efficient burst caught him square in the chest, and he flipped onto his back, motionless. I dropped the gun on the ground and walked over to the open door of my still-running truck. I looked back down the alley and watched another SUV squeal around the corner, three men inside.
    I spotted Bennie DiMarco in the passenger seat and sighed as I slid the vlain back in its sheath. I really hated that stupid, fat bastard. All I could think about was when we’d crossed paths the previous year. Bennie had put one in my lung with that damn, gold-plated Colt .45 of his. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, which is why I never went looking for him. Checking the truck, I noticed Natalia wincing and holding her right shoulder.
    “How bad is it?” I asked, calm but very concerned.
    “Not bad. No bone. It went in and out.”
    “Okay. Buckle up. Now it gets exciting!” I yelled, the old me truly enjoying myself, and the rest of me feeling guilty for it.
    “You’re out of your mind, Case,” she said, clearly appalled by my giddiness.
    I yanked the back of my coat out of the way and pulled the vlain in its sheath off my belt. I normally would never take it off, but my plan called for a situation where I didn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands.
    I jumped in the truck and slid the sheathed vlain under the seat. Putting the truck in gear, I drove quickly but calmly down the alley. I looked behind me and saw the SUV still sitting there, waiting to see which way we went. Without hesitation, I turned left on Harbor back the way we came. The moment I turned, I caught a glimpse of the SUV backing up and turning the same way. I hammered the gas and flew down Harbor. Fortunately, there were no cars in the way. I reached Wilson in a matter of seconds and swerved around the corner to the right, heading back towards Washington. The SUV burst out onto Wilson three blocks behind us and careened off a red Volvo that swerved with the impact and drove into the bushes of someone’s yard.
    “I thought you hated guns,” Natalia said calmly.
    “I do. They’re not any fun,” I replied in all seriousness. She gave me a look that bordered on fear mixed with amazement, convinced of my insanity. “Would you have preferred I let him shoot his again?”
    “Definitely not,” she admitted quietly.
    I saw a gap in the westbound traffic on Washington and bounced over the curb, turning hard to the right. The driver I cut off stood on the horn and stuck his hand out the window, giving me the universal suggestion for intercourse in the imperative. I waved pleasantly at the extended middle finger and stepped on the gas, heading straight down Washington towards the pier. I swerved left and right, weaving between slower cars and trucks while keeping an eye on the SUV swerving behind us.
    “You were Spetsnaz, right?” I asked. She hesitated for a moment, still not certain how much she could trust me. “Come on. No games!”
    “Close enough,” she admitted.
    “Good. Slide your hand under the seat.” She did. “You feel that cylinder?” I asked.
    “Yes.”
    “Slide your hand towards the door.… Do you feel that ?”
    She felt an oddly shaped piece of rubber. “Yes,” she looked at me, understanding instantly.
    “Use it.” She looked towards the rapidly approaching Venice Fishing Pier and then back at me with wide eyes. “Trust me,” I added confidently.
    I floored the gas, the motor roared, and we accelerated hard