Page 126 of 5+Us Makes Seven

I checked my guns as I headed to my car, ensuring both were fully loaded. The weight of them against my body comforted me. I could draw and shoot a headshot in a second or so and was deadly accurate. I’d taken plenty of hard men by surprise, disbelief on their faces as they dropped to the floor.

Lightning reflexes, and years of nurturing an almost superhuman natural talent with handguns. Sometimes I wondered if I took after my namesake gunslinger more than I thought.

I drove casually over to Frankie’s bar, focusing on remaining calm. My sharp eyes surveyed the road as I approached the bar, looking for any sign of activity. I couldn’t see anyone leaving or arriving as it was and took a position back down the road from the bar. Far enough away to avoid too much suspicion, but near enough to keep an eye on the bar.

There was no sign of much, other than some big mean looking bikes arrayed out the front of the bar. A few big, skin headed figures emerged every now and again to smoke by the door. Black, sleeveless jackets. Some had bandanas. The biker uniform. Everyone who walked past the bar looked the other way. Most crossed the road well before getting near Freddie’s.

A long time passed before I saw anything useful. Then someone caught my eye.

A smaller, squatter figure emerged from the bar with two other massive bikers. Gold teeth flashed in the early afternoon sun as he lit up a cigarette. A large beer was in his hand, and he drank it greedily, gut extending as he took big chugs.

I frowned, nodding as I saw hi

m.

Got ya.

It was a good few hours still until Goldie left the bar, staggering slightly. Drunk at 3pm. I figured it would make my job all the easier.

He walked drunkenly over to his car which was parked near the bar, struggling with his keys as he opened the driver’s door. He set off, swerving only slightly as he drove, hopefully back to his place. I smiled ironically at his surprisingly good driving.

You’ve done this before, ain’t ya. Still, driving a little too slow. It’ll be easy to keep up, at least.

I followed behind his car, surprised by the direct route he took back to his bungalow near the middle of town. Money and power had made him overconfident, it seemed. Decent sized, immaculate garden. Pool by the side of the house. Drug money extravagantly spent already without regard of suspicion.

What a moron.

I gave him a minute to get out of his car and stagger to his front door. I ran my hand over my short hair, watching as he approached his house.

I quickly jumped out of my car, which I’d parked a way down the road from his house. He looked round in surprise as I vaulted his picket fence, his jaw slack, hand still on the open door in front of him.

He raised his arms in attempted defence, turning to face me as I rushed across his lawn. I was too quick for him. Anger surged through me, turning into raw power as I swung a right fist at his face, solid knuckles crunching against his cheekbone. He staggered back, head cracking against the doorframe as he half fell through his doorway.

“You can’t come in here, Jack. You ain’t got a warrant. Fuck off!” He had recovered slightly and stood, hands raised in defence. He’d adopted a rough fighter’s stance.

I stepped in the house, slamming the door behind me.

“Oh, I got my warrant right here.” I growled, hand in my trench coat. He looked in surprise at my jacket, confusion on his face.

I swung my clenched fist from my jacket, swinging my arm in a savage backhanded punch that connected with his other cheekbone. He grunted and fell back, landing heavily on his ass.

He attempted to rise. I stepped in, swinging a leg in a brutal side kick, my shin connecting to his temple with a sickening crunch. He slumped back onto the floor.

“Fucks sake, Jack. You’re an animal. I ain’t done nothing wrong. What’s your problem?” I got the impression he was stalling to avoid the savage beating he was about to get.

Then my suspicions were confirmed. A clumsy hand went to the small of his back, and he snarled as he twisted, drawing something from the rear of his pants.

My glock was in my hand in an instant, recoil pulsing up through my arm as I shot him in the shoulder. The gunshot cracked out through the house. Followed by Goldie screaming in pain as he writhed, right arm useless.

“Now that was a really, really bad idea.” I stood motionless, left hand at my side, right hand holding my gun casually. I waited to see if he was going to try anything else.

I need him alive. But if he wants to die, not much I can do about it.

He remained on the floor, gasping with pain and cursing at me.

“Shut up, John. It’s not that bad. Try anything else and you’re dead. If you don’t believe me, just do something stupid.” He snarled at me, anger and pain evident on his ugly features.

“That was for hitting Eden. You’re lucky I’m able to show restraint or you’d be a pulverized, useless mess on the floor. I told you not to try and think, didn’t I John? I told you not to be greedy. You’ve let me down, again.” I shook my head, tutting.