Weecho: First Shots

Cpapter 25 - Breaking Out

“Come, Precious.” Juna patting her leg for the dog to follow, lugging the sack to the door. Said to Weecho, “I’ll leave through the front and let the puppies out,” and next second she was out of there. 

Didn’t go far. Weecho could see her pull up short in the fiery space, blinking at the curtain of flames. 

He looked to where she was staring. Glaring back at her through a gap in the fire was Emer Lynch. Must’ve just come in through the freight door.    

Juna looked around, saw she was blocked, still had the pistol and snapped off a shot.  

Lynch already had his gun out and fired back. 

Juna ducked back into the office. Weecho cut the lights. 

“Forget something?” he said. 

Juna cursing. 

Weecho shook his head, squinted into the flickering light out there. 

Lynch called toward the office, keeping himself just out of sight. “I don’t know what your program is, Juna, but we don’t have a lot of time here. If it’s money you want, let’s work it out quick and get the hell out.” 

Juna said to Weecho, “He doesn’t know you’re here.” 

Weecho motioned for her to keep quiet, stayed back in the room’s shadows.     

Lynch called again. “It’s hot, Juna. People are going to start showing up I might not want to see.” 

Precious cocked her head at Lynch’s voice, made no move to join him. 

“Juna,” Lynch said, “there’s things in there I need. I have to get them.” 

Weecho trying to think how to get himself and Juna out of here before the whole building goes up. He took the laptop, the one thing he’d come here to get, over to the door. Juna dragged her sack up next to him. 

“Get ready to move,” Weecho said. “He won’t expect two of us. Keep going to that other door and on out the front.” 

“That doesn’t sound like much of a plan.” 

“If you want to give me the gun, I’ll cover you. We can’t stay here.” 

“That’s Mr. blow-your-shit-loose out there.” 

She frowned and looked at the laptop. Weecho’s priority, not hers. Seeing how it could be a diversion. When Weecho’s eyes went back to the fire, she grabbed the laptop out of his hand, wound up and slid it out the door, across the storage space. 

“The hell’re you doing?” 

The laptop made a long slide across the concrete floor, spinning to a stop at the edge of the flames, one corner of it in the fire. 

They could hear Lynch: “You demented bitch.” Weecho’s sentiments exactly. 

Lynch lunged across the floor to the laptop, grabbed it away from the flames on the fly, spun and snapped off a shot at the office. Bam! 

The shot took out a piece of the frame an inch from Juna scrambling out the door. She ducked and weaved, the dog running with her, Juna getting off two shots. Bam! Bam!     

Lynch dove between the legs of the workbench, shooting from underneath, under the glass tank full of snakes. A shot tore into Juna’s trash bag, flecks of money floating behind her. 

She ducked behind one of the standing racks, keeping it between her and the workbench. Lynch stayed tucked underneath, had her cut off from the pet shop door. 

Weecho ran out of the office, surprise in his favor, ducked behind a standing rack next to Juna’s. A shot from Lynch zinged off the metal. 

“Where the hell’d you come from?” Lynch yelled. 

Weecho peered between the rack shelves, trying to see him, flames making everything satanic. 

“Those people you’re not anxious to see,” Weecho called, “are going to start showing up in a minute.” Wanting Lynch out of here, back on the Donzi, out of their way.         

He could just make Lynch out in the flicking light, Lynch directing his voice to the next rack over.  

“You clean everything out, Juna?” Her having slid the laptop and lugging that sack letting him know she’d been into the safe, had cracked the combination without getting herself shredded by the fragmentation bomb. “You take that DVD?” 

Weecho touched his shirt pocket.

“If you did,” Lynch said, “slide it out. You can leave with the money. I’ll get out the back.” 

Weecho looked over at Juna, saw her take a deep breath and raise the gun. She jumped out from behind the standing rack and opened up on the workbench. Bam! Bam! 

The glass tank on top of the workbench exploded. Slivers and tangles of snapping snakes showered down on Lynch. 

Juna ran past Weecho with the sack, tossed him the automatic, flung open the door to the Petoria store, Precious right on her heels. 

“The puppies,” she said, “I’m letting them out.” 

Lynch stood in the middle of the snakes and flames and shot at the slamming door. Bam! 

Weecho had lost track of how many shots might be left in the automatic, just made sure it was cocked. Crossed himself, charged and fired at Lynch while he ran. 

Lynch stood his ground and fired back. Weecho could hear the shots zinging past his ears, even with the roar of the flames. Then one hit him and he almost dropped the gun. Grabbed his shoulder and hit the deck.   

Lynch pushed over a flaming rack of boxes, cutting Weecho off, trapping him. 

But now Lynch couldn’t get through all those flames to Weecho, to finish him. And for all he knew, Weecho had shots left, Weecho at the same time hoping he did. 

Weecho squinted to see past the burning heap of boxes, caught glimpses of Lynch running the other way now with the laptop, out the freight door, heading for the canal and the Donzi. So much for the laptop mission.  

The only way out for Weecho was… how? 

Every direction he looked there were flames. Felt like his eyes were going to melt. The least of the flames were at his back, back the way he came. But cartons that Crotty and the Arabs had stacked there had ignited and were about to come crashing over. 

He got to his feet, stuck the gun in the waistband of his jeans. With one hand shielding his face, the other pressed to his bleeding shoulder, he took a deep breath and ran as fast as he could through the wall of flames. 

Pushed through the door into the pet store, felt his scalp burning, brushed a patch of fire out of his hair. Ran along the aisle and opened as many of the bird and monkey and whatever else cages as he could. Opened the front door and pushed a heavy carved bear against it to keep it open so the animals could get out. His shoulder had been numb when he first got shot, felt like a red hot knife was in it now. He pressed on the wound, stumbled for the door, heard a yelp and looked down. One of the puppies had gotten left behind. Weecho scooped him up with his good arm and ran out the door.  

Outside, the first sirens cut through the night, the trucks probably no more than a minute away. Weecho could see the other puppies scampering off with Precious, could just make out Juna jogging into the darkness, sack full of money bouncing on her back. 

He put the puppy down and shooed him to go catch up with his brothers and sisters. But the puppy didn’t, he stayed with Weecho, the little guy confused. There wasn’t time to straighten him out. The two of them scampered across the road, heading for the tall reeds and a place to hide until Weecho figured out what to do next.