Latoya: Episode XII – Silhouettes of Survival

 

 

A black colored Range Rover without lights shot out of a dark turning. I immediately realized it was coming for me when I noticed that it had no lights. I had no chance to duck back into the restaurant because it was coming too fast. There was no nearby place or shelter that I could hide. I was right out in the open, feeling very much like a cornered rabbit.

I got the Luger out and started running towards the Range Rover with the crazy idea of running past it before it could get at me. I caught a glimpse of the driver. He was a little man with his fedora hat pulled down low over his face, crouching down behind the wheel. There was another man in the back of the Range Rover with what looked like a Thompson submachine gun in his hands. The gun’s barrel was resting on the top of the open window.

I lifted the Luger and pulled the trigger. The gun went off with a crash that deafened me. But it was a good shot because the bullet smashed the windscreen of the Range Rover and it swerved crazily as the Thompson submachine gun opened with a deafening clatter.

I was very lucky that the Range Rover swerved. If it hadn’t swerved, I would have been cut down by the stream of bullets from the Thompson submachine gun, which all smashed into the sidewalk about a yard ahead of me.

I jumped and threw myself face down near a curb. The Range Rover lurched across the road, the on-side wheels missing me by about four feet. It crashed into a mail box in a nearby traffic light. As I rolled over, the dark night lit up with gun flashes as my police bodyguards came into action. Bullets hummed through the air, and more glass in the Range Rover smashed. I hugged the  curb, feeling sweat on my face, as scared as a jack-rabbit that has heard the howl of a wolf. I listened to the sound of running footfalls.

Lying still, my Luger hand thrust forward, I looked over at the Range Rover.

The driver side door hung open. I saw a shadowy figure, crouching behind the car, then the Thompson submachine gun opened up again and a stream of bullets passed just above me. I pointed my Luger at him and pulled the trigger. My bullet must have hit him for he dropped the Thompson submachine gun and flopped on the sidewalk. He cursed and began to yelp with pain.

Jamal and Bruce came running up.

“Watch out!” I shouted. “He’s behind the car!”

Jamal darted across the road while Bruce, taking no chances, sprinted up the road, crossed to the other side so he could get a safe shot at the gunman.

I saw the crazy gunman snatch up the Thompson submachine gun and I yelled a warning to Jamal, who swerved. The Thompson submachine gun roared and Jamal went down, his gun falling from his hands.

Bruce fired three times.

The gunman dropped the Thompson submachine gun, tried to straighten, then dropped limply on the ground.

“He’s down!” Bruce called. “I got him!”

I got to my feet, feeling stiffness all over my body. The other three detectives from the restaurant at Oriel’s Kitchen came over. They had been crouching in the doorway during the shootout. The four of us joined Bruce on the far side of the Range Rover.

I looked at the dead man as he lay on his back on the sidewalk, still clutching on to the Thompson submachine gun. It was the crazy gunman that paid  Medgar and I a visit at our hotel room alright. His face was a snarling mask of death.

“There’s another man in the car,” I said to Bruce.

He looked in the Range Rover.

“You got him with your first shot,” he said, then went around the Range Rover and over to Jamal, who was sitting up, holding his arm and cursing.

Two police cars came roaring down the street, their sirens blasting.

Police Captain Donald got out of one of the cars and joined Bruce. They bent over Jamal, then leaving

Bruce to look after him, Captain Donald came over to me.

“What’s up?” he said. “Are you doing okay?”

“I guess,” I said, leaning against the wrecked Range Rover. “Is Jamal badly hurt?”

“He is hurt,” he said, staring down at the dead gunman.  “I don’t know about badly, but I think he’ll be okay.”

“Is he the man we are looking for?”

“Yes,” I replied. “You sound as if you’ve met him before.”

“No, I haven’t,” he replied.

An ambulance came up and two more Baltimore City Police squad cars. By now there was a big crowd, watching from the sidewalks.

Bruce came over.

“Have you seen this punk before?” Captain Donald asked, nodding at the dead gunman.

“No, sir,” Bruce said. “He’s a new one on me.”

“The good news is that the show is over,” Captain Donald said. “I suggest you go back to the hotel, Mr. Emeka. You go with him, Bruce. I doubt they’ll try again, but we won’t take any more chances tonight.”

“Come on, Emeka,” Bruce said. “The thrill’s over. I told you everything will be okay. It wasn’t that bad, right or wrong?”

“I guess you are right,” I said. “And tonight’s experience have given me something to throw in Medgar’s face for the rest of his life.”

I followed him to one of the police cars.

 

 

 

 

END OF EPISODE 12

P.S. Stay tuned for Episode 13, which  will be published here next Sunday.