chosen one needed to know how the enemy killed people. What the latest techniqueswere. So we could develop the right defense.”
Franklin sat motionless beside me. I can’t do this. If I move, he’ll shoot me. I won’t even get close to my gun. He has to look away. Please look away, just for a second.
“You know what really gets to me?” he said. “You’re trying so hard to find the best way to kill people, you’re even killing each other. Is that just for practice?”
Silence. I looked into his eyes. It was like looking down a mine shaft and seeing all the way down to hell.
“You have no respect for life, do you?” he said. “The chosen one says that if something has no respect for life, then killing that something is not really killing. Especially if you use the same technique that
they
use. That’s the key.”
Silence. How could I have taken one look at those eyes and not
known?
I should have cuffed him the minute I walked in.
“So I’m not really going to kill you.”
“Mr. Rose …” I said.
“I’m going to remove you. That’s what the chosen one calls it. He calls it removing.”
“Mr. Rose …”
He moved the Uzi a few inches closer to us. “And do you know what the latest technique is?” he said.
Go for his gun? Knock it sideways? I looked at his hand. Is it tensed? Will he shoot if I make a move for it?
“Of course you know,” he said. “You all do. It happens almost every day. I’ve seen it in the hospital. I heard the doctors talk about it.”
You’re going to have to make a move. You’re going to have to risk it.
“‘Here comes another zip,’ they say. ‘How many zip’s is that this week? Five already?’”
“Mr. Rose …” I said. One more try to talk him out of it. Then I move.
“It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” he said. “Zip!”
I knew what a zip was. Franklin did, too. We had seen a lot of them that summer. The coke dealers would zip a guy if he moved in on his turf, or if he didn’t pay him soon enough, or if he just looked at him the wrong way. You take an Uzi and you give the guy a quick burst right down the middle of his body. Twenty, maybe thirty rounds from his head right down to his pecker. That’s a zip.
Move. Move now. Go for his gun. Now. Now!
I didn’t move.
He shot Franklin. Right down the front of him. The Uzi spat out the bullets with a sound like a cat purring. I went for my revolver. I felt the bullets hit me in the right shoulder. I didn’t know how many. I felt them all at once, like when a rising fastball glances off your mitt and catches you in the shoulder. I heard the sound of my gun going off, the man named Rose screaming.
I was on the floor, next to Franklin. He was still alive. Just for a moment. I saw his eyes looking at me and then he wasn’t there anymore. I tried to reach for my radio. There was blood on my hands, on my face, in my eyes. Blood everywhere.
I said something into the radio. I don’t remember what. I lay there on the floor and looked at the ceiling. There was a hole there. I didn’t get him. When the bullets hit me I shot straight up into the ceiling. Why did he scream? Did the sound scare him? Did he run away? How many times did he shoot me? How long until I die?
And why didn’t he put aluminum foil on the ceiling? All four walls, but not the ceiling? I looked over at Franklin again. I kept looking at him until everything went black.
“ G ODDAMN IT , M C K NIGHT ,“ Maven said. “Why didn’t you go for your weapon when he first drew on you?” He had been listening to me in silence as I told him the story. He was driving the squad car. I was sittingin the passenger seat. My voice had been the only sound in the car, all the way from Paradise to the Soo. We were almost at the police station. The sun had just started to turn the eastern sky from black to ruddy gray.
I went through a whole list of things to say to him. Places he could stick it. Things he could do to himself. Finally, I
Franklin sat motionless beside me. I can’t do this. If I move, he’ll shoot me. I won’t even get close to my gun. He has to look away. Please look away, just for a second.
“You know what really gets to me?” he said. “You’re trying so hard to find the best way to kill people, you’re even killing each other. Is that just for practice?”
Silence. I looked into his eyes. It was like looking down a mine shaft and seeing all the way down to hell.
“You have no respect for life, do you?” he said. “The chosen one says that if something has no respect for life, then killing that something is not really killing. Especially if you use the same technique that
they
use. That’s the key.”
Silence. How could I have taken one look at those eyes and not
known?
I should have cuffed him the minute I walked in.
“So I’m not really going to kill you.”
“Mr. Rose …” I said.
“I’m going to remove you. That’s what the chosen one calls it. He calls it removing.”
“Mr. Rose …”
He moved the Uzi a few inches closer to us. “And do you know what the latest technique is?” he said.
Go for his gun? Knock it sideways? I looked at his hand. Is it tensed? Will he shoot if I make a move for it?
“Of course you know,” he said. “You all do. It happens almost every day. I’ve seen it in the hospital. I heard the doctors talk about it.”
You’re going to have to make a move. You’re going to have to risk it.
“‘Here comes another zip,’ they say. ‘How many zip’s is that this week? Five already?’”
“Mr. Rose …” I said. One more try to talk him out of it. Then I move.
“It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” he said. “Zip!”
I knew what a zip was. Franklin did, too. We had seen a lot of them that summer. The coke dealers would zip a guy if he moved in on his turf, or if he didn’t pay him soon enough, or if he just looked at him the wrong way. You take an Uzi and you give the guy a quick burst right down the middle of his body. Twenty, maybe thirty rounds from his head right down to his pecker. That’s a zip.
Move. Move now. Go for his gun. Now. Now!
I didn’t move.
He shot Franklin. Right down the front of him. The Uzi spat out the bullets with a sound like a cat purring. I went for my revolver. I felt the bullets hit me in the right shoulder. I didn’t know how many. I felt them all at once, like when a rising fastball glances off your mitt and catches you in the shoulder. I heard the sound of my gun going off, the man named Rose screaming.
I was on the floor, next to Franklin. He was still alive. Just for a moment. I saw his eyes looking at me and then he wasn’t there anymore. I tried to reach for my radio. There was blood on my hands, on my face, in my eyes. Blood everywhere.
I said something into the radio. I don’t remember what. I lay there on the floor and looked at the ceiling. There was a hole there. I didn’t get him. When the bullets hit me I shot straight up into the ceiling. Why did he scream? Did the sound scare him? Did he run away? How many times did he shoot me? How long until I die?
And why didn’t he put aluminum foil on the ceiling? All four walls, but not the ceiling? I looked over at Franklin again. I kept looking at him until everything went black.
“ G ODDAMN IT , M C K NIGHT ,“ Maven said. “Why didn’t you go for your weapon when he first drew on you?” He had been listening to me in silence as I told him the story. He was driving the squad car. I was sittingin the passenger seat. My voice had been the only sound in the car, all the way from Paradise to the Soo. We were almost at the police station. The sun had just started to turn the eastern sky from black to ruddy gray.
I went through a whole list of things to say to him. Places he could stick it. Things he could do to himself. Finally, I
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