Never Play Another Man's Game by Mike Knowles

drew the Glock in my mind. I had been in front of guns so many times before that my hands didn’t shake when I looked at the wrong side of a Russian machine gun. My breathing slowed and everything around me seemed to go into slow motion. I once saw a baseball player on television say that time seemed to change when he was at bat. He got into the zone, and in it, he was able to notice things that he usually never picked up on. The pitcher’s finger position, the spin of the ball, the sound of the air being split by the hundred-mile projectile heading straight for him. In front of Rick and his gun, I was in the same zone. I saw the tension on Rick’s trigger finger, his pinprick-dilated pupils, even the quick rise and fall of his chest. When the time came, I would see him alter his focus and I would kill him.
    D.B. got to his wall before me and I heard Rick tell him to get on his knees.
    â€œNow put your hands behind your head and lace your fingers. Now stay like that.”
    It was my turn next.
    â€œOn your knees,” he said.
    I moved slow — I didn’t want Rick thinking that I gave up too easily.
    â€œMove it. Don’t make me kill you.”
    My knees touched the pavement and I felt cold concrete through the heavy material of the green cargo pants I wore. I put my hands up and watched Rick.
    â€œEyes on the fucking wall!” he screamed.
    I looked back at the wall as Franky yelled out, “Let’s go, man!”
    I didn’t need to see Rick. The noise from the door would let me know when the time was right. I waited for the sound of metal on metal, but instead I heard two loud bangs. I risked a look and saw the rifle aimed at my face.
    â€œEyes on the wall, motherfucker. I swear, next time you look, I pull the trigger.”
    Before he had even finished speaking, someone else started rolling the door up.
    â€œLet’s go,” Ruby said.
    She was supposed to have gone straight to the safe house unless we called. She had made a detour.
    â€œWe’re all done,” Rick said. The van started and I heard Franky put it in gear.
    â€œAlmost. They need to go,” Ruby said.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œDid you think we could just take the money and that was it? I know these men. They will hunt us forever. They need to die.”
    â€œThat wasn’t part of the plan,” Rick said.
    â€œIt was always the way it had to be and you know it,” Ruby said.
    There was a short silence. Rick was hesitating, but he would realize there was only one choice soon enough. For him there was no other option than to kill us. Ruby was right; if they left us breathing we would never let them get away clean.
    I didn’t give Rick a chance to come to his own decision — I made the choice for him. The Glock was in my hand in under a second. Rick still facing me meant that I had to make myself less of a target. Instead of staying on my knees and bringing the gun to shoulder height, I flopped onto my back, bringing my shoulder down to the gun. As I fell to the concrete, I saw that Rick had let his gun droop while he steadied himself for the final part of his betrayal. It was coming back up a second behind my pistol. I put two rounds in Rick and Ruby’s direction. The slugs punched the concrete between the two doors and sent the pair running for the other side of the van.
    I heard a single shot, probably from D.B.’s gun and then a burst of automatic gunfire sounded. The van started to move forward with Franky low in the seat and I put three rounds into the door and two in the side window. The tail end of a shriek leapt through the shattered window just before I heard the door on the other side of the van open. The door slammed shut as balding tires spun on the smooth garage floor. The rubber found purchase and the van shot forward out of the repair bay, leaving only black marks behind. Without the van between us, I saw D.B. again — he didn’t look the same.

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