A Long Drop to Eternity

An explosion went off in the car. A splotch of red burst beneath the collar of the man outside my window. He staggered backward with a look of shock on his face, pin-wheeling his arms. I jammed the Caddy into drive and floored it, cursing its design of comfort at the expense of speed. After a short distance, several bullets whined around us, and two sets of headlights started to give chase. Tearing through the winding streets, I glanced at Jerry.

“Where the fuck do I go?” I demanded.

“How the fuck do I know, Jack?” screamed Jerry. “I don’t know shit about this area!”

Mike stuck his head between Jerry and me.

“Turn right!” he commanded.

“What?” I asked.

“Turn right,” he said. “I know what I’m doing.”

I made a sharp right. Mike directed several more turns until I was completely disoriented. It effectively created distance between our pursuers and us. He brought us to a narrow bridge that spanned the Des Plaines River, and we roared across it stopping along the side at the other end.

“Jack, kill the lights,” Jerry yelled. “You still got that shit in the trunk?”

“Yes!”

I popped the trunk. Jerry tossed Mike his nine-millimeter and went to the back of the car. Mike and I got out and each crouched over a headlight.

Two sets of lights were almost at the bridge. Jerry slammed the trunk and came around the car, bracing himself with his knee just below the hood ornament and holding an automatic weapon to his shoulder. The water rushing below us drowned out the sound of my gasping for air.

The two cars pounded over the other end of the bridge. Jerry waited until they were in the middle and let loose, the gun making a pop-pop-pop-pop noise. The windshield of the first car exploded, and the car lurched sideways, coming to a stop and blocking the bridge. The car behind it teed it dead center with a whump and the sound of metal and glass crunching. The rear door closest to us opened, and a man stumbled out. When he straightened, Jerry fired another pop-pop causing the man’s head to burst like a melon.

Nothing moved for a moment. Only the sound of the water was heard. There was movement in the black interior of the car blocking the road. A flash from inside was immediately followed by a boom. The Caddy’s rear was peppered with buckshot. Mike and I squeezed several shots into the car while Jerry emptied his magazine. A minute of silence followed.

The engine from the car away from us started tentatively, then fired. The car backed away with the sound of metal tearing and retreated across the bridge. We could here distant sirens keening.

Mike bolted to the driver’s side and got in. Jerry and I dove in on the passenger side, and Mike tore off into the night. I don’t know how he managed it, but we ended up in Oakbrook. We parked in the shopping mall lot and got out to inspect the Caddy. Jerry collapsed the stock on his machine pistol and put it in the trunk. I ran my hand over the new holes and dents.

I said, “This Cadillac was cherry a few days ago.”

“Well it ain’t no more,” said Mike.

“How’d you get us out of there, Mike?” I asked.

“I know the area.”

“How’s that?”

“I got a friend lives there.”

“Female friend?” I asked.

Mike changed the subject. “Jerry what was that you were shooting?”

“I think it’s an HK-54,” said Jerry. “German cops use ‘em. Seems like Andy preferred Kraut guns.”

“How’d you know how to use it?”

“They’re all the same, Mike...Kalashnikovs, MAC10s...same basic principle.”

“Still,” Mike asked, “how’d you know? How’d you know what magazine to use?”

Jerry leaned over to Mike.

“I’m a veteran of a foreign war, Mike,” said Jerry gravely. “And the mags were taped to the gun.”

“Think they knew who we were?” Mike asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “They know