Time & Space: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

There is nothing Mac Quora loves more than a good smoke. Something about the harsh warmth that filled his chest and spread to his extremities, and the plume of smoke that painted an abstract picture against the street lights made him feel safe. In and out, the smoke seemed to collect in his head and settle in a plush cushion around his senses. The warmth, the art, and the buzz were more than enough to justify his ever shortening lifespan.

He took another long draw and held it in until it stung his lungs, releasing the grey cloud slowly into the cold night air. Focus, he thought, we’ve got to get this right.

He began to run through the plan again in his head, step by step. Shep will go in and ask the clerk to help him find something in the back of the store, Tony will hit the lights on my signal, and I get in and get out with the drugs. Easy. Mac had conducted similar smash and grabs on at least one drug dealing convenience store owner in every borough in the city. They’re all the same, he thought. Stupid.

Mac and his crew had made their living the last few months hitting low level dealers and redistributing their wares in an online black-market of their own making. The key was mixing up the distract-man, but once the power was out cameras and wi-fi enabled alarms were useless.

Mac was always the grab-man. He could break any cash register, and most safes in seconds. The challenge was all the drug he needed.

Drawing the last searing breath from his cigarette, he flicked the butt into the brown snow piled up next to the bus-stop bench which he had used to inconspicuously scope out the little Puerto Rican tienda across the street. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together where the the embers had singed him. Something about the pain was comforting to him.

Finally, Shep, sporting a long beard and a fresh head of dread locks, came around the corner and pushed open the shop door with a sad jingle from a neglected chime. Somewhere, he heard harmonica music playing from a storefront speaker as he pushed himself up off the bench. At least it’s not Jingle Bells, he thought.

After pulling his long, dark hair back and tying it off, Mac hid his smug, handsome face beneath his jacket hood. He checked half-heartedly for traffic before jogging across the wet road to get a better look inside the store. By the time he had reached the far curb, the older, unassuming Puerto Rican clerk lifted the hinged counter and began making his way back towards Shep.

Just a few more seconds, he thought as he glanced through the store front windows, sizing up the pitiful security measures standing between him and his prize. Looking back at Shep, the clerk had begun rifling through items on the shelf, apparently looking for something that had been misplaced.

Go time.

Mac bit his thumb and middle finger and blew, hard. The vibration tickled his fingertips as a shrill whistle deafened him for a split second. The store immediately went black, as if he had shattered the lights with his sound. The next moment, he was through the door, catching the chime before it could make more than a muffled tink through his hand. He ripped it down and shoved it in his pocket as he made his way up and over the unmanned counter. He had memorized his route, making his eyes unnecessary.

Crouching behind the counter, it only took him two tries to guess the correct location of the drug safe hidden underneath what felt to Mac like the papier-mâché shell of a large piñata.

Clever, he laughed to himself amused.

He quickly ran his fingers over the safe feeling, to his surprise, the smooth surface of new metal and the soft rubber buttons of a keypad. Looks like somebody decided to invest in security. Bad move.

In his brief tenure as a safe cracker, Mac had learned that the newer the safe, the easier it was to compromise. The price of convenience, he thought as he pulled a thin beanie from the bag at his side.

Mac released the cloth cap inches from the safe door as it instantly attached itself with a thick, magnetic thud. Guiding the large neodymium magnet inside the hat around the safe door, it was only seconds before Mac heard a heavy slunk as the steel bolts slid out of their sockets letting the small door swing forward on its hinges.

Bingo.

As his hand closed around the large plastic bag, bloated with what he knew to be drugs, Mac’s thoughts shifted to something else that gnawed at his laser focused attention.

“…M!....M!....SHIT, M WE GOTTA GO!” Shep was yelling at him from the back of the store. At that moment, Mac realized he could see the bag of pills in his hand as the plastic reflected red and blue flashes of light. His perception spread outward from there, as though he were leaving a long dark tunnel. Sirens blared. The tienda had become a disco.

Damn it. They knew we were coming.

Mac emptied the contents of the safe into his bag. Two bags of pills, a stack of $100 bills, and a Glock 9mm…with a full clip.

“STOP AND PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!” Came a voice from a loud speaker outside the store. “ANY SUDDEN MOVEMENTS AND WE WILL FIRE!”

Mac saw two flashing shadows slowly raise their hands, stretching across the low store ceiling like a funhouse mirror. Peaking around the counter, Mac searched the store for an escape route. A door directly behind Shep had a sign that read in broken English “IMPLOYS ONLY” scrawled in permanent marker on a sheet of notebook paper. All or nothing, Mac thought.

“KEEPING YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD, MOVE SLOWLY TOWARDS THE DOOR,” the disembodied voice commanded.

“Psssst,” Mac got Shep’s attention and mouthed follow me.

With a wink from Shep, Mac began to crawl on all fours towards the back door, choosing his path carefully to avoid the lines of sight he had when he cased the place earlier. Reaching the last aisle nearest the door, Mac realized he’d have to make it 20 feet before reaching his exit with a clear line of sight to the front door. He would need a distraction.

Squeezing the cold grip of the Glock in his hand, Mac whispered in Shep’s direction, “Stay low.” Back against the shelf, Mac held his breath and steeled himself. “….3….2….1….NOW!!!”

Lunging towards the door, Mac fired 3 shots straight into the ceiling. More shots rang out from all around him as Mac heard two heavy thuds from the other side of the aisle. Glass shattered, chip bags exploded, and someone screamed as slugs ripped through the store. In moment, Mac was throwing his weight into the “IMPLOYS ONLY” door, which gave way and slammed closed behind him. Four bullets knocked on the other side.

“SHIT, SHIT, SHIT,” he screamed as he barricaded himself against a stack of beer cases in the small storage room, more furious than afraid. He surveyed the room, looking for another exit or a defensible position. His eyes locked on three glowing red letters that hung above the door opposite the room from his beer bunker: “XIT.”

The firing had stopped. Mac figured he had about ten seconds before NYPD invaded his sanctuary. “Damn it, Shep,” he spat. He couldn’t wait for him. He was better than this. The cops couldn’t get the jump on him.

As he moved towards the “XIT,” a POP-POP-POP rang out as the door behind him slammed open and shut again. Before he could even raise his gun in defense, a screaming Shep hurtled into him. “GO, GO, GO, GO, GO!!!” he screamed.

Boosted by the collision, Mac shot through the door, tumbled off the curb, and slammed into the cold, wet, brick wall across the alleyway. Righting himself, he glanced around quickly and saw the lights of a police car blocking the alley exit. There was no sign of Tony. They must have picked him up, he thought. A millisecond later and Shep was picking him up off the ground.

“This way!” he yelled to Shep running deeper into the slimy darkness of the alleyway. Judging by the silence behind them, Mac imagined the cops were looking for them inside the store and had not yet realized their escape.

Ducking down the next back street, Mac stopped to let Shep catch up and make a plan. Coming around the corner right after him, Shep whispered “Where’s Tony?!”

“He should have been back here. He was supposed to wait behi…”

Mac stopped short as he heard the wet slap, slap, slap of footsteps running down the path they had just run.

“Hide!” Mac hissed through clenched teeth.

Diving behind a nearby dumpster, Mac kept his eye on the corner of the building at the end of the narrow corridor, his finger toying the trigger on his newly acquired 9mm.

Slap, slap, slap, slap, the steps came closer. Mac braced his arm against the dumpster and aimed the pistol at head height.

Suddenly, Tony’s tall, wiry frame slid into view as he rounded the corner on the wet asphalt. Mac’s trigger finger twitched slightly and relaxed as he gasped.

POP.

Tony’s eyes were dead instantly. His head lurched unnaturally to the side and did not follow the trajectory of the rest of his body. He fell with a sick smack and lay there, blood trickling into the street. His lifeless eyes stared straight into Mac’s.

“Run,” Mac said. “Shep, run.” His voice was calm and quiet. He turned and followed Shep who was sprinting deeper into the network of back streets.

Mac kept a tight grip on the pistol as he ran, fingering the trigger. Testing its resistance. Trying to determine if it were possible that he had just shot Tony. He didn’t think so, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t me, he thought. At least it wasn’t me.

They ran for nearly a mile, switching back through the alleyways away from the blaring sirens and shouts for backup. Shep made a phone call while they ran. Mac felt the weight of the drugs in bouncing at his side and smiled.

As they finally neared the street, an inconspicuous black sedan pulled up in front of them. The get away car.

“What the hell happened out there?!” Bruce, the heavyset driver, was near hysterical. “What the hell happened out there?!” he continued to shout from the open window, emphasizing different syllables and words every time until they were inside and had slammed the doors. “Where the hell is Tony?!” he asked.

“Drive,” Mac said.

“TONY?!” Bruce screamed incredulous.

“DRIVE, BRUCE, DAMN IT!!!”

The car leaped forward, cut across an intersection, and rounded a sharp curve to enter an on-ramp for a diverting highway. At least this part went according to plan, Mac thought.

Mac pushed his hood back and untied his hair, running his fingers through it as he sighed. Shep muttered inaudibly from the back seat. Bruce roared in frustration and confusion as he sped onto the freeway.

“Tony is dead,” Shep’s muttering came through clearly now. His voice cold. “He was shot-”

“By the cops,” Mac said firmly. “It was a sting. Those assholes knew we were coming and they shot Tony. They tried to shoot all of us.”

“SHIT!” Bruce yelled at his steering wheel. “I guess the goods were phony too then?” He wrung his hands on the wheel as though we were trying to twist it into a ball.

“Guess again,” Mac said, tossing a bag of drugs and the wad of cash in his lap. Mac pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lit it, his hand still shaking. Through a cloud of smoke he said, “Merry Christmas.”

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