The old black Lincoln pulled into the empty dock lot next to Freemount Point on the Westside of the river.
Jacquie
leaned over the passenger seat, flipped open the glove box and removed four 20
round pistol clips. He put one in his inside right breast pocket, then another
in his inside left breast pocket. He put one in his left pants pocket, and the
last one in the inside of his right sock.
Jacquie stepped out of the Lincoln and
buttoned his suit jacket. The Berretta 93R machine pistol, Victoria, slept comfortably
and unnoticed in the shoulder sling under Jacquie's left arm. His arms were
straight and stiff at his sides. He spread his fingers wide apart and then
slowly tightened them into fists, which made the knuckles crack.
Jacquie's vision tunneled as he walked
down the paved driveway to the docks. Just as he was about to be face to face
with the warehouse, he stepped off the pavement, out from under the
streetlamps, and into the darkness.
The three heavily armed guards clustered
together outside of the warehouse never had a chance to move their index
fingers to the trigger. One guard saw the glint of Jacquie's glasses as he
stepped back out into the light, but couldn't even get a word out to alert his
companions. Jacquie pumped them with three rounds each and kept walking.
When he reached the door a window from
two stories up flung open and a man brandishing a gun appeared. Jacquie cut him
in half without even looking.
Jacquie kicked open the door and was
welcomed with a hundred pieces of hot lead flying within inches of his body. He
jumped back and pivoted off to the side putting his back against the outside of
the warehouse. He counted the shots, picked out the different guns by the sound
of the bullet leaving the barrel, and listened for the directions of heavier
sound and lighter sound. He found a pause in the gunfire, then another.
Suddenly, Jacquie appeared once more in
the doorway but this time he kept walking forward. He caught a man loading a
gun and put two in his chest, and then he found three more just like him.
Jacquie kept walking. He didn't run,
hide, or even pick up the pace. Bullets took turns trying to frighten him but
none succeeded. His steps seemed to be keeping pace of all his actions. He
flipped the switch to unload his clip, and in the blink of an eye he had
another in its place.
The men in the warehouse never got more
than a hand full of shots off before Jacquie put one in their head or two in
their chest. Whenever one of them made enough adjustments to put Jacquie in
their sights, Jacquie got to them first.
In the far right corner of the warehouse
Jacquie saw a small tan lockbox on a foreman's drafting bench. He continued to
walk and fire. He fired three round bursts at objects he could hear. Objects he
had to actually look at, he would switch the pistol's firing type and put a
single bullet in the objects face.
As he got closer to the lockbox the
amount of fire increased. Though there were fewer defenders, they were more
desperate and the space around Jacquie was decreasing. He stepped forward and felt
the edge of a bullet graze his jacket. He stepped back, killed the man
responsible and continued to walk.
In the end, a few feet from the lockbox,
Jacquie put a round in three guys standing on a platform. He thought he had hit
them all in kill points but as he took another step forward a man fell to the
floor in front of him still breathing with wide pitiful eyes. The man grabbed
Jacquie's leg.
"Please," the man said, "I have a wife,
a kid; don't kill me, for them!"
"You've gotta be kidding me," Jacquie
said as he put three in his chest. "You don't deserve them."
With the lockbox in hand Jacquie walked
away from the warehouse turned into an inferno.
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