The Devil's Rising Somewhere in America

"All rise,"

Courtroom was small, local Texas affair. Junior stood without a hiccup in his stony demeanor. He was raised to be polite, be kind. He was twenty-two years old.

"The honorable Judge Armstrong presiding," the bailiff barked. Huge man, dark rings around his eyes.

Elderly judge, but a good man. Junior knew his grandson in high school.

"You all may be seated."

Junior didn't sit until the judge himself did, considering it rude and lazy in the back of his mind to take a seat before him. The bailiff gave him a dirty look for a split second.

Junior didn't rightly understand the entire process. He was called to speak for himself, and felt safe with the Good Book in front of him. His lawyer wanted him to lie and plead insanity, something he just couldn't do.

"Mr. Lars Harper was an evil man," Junior grunted. People expected the widow to speak out, to add some touch of courtroom drama, but she did not.

"I saw him beating his kids one day, and on the day of the murder I followed him to the Red District of town. He didn't have enough money for the lady he wanted, so he tried to beat her up. So I tackled him. Dragged him into an alley, and - "

"The court does not need to know the gruesome details, Mr. Chambers. You may return to your seat."

Junior did as he was told, handcuffs and all, and suffered the hushed reprimands of his lawyer.

"You really must be insane, or just stupid,"

"I'm sorry Mr. Sutton,"

Recess just started and Mr. Sutton, his lawyer, was already on his third cigarette.

"You'll be lucky to get fifteen years, bail would be impossibly high,"

"I'm sorry,"

"Are you? Are you really?"

"No, not about what I did. But I am sorry you feel this way,"

Mr. Sutton didn't have an initial response.

"I hate people like how Mr. Harper was," Junior continued. "That's why I didn't stop until his brains were smeared all over that brick wall,"

"Damn it," a third paper clasp of ash fell to the ground. "Why didn't you get that woman to testify for you?"

"She was scared, I didn't want her to keep being scared,"

"Oh, such a good guy huh? Listen, I don't give a crap about how long you rot in prison, but I'll be damned if I let your mistakes drag my reputation through the mud. We have two more days for this case, tell me that whore's address and - "

Handcuffs or not, Junior wasn't restrained completely from movement. Mr. Sutton found his nose compressed, nasal bone pointing south. Junior's forehead had blood, but it wasn't his. No wound on the inmate pierced his flesh, but Mr. Sutton could taste blood as it drained down his throat. Two guards pinned Junior down, dislocating one of his arms on impact with the concrete.

He was just glaring at his lawyer. That same hateful pair of eyes that Mr. Harper saw as he died. Mr. Sutton frantically grabbed his papers and ran out of the building without a word, fearing for his life.

"Well, Junior, I'd say you're really screwed now," Bobby, one of his assigned guards, said as he hoisted him up to his feet. Darrel, the other one, just groaned.

"Naw. He had that coming for a while,"

"Hm?"

"He was down there that night too, frequents the place. Even with that wedding ring on, he's just as much of a scumbag as Mr. Harper."

Bobby's watch went off on his wrist, so he and Darrel guided Junior back into the courtroom.

"Where is your lawyer, Mr. Chambers?"

"Gone, Your Honor,"

"Gone? Explain. Now,"

"He left, Your Honor. I struck him in the head and broke his nose. I'm ready to go to jail now, the longer the better,"

Armstrong was confused for a minute or so, looking towards the jury. They were speaking amongst themselves, already having worked out a verdict apparently.

"Well?" he snapped at them.

"Y-Your Honor, this jury finds the accused guilty,"

"Good, then we can get this over with."

Junior couldn't help but smile as Bobby and Darrel started to pull him away again. What he didn't expect was the widowed Harper to stop him in the middle of the aisle.

She gave a quick "thank you" and left before Junior could say anything in response.

Within days, newspapers throughout Arnheim County exploded with headlines about how Mr. Harper was a vital lynchpin in various drug empires focusing on the area. Junior was incarcerated before he could be questioned, but his sentence was slackened.

Junior sat down in the visitation area. He had a cut lip from an altercation with another inmate. Across from him was a woman who seemed less than pleased.

"You okay?" was the first thing he said once he picked up the receiver.

"You really are an idiot,"

"Sounds about right,"

"The kids are worried about you,"

"And you aren't?"

"I'm... I don't know. You were trying to defend the honor of some women you never met before?"

"No. Just wanted to erase a man I knew shouldn't be alive,"

She held her face in her free hand.

"Erase huh? You sound like a bad mafia movie,"

"Lucy, he was abusing his kids day and night. Cheating on his wife. Selling drugs to kids,"

"Still, let the police handle it! You're in jail because of vigilante justice!"

Junior nodded. "Jacob and Logan are growing up without me huh?"

Lucy didn't say or do anything.

"I love you. I love the boys, you tell them that?"

"Every day."

"I'll be out before you know it."

It was a Sunday. Mail day. Junior watched as the usual numbers were called up to screen their letters. A weekly pattern. He stepped forward instinctively, but Bobby pulled him aside.

"What's the matter Bob? I've been out of trouble,"

"Yeah," he took off his cap and wiped some sweat off his scalp. "You don't have any mail this week,"

"So? I'll just go back to my cell and wait, no big deal," Junior was sort of disappointed that they didn't send anything for the week closest to his birthday, but maybe there was trouble in the post. Getting anything that could possibly become dangerous in prison was a hassle.

"Damn it Junior," Bobby was obviously having a hard time explaining this.

"Come on Bob, you can tell me."

"You're not gonna like it."

The cafeteria was a mumble of noise, just like usual.

"Hey so,"

Arnold sat across from Junior and Teddy. Lawrence was next to him, they had been cellmates for over a year now. Didn't mean they were friends.

"You gonna tell me what Bob pulled you off the line for?"

"It was nothing,"

"Yeah well that 'nothing' has been keeping you quiet for most of the day. Usually you're, I dunno, happier?"

"Leave him alone man," Teddy ordered, big guy. "He's had a long day,"

Arnold wasn't satisfied.

"I want him to tell me exactly what the reason was, Ted, flock off. Either he does or I cut his lip again,"

"Yeah? How about I knock your eye out again?"

Arnold stopped talking and shifted in his seat. Lawrence spoke up:

"I overheard that it was family-related. That's all,"

Teddy rolled his eyes. Junior braced himself, knowing what was about to happen.

"Oh?" Arnold perked up. "Did Lucy finally find someone else? Was it Bob?"

Junior started to glare at him.

"Oh don't give me those eyes," there was a twinge of fear in his attitude, though it was dominated by that arrogance that got him into trouble. Landed him here.

"Arnie stop. Junior, simmer down bud," as soon as Teddy put his arms on Junior's shoulders, the man shot up. All 300 pounds of Teddy's bulk, combined with his almost 600-pound strength, couldn't pull him back down.

Arnold fell onto the floor and the guards immediately acted, though didn't do anything violent. No blood was spilled. Teddy looked around.

"It's alright boys, just some truth or dare,"

They backed off almost uniformly as Junior sat back down. Arnold returned to his seat but didn't eat a bite.

"Arnold, for once in your life. Shut. The flock. Up."

Their cellmate just shrugged and sat there for the duration of lunchtime. Lawrence took his food, content with using the grits for building material rather than eating them.

"You really are stupid, aren't you?"

Free period, they had to move quickly. Guards were already moving. Arnold was among them. Lawrence was on the ground, red oozing from the gut. Teddy had one hand trying to keep him from bleeding out. Junior had his fists out.

The guards were taking a longer time than usual. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see others like Arnold, like the posse he gathered - or was just a part of - dragging them down.

Junior charged, tackling two men. His back strained as he lifted up and over, swinging as soon as he came out. He took three teeth out of one mouth, felt the jawbone dislocate in another. Then the others came. A shiv went into his torso, slashed outward. He felt his hand shoot for the wrist. Thumb bit into tendon, breaking skin and grip. Junior wedged the man's head between his hand and his torso before smashing the back of his skull into the ground.

A shotgun motion, his muscles aching afterwards.

Others came. Arnold was backing off. They met Junior's face with fists, swelling his eye shut with blows. A swarm of bodies, angry men in an overcrowded prison. He opened his mouth and closed it around a hefty chunk of tricep, spitting out what he tore. Bloodied ribbons of muscle spat on his orange shirt as that man rolled off the dogpile, allowing Junior a split second to push.

He came out, catching himself between chin and elbow on the grass. Someone piled on top of him again, a chokehold and a shiv into the other side of his torso. He gurgled, feeling how close it was to cutting into his thoracic cavity, but latched onto that wrist all the same and twisted as hard as he could. When that didn't work he forced his mouth as close as possible and chewed out a piece of knuckle. The man rolled off screaming, releasing the sharpened piece of material.

Junior had a weapon now. But the others who were pursuing him did not surrender. Arnold was nowhere to be seen. Junior threw a fist into someone's eye, feeling the fluid bursting as he pulled away. In his other hand the shiv met a forearm and sliced up for about three inches. Junior was tackled to the ground again, his back landing on a rock. It was a fat man from Block 3-C, hands like frying pans. He put Junior's fist between them and squeezed like a vice, using the handle of the shiv as a lever to crack the bones. Junior had to punch him five times in the head, tearing out a chunk of his own knuckle, just to concuss him enough into a half-conscious slump. Junior pulled himself out, shaking his finger bones out from being curled.

He was limping now between two stab wounds and a busted eye, his tendons leading down to his legs straining as he stumbled forward.

"Junior!" it was Teddy. "Bring back a medic, man! Lawrence ain't gonna make it!"

He barely heard anything else as he went into the blocks, hunting now for Arnold.

"God damn, God damn, God damn," Junior huffed, keeping desperate rhythm with his breathing. People were fighting everywhere, keeping the guards tied up, killing them where they could.

Someone snuck them a surplus of weapons. Axes, clubs, shivs, honest knives. Only ones who seemed to want this kind of thing. People like Teddy and Lawrence, they were unarmed. Junior passed by a friend's cell, Jessup Turner. He was on the floor bleeding.

"You look like shut,"

"You need a medic, come on," Junior hobbled inside.

"No use," the old man replied. "Get out of here brother."

They clasped hands, and Jessup was gone. Removing his orange jumpsuit as a form of respect, he gave Jessup some decency.

Junior had his back turned for a split second longer than he should have, though. He could smell the blood already, but Raul from 4-E stormed inside with a hatchet. A downward slash, grazing Junior's shoulder and snipping off some skin. It dangled on a string of flesh, and Junior went straight for Raul's ribs.

He pushed him into the opposite wall, digging deeper and deeper until he hit something hard. Didn't matter what, it all just became a blur of orange and red.

He couldn't see out of his left eye. But he could hear the feet coming towards him. One, at least, close enough to bludgeon him. He rolled off Raul and intercepted Manny from 9-A. Strong bastard, but blind in one eye. No depth perception, useless in a fight.

He always wanted to beat Junior into the ground, and the shiv cutting him a wider belly button didn't stop him much. Manny took him into a headlock and wrenched him a few times, almost snapping his neck on contact, but Junior stood up. The shiv was dulled, must have stabbed through to the floor more than once. Manny had a bad kidney, but Junior forgot which one in the moment. His thick knuckles just whammed into the bastard's torso three times, a calloused sledgehammer.

Manny collapsed, coughing and wheezing, unable to stand. Junior limped back over to Raul's hatchet and raised it just once, partially scalping the middle-aged brawler.

These were all men who had wanted to kill him for a while now. Arnold knew this, snuck in weapons somehow. They were already starting to surround him again.

Getting a medic for Lawrence was impossible now, they were blocking off the fastest way to the doctor's office. Even then, it would probably be heavily defended by guards since it was the largest exit. Junior had to fight his way through.

Hatchet in hand, he quickly decided that it would be more trouble in the extremely-close proximity he was wading into and lobbed it.

After the axe stopped in someone's head - Junior didn't immediately recognize him - the swarm flooded around him. Two for each limb, congested into a hallway where he could at least funnel them through. Not the initial plan. Not the initial plan at all, but it worked - somewhat.

He broke two fingers smashing a fist into a jawbone. He could feel them bending in ways they were not meant to. His kneecap got dislocated twice, each time he slapped it back into place on the floor just to keep moving. His hand somehow got hold of another shiv, something he used to carve a throat. Stabbing took too much time and effort, required too wide a range of motion.

Three men were down, piled around him. There were too many for him to break through. As soon as he stood back up again on his bad knee, he was sent into the railing face-first by a club to his temple. Blood hemorrhaged out of his nose. He could barely see anymore. Someone pinned him to the ground and started strangling him, but Junior remembered about the shiv he pilfered and buried it into what he felt was the liver.

It was enough for him to get free again, and he tried to crawl away. Again he was ensnared, bludgeoned over and over. But at least he could try to get up. Through the savage beating Junior managed to catch one of the bats - at the cost of his broken fingers getting smashed again. But, they were already snapped. He had to keep his good hand as safe as possible. He wrenched it free and hoisted himself to a standing position, feeling collision of wood on flesh twice as he swung wildly. Huffing, he suddenly realized his isolation.

The way was clear to the medical office.

No guards? Maybe inside.

He was out of breath, out of everything.

"Med. Medic," he swallowed. "Help, recess area,"

"Oh yeah?"

Junior couldn't see but he could recognize the voice. It was Arnold, and judging by the tapping sound he had a knife.

"I bet you're wondering what the flock is happening huh?"

Arnold moved quick, fresh and unimpeded by stamina loss. Junior could barely catch the knife blade-first in his hand, his good hand. Impaled right between the ring and middle finger bones, but it was better than the carotid Arnold was aiming for. Junior wrestled him against a wall, but caught a kick to the groin.

"You killed someone important to the drug trade here in Arnheim County over a year ago. Ever since then it's been Hell trying to get business kicking up again. Lost tons of money, thanks to one stupid man. That's why this was all organized. You got a hefty price on your head, Junior. Anyone who kills you gets bail and a clean slate coming out of here! Anything that happens before then doesn't matter, we can be as cruel as we want to while taking you down,"

As if to emphasize, Arnold took something else off a nearby table. Junior heard it bounce off his skull before the pain set in. It was a claw hammer. He was on the floor before he knew what was happening.

"I'll answer one question before I kill you. How's that? My last gift to you for being such a good cellmate,"

Junior didn't answer. He couldn't. Blood was starting to well up in his sinuses and down his throat, half-drowning him in his own fluids.

"Come on, ask," Arnold prodded one of his shiv-wounds with a finger, sinking it into the exposed flesh and popping a tendon like a harp string.

It was then that Junior spasmed and came back to life, huffing and breathing heavily. "Y-Yeah," he grunted.

"A-n-y-t-h-i-n-g," Arnold smirked.

"Th-This morning,"

"Hm?"

"Y-You knew,"

Arnold squatted down next to Junior's face. "Yup," another smile as he raised the hammer again.

"And you're gonna join them,"

There was a crash, but it wasn't the same sound as hammer against skull. He hurt all over but there wasn't a new sensation of it. The presence of Arnold hovering over him was gone.

"Get up Junior!" it was Teddy? Yeah, same voice.

"Flock, Ted, you stupid - " but Junior was already on him, hammer haphazardly kicked across the room.

Hands on his throat, knees in his lungs. He squeezed until the pulse in the bastard's carotid arteries completely stopped on one side. Then, until the whole thing shuddered and went motionless.

Only after the fact did he feel the burn of slash-marks on his arms and shoulders.

He rolled off, but Teddy helped him up. Junior could tell he wasn't that far off from being just like him. Beaten, broken, half-dead.

But the gate was open.

The graves were fresh. Memorial services were the day before, but he couldn't attend for obvious reasons. The swelling in his eyes was gone, but he wished that he didn't have to see this.

Three graves, one right next to the other. Lucy, Jacob, Logan. All Chambers. Everything was apparently paid-for by Lucy's parents. He hated that, having to drag them into this mess too. Hopefully they didn't know too much.

He couldn't produce tears. His fists just hung at his sides, quivering. Lucy's headstone was conjoined to another plot, his plot - vacant for now. He didn't know whether he wanted them to come back or if he wanted to join them more. He took a handful of the dry dirt and put it into his pocket.

That was when he heard footsteps behind him. Teddy was gone back to Louisiana by now, and the groundskeepers were already on the other side of the campus. Lucy's parents would be back home in Rockridge. He turned around, a man in a green turtleneck and jacket. Big, wide eyes.

He had a pistol tucked into his belt.

"Just about the best place for you to die, huh? I can make it look like a suicide if you want,"

Junior glanced between the man's gun and his eyes.

"Follow me to the house. I want to die where they did."

The sun was starting to set, casting long shadows on the isolated country road. Junior walked around back as soon as he locked the door to his rental car.

"Always kept this door unlocked during the day,"

"Yeah? Must be a hard pill to swallow,"

"Had a dog and two young boys, they were in and out so much,"

"Ah, I see,"

"Want some lemonade?"

"Shut up and show me the spot already,"

Junior made sure to put emphasis on his wounds and tired disposition as he walked into the living room. He kept a pistol in the couch.

"Yeah? Alright don't do anything stupid, I'm watching you. Forensic boys are really good these days and can tell if it's a murder or not,"

He put the gun right next to Junior's temple, keeping himself out of arm's reach. He was itching to pull the trigger, but Junior still had the soil.

It went straight into the man's eyes, causing a second of distraction as a bullet went wild trying to catch something, anything. Junior grappled with his arm and snapped it at the elbow. The pistol clattered to the ground, but Junior could feel a sawed-off elsewhere in the jacket. He forcefully removed a few teeth with his closed fist before ripping the shotgun out.

"You know as well as I do where this is going," Junior grunted.

"Look, don't do anything stupid,"

"You know what, I'm tired of people I don't know calling me stupid. My wife, Hell, even some friends can do that. You?"

Wielding the shotgun like a club, he burst something in the hitman's head, crushed some skull probably. The man on the floor just winced and whimpered.

"I hate you. I hate people like you. I'm going to ask you who gave you this contract,"

"I-I don't know,"

"Pity,"

One barrel went into the hitman's kneecap, blasting it to pieces. Out here, no one could hear the gunshot. No one could hear the man screaming bloody murder.

He smacked him again, this time with an open hand, and locked him out of his spasms with an iron grip on his jaw.

"I don't take 'I dunno' for an answer in this house. You answer me and you answer right, got it?"

"Flock you,"

Junior stood up, and a swift kick to the exposed flesh quickly changed the hitman's mind.

"F-Flock! Alright, alright... I was hired by a boss up in the East Coast somewhere. Somewhere in Gothic, said you were messing with his trade deals down in Mexico when you killed Harper,"

"Did you kill my family?"

"No that wasn't me, I swear!"

"What about my dog?"

"No, Christ, just call an ambulance please!"

"Can you give me a name for this boss in Gothic?"

"No, he didn't give me a name I swear!"

"You're sending me to the most dangerous city in North America all on a hunch, and you want me to call an ambulance for you?"

The hitman didn't move. Panic started to set in. As soon as he reached up in protest, Junior emptied the remaining barrel into his face. Brain matter splashed over the sofa and opposing wall.

He disposed of the weapon, and went outside to get some gasoline from his rental car. The hitman had a fuller tank, and he had a long drive ahead of him.

The rest of it went into drenching the Chambers family house that used to mean so much to him. It was nothing more than kindling now. A smoking effigy to his new crusade. His new war.

Traveling by day was too risky. Junior barely managed to get out of a gas station when he started. Wanted posters were everywhere. Said he murdered guards when he left prison. Dead or alive sort of affair.

He was close to the Texas-Arkansas border. Roads were getting smaller. He could probably make it through a few states within a week now that Texas was behind him. He was beginning to suspect that the car he was driving, the car he stole, was being looked for rather than the rental the hitman probably took pictures of. Police could tap his phone if they wanted to, that's why it was at the bottom of a riverbank now. They could be looking for anything.

That's why he went out at night now, slept during the day. Even just the third cycle of this was wearing him down.

He passed an exit to the last pitstop before Arkansas, and that's when the lights behind him went on. Red and blue, commanding him to pull over.

"Flock, flock," he gritted his teeth, ducking onto the shoulder and gripping the steering wheel tight.

The officer walked up to his window, and Junior cranked it down.

"Evening," he said.

"Do you know why I pulled you over?"

"Speeding?"

"Oh so you know you were speeding. What's the hurry?"

"Family emergency in the next state over. Mother's about to die,"

"Where you from?"

"Redstone, it's back a few miles,"

"Wouldn't taking a plane be better for you?"

"I respect how they do their jobs, sir. I just don't like all those lines you know?"

"I understand sir,"

Junior knew he was just stalling for the stolen vehicle report. He could see the shape of a deputy in the mirror, punching in numbers and calling the station.

"You looking for something?" the officer's words peeled him off the rearview.

"No, officer, I'm just eager to go see momma,"

"What's her name?"

"Lucy,"

Before the officer could say anything else, there was a crackle in his radio and earpiece. He was getting something important.

"Would you step out of the car sir?"

He did as he was told, hands raised in the air.

"Something the matter?" Junior asked.

Then the officer did something fairly unprofessional.

"Hugh, come outside,"

'Hugh' - the deputy - stepped out of the police car with a shotgun leveled at Junior's head. The lights were off. All of them were. The two corrupt cops were backing Junior down into the ditch, with just the flashlights on their chests to guide them. The terrain was bad with roots and rocks, and Junior stumbled a bit.

No one could see them now.

"You pissed off a lot of people, Mr. Chambers. Harper was a generous soul to the police department and highway patrol," the sheriff's hand whistled through the air. Junior felt the sting of a baton across his face, hitting him square in the jaw.

"Hugh, right here should be good,"

Even with a few more lashings from the baton busting his forehead open, Junior could see the silencer canister on the shotgun barrel. There was a dull reflective shine telling him exactly where it was. He had less than a second.

Grabbing it, Junior forced the gun sideways and his head forward. Hugh's nose gave an audible 'crunch' and he fell to the ground. Twisting the gun forward he sank a shot into the sheriff's stomach and another into his throat. He used the butt of the firearm to crush Hugh's skull until he stopped moving.

He went through their pockets and found keys, some money, and a pair of pistols. Staggering out of the ditch he piled into the cop car, breathing heavily. He didn't leave anything important in the hitman's vehicle, but now he ran the risk of being tracked. He also needed the radio...

But that was before it crackled to life, a voice that didn't sound like it belonged in dispatch. It was an old voice, rank with smoke and whiskey.

"A-17, report,"

His hand hovered over the receiver, but in the end he grasped it. He didn't say anything.

"A-17, do you copy?"

"Who is this?" Junior grunted.

As he suspected, they didn't answer immediately. No stalling for time to trace the broadcast either, just a gnarled and angry man on the other side of the line.

"Is this Junior?"

"Yeah,"

"Listen to me. I know where you're heading. I know that worthless gunman told you as much as I wanted him to know. You're gonna die in Gothic, and I'd rather not have your blood on my carpet. So just have the decency to die on the side of the road like the stinking animal you are, got it?"

"Can't do that,"

Silence, as if the voice on the other line was bottling up more anger to throw his way.

"I killed Lars Harper because he was a symptom of a disease. But now I see it's even in the blood of innocent men, a malignant virus. If I had killed Harper in that alleyway and gone to jail, I would have lived out the rest of my life and died happily in whatever way God intended. But you killed my wife. You killed my boys, and my dog. You organized all that death in the penitentiary to happen. Just to either kill me or make me want to die,"

He paused for breath, almost snapping the plastic receiver in his hand.

"I'm going to find you. I'm going to burn everything you own to the ground. I'm going to crack your skull open and fill it with the ashes. And nothing is going to stop me."

The staggering conviction in his words kept the audible stillness on the other side. But that didn't last for long, as the rage fell away into a need to goad Junior further just to see him fail.

"They'll never find your body."

Junior crushed the receiver into the dashboard and left for his previous vehicle.

Arkansas was just ahead, and he had to ditch this car as soon as possible.

He was closer than ever now. The Texas border faded into the horizon last night after the incident with the corrupt cops trying to play bounty hunter. Junior didn't exactly feel like he could relax. Ever since he gave that message to whoever was handing out these contracts on his head left and right, he called his own safety into question practically every minute or so.

Still, man's gotta eat. BBQ seemed like a good idea, so Junior pulled into the nearest place. Name didn't matter, he wasn't trying to stay too long. He pocketed as much weaponry as he could conceal and headed inside. Looking back, he saw a car pull up next to his but he didn't make it obvious that he was watching.

"Sweet tea please, to-go cup, I'll be back out in a minute,"

The staff was minimal, no surprise given the size of the establishment. Just a small room with an aisle going around one side for lines and the privacy of the eating guests. Tons of western memorabilia, old railroad spikes and traffic signs, Spaghetti Western posters, antique mining and logging gear...

Just as he suspected, the people who pulled in behind him were now heading in his direction. The staff assumed they were a family, and didn't see anything out of place. Junior calmly walked into the men's restroom. He didn't catch a glimpse, trying to see as steady as possible, and clenched his fists as the door swung shut.

Then back open again. One of them locked the door. Two women, redhead and brunette, one man. They each had a certain look to their eye. Junior suckerpunched the man before anyone could draw a weapon, trying to break the momentum of the group moving in unison. All he got in return was one of the women, the brunette, covering his mouth and stabbing through his back all at once. She knew where to put the blade, slid it between some ribs and made it bite on of his lungs. The other woman, was on the other side of the restroom checking for police lights through the window.

The man wiped his mouth with a sleeve.

"Damn near knocked out a tooth, God damn psychopath,"

"Forget it," the woman with a knife in his back whispered.

That moment of distraction was all Junior needed. With the full weight of his body he crushed the woman against the wall between syllables, knocking the air out of her lungs. Still with a blade in his lung, Junior gave the man another swing at his chin just as he made a thrust with a knife of his own. The blow forced his head to bounce against the bathroom door, leaving a dent in the wood.

This had to be finished quickly. The redhead looking out for police charged with a knife as well, slashing wildly for his kidneys. Junior caught a few cuts on his hands, deep ones down to the bone, but he forced her to the ground. Her head cracked on the tile floor as the other woman got to her feet again.

She suddenly felt like being serious, and drew a handgun from inside her jacket. Throwing a fist in her direction, Junior felt the brunette's nose crumple under the impact. That was when the redhead punched his throat. Gasping for air, he barely had a second before she tried cutting into his torso again. He caught her by the wrist. The man, in the meantime, was getting back up from being extensively concussed.

"Get up you idiot!" the redhead whispered harshly, briskly interrupted by a headbutt to her own nose.

"Flock's sake," the man grunted, putting Junior into a chokehold. "Just go to sleep, you bastard," he squeezed harder and harder, crushing Junior's throat.

His arms were still free, and he wasn't on the ground just yet. Shifting his leg backwards, he twisted his body and neck, practically grinding jawbone against the man's forearm, and tackled him through the door this time.

All forms of subtlety were gone now. He removed a pistol from his jacket and backed out slowly into the dining area. His sweet tea was waiting for him in the hands of a very confused and frightened waiter.

"Take it in the back, I still want it," Junior muttered slowly, watching the women like a hawk. The waiter didn't need to be asked twice as he took cover behind the counter.

Redhead also had a pistol. Both of them were aiming for his chest, probably for identification purposes. Junior's eyes darted back and forth between the two. They were close to the middle of the restaurant now.

He exhaled slowly.

The brunette was going to fire first, but Junior intercepted her shot with one of his own. She ripped into his shoulder and he tore straight through her throat. He had a useless arm for the moment, frayed muscle spiralling out of the wound. But the redhead still had a bead on him, opening fire as well. A chunk of bicep went the other way, but Junior gave the trigger another squeeze.

He shot her below the eye and out the other side. They fell at roughly the same time, blood pooling and mixing on the floor. Junior leaned as best he could on his "good" arm, his bloodied bicep muscle giving out a pathetic whimper. He heard movement from the hallway. Before he could do anything, a bullet gouged out flesh and skull on the side of his head and went through the wall. The amount of red splatter indicated a clean kill.

With a loud groan, the man from earlier hoisted himself up and limped over to the carnage.

"God damn," he muttered. "Just can't stay dead for a second can you? Least I didn't get your face. That's the expensive part."

He aimed for Junior's belly.

Julia was glaring at the back of the gunman like it was an open target. She'd been clenching her fists for a while, her white-knuckled grip barely phasing her instinct to protect the man bleeding out on the floor. No one could stop her as she snuck out of the kitchen and into the dining area.

She tried to play it out like one of her video games, crouching low and making as little noise as possible as she knelt for one of the pistols already on the floor. Quickly aiming it for the head, the assassin did the same, smirking as they came to a standoff of their own.

"On the count of three then,"

Julia swallowed nervously, but her eyes gave the assassin something of an entertainment quality to her determination.

"One,"

Julia fell backwards, dropping the gun, blood splattered all over her body. At first she thought she had died, looking for something to clutch - to keep from making her bleed out. But... she didn't find anything. The assassin in front of her collapsed straight as a board, making Julia push herself backwards just to avoid his corpse.

He didn't have a face anymore.

That's when the guy on the floor let his quaking hand fall down, a smoking gun gripped tightly. Gerald and Rico, the cooks, came out and helped him out of his own blood and onto a chair.

"We called an ambulance like five minutes ago pal, you'll be fine just hang in there,"

Steamed towels, hardly sterile, but good enough for cleaning the wounds.

"Dude, you were packing!" Gerald remarked, trying to keep a mild sense of humor in the situation. He was pulling off the man's jacket so his shoulder could be properly cleaned.

But he moved to keep the jacket on.

"No ambulance," he muttered.

"What? You're gonna die Mister!" Julia protested.

"Three pulled pork sandwiches. Beans, potato salad, five bags of jalapeno chips. Blackberry cobbler and ice cream. To go. Please,"

"You'll get all you want to eat at the hospital man, just chill out," Rico said, but he didn't expect the hand tightening on the collar of his shirt.

"I said please."

"Breaking news: a brutal shootout at a local BBQ restaurant along I-30 East has left three dead and one mildly injured, we go to John at the scene,"

"Thanks Linda. I am told by paramedics that they were called to the restaurant at about 06:15 PM. By then, the shootout had already started. Startled staff have come forward with their stories, one of whom is Julia Hernandez - a waitress at the establishment. She suffered minor injuries, some scratches, but paramedics gave her the go-ahead to visit her doctor at a later date,"

"It all happened so fast. I heard them arguing coming in, but I didn't expect them to pull out guns,"

"And it was just the three of them? No outside party, no gang violence or road rage taken into effect?"

"Just the three of them. Road rage might have been a part of it, but they all came in the same car. I don't know if it was just simmering or what."

"Thank you, Julia. Back to you Linda."

Junior managed to catch most of the broadcast. The head wound had a lot of blood, and soaked through the towel. His shoulder wasn't far off being just as bad. He finished the last sandwich, holding the steering wheel as steady as he could before starting in on the cobbler. Beans and potato salad were long gone, appetizers. Chips were for later on.

He had to find somewhere to get stitched up, or at least get his hands one some suture. A CVS would definitely be a good place to start.