Page 64 of Shrapnel

Reeling, Owen finally understood what Elijah had meant about the consequences. He thought he could handle it. His overconfidence had told him he could handle it, that Jamie would always be Jamie to him.

But as the information settled in, Owen could no longer picture the sleepy Jamie. Or the one who head bangs in a metal concert. He was thinking about the manic Jamie, the one who killed with glee and treated guns like they were his children. The Jamie who showed up covered in blood and reeking of death.

The goofy Jamie, the manic killer, and the somber drunk who contemplated death and called him by his first name.

How many Jamie’s existed inside one body? And which one was real?

Owen didn’t think he was ready to find out.

Hindsight’s a bitch.

Coming to a known drug area seemed like a good idea a couple of hours ago. Walk around, ask some questions. What could go wrong?

Jamie blinked the blood out of his eyes and stared up at the five tweakers staring down at him. In retrospect, he probably should have seen this coming. He wouldn’t label this the dumbest thing he’d ever done but it’s definitely top five.

They swarmed him. Waited until he got into a dark corner before hitting him all at once. Contrary to what Hollywood would lead you to believe, groups of attackers do not wait patiently for their turn. Jamie was good, but he wasn’t five assholes with crack enhanced strength good.

He held out for the first few kicks, but one of them hit him over the head with something and then he was down—fighting consciousness and taking steel-toed boots to the ribs. When they started going through his pockets for cash, he was able to crawl away. Now he was resting against a grimy brick wall, breath rattling in his bruised ribs.

The tweakers didn’t find anything in his pockets and now they turned their blood lust back on him. Another boot came towards his chest, and he just managed to turn, his shoulder taking the brunt of the blow.

The drugs screwed with the guy’s balance. He wobbled once and it was enough. Jamie was able to sweep his leg, knocking him onto his back. Jamie was on him in a moment, fist into his windpipe. He felt the tissue and cartilage crunch under his knuckles.

Rough hands grabbed him by the back of his neck, tossing him into the side of a dumpster. The hit hurt, but Jamie managed to keep his feet. An elbow to another guy broke a nose. While the guy’s eyes watered and he spluttered, Jamie had him by the hair and slammed his face into the rim of the dumpster twice, until his face caved in and he crumpled like a bag of bricks.

Two down.

The three remaining junkies stared him down. He didn’t see any weapons. Jamie had his gun on him, but he couldn’t use it. Not here. This part of town was crawling with cops. And he couldn’t afford to get mixed up with the 5-0.

“Listen,” Jamie grunted, holding up a hand. “I’m looking for a guy—Colin Koehler. Name ring a bell? Sold drugs for the Mesas.”

Jamie wasn’t even sure they were listening but they weren’t hitting him, so he considered that a win.

The guy on the far left sniffed and Jamie was horrified to realize he was actually a woman. Under the bulky jackets and rat's nest of hair, she looked like the other two guys.

“Do you know him? Where he hangs out? Friends?”

“You a cop?”

“Do I look like a fucking cop, dipshit?”

They eyed him up and down and seemed to decide it wasn’t worth the risk. Jamie set his jaw and took a deep breath. No broken ribs this time but they still twinged when he inhaled. Wiping the blood off his forehead, he spat a phlegmy glob of red spit toward them.

He felt the familiar numbness begin to tingle at his fingertips. The thrill of adrenalin crept up his limbs. His vision focused and colors sharpened. Like the rays of sun puncturing through cloud cover, a spotlight appeared in his vision—focused solely on the three assholes he was about to eviscerate.

The woman moved first. She came swinging wide, fist held in a way that would break her thumb if she landed a hit with it. Jamie ducked the hit, stepping into her space and cracking his head against hers. She was startled, stumbling back. He followed her, dragging her face down into his upraised knee. Her teeth cut through the fabric of his pants, but the sting only fanned his anger.

Jamie’s heart hammered. Feeling flowed through his limbs and he smiled, wrenching her arm back until the elbow popped out of place. Her cry echoed through the small alley. Jamie cackled.

With her useless right arm, he propelled her into the second guy, who finally managed to find his balls.

His courage lasted right up until Jamie grabbed him by the balls, twisting them in his hand as he bashed his head into the side of the dumpster. Collapsed on the ground, fists still twisted in his scrotum, Jamie leaned over him.

“Now,” Jamie sighed. “Let’s hope your upstairs brain has more to offer than this little handful.”

The man wailed, kicking his legs.

“Do you or do you not know a fuckface by the name of Colin Koehler?”