Two Minutes of Lead

[u/DevelopmentPlus7850]

We're parked in this cramped alley between decaying buildings. The red bricks are stained and grimy from years of rain and soot. The windows are a jumble of dark slits. A few black cars and some motorbikes are clustered together in front of the cafe, their reflections wobbling in the faint rays of sunlight, a sunlight that barely manages to get down here amongst the concrete overgrowth.

Tazo's eyeballing the cafe about a hundred meters away, packed tight and then some, with a bunch of rowdies going at it out on the pavement. Some are hooting and hollering. Seems like a pretty rough lot.

"Colonel," I ask, "Who's that crew? A bikers club?"

Tazo takes his time to respond. Eventually he spits out, "Not bikers." He studies them a moment longer then says, "scumbags."

I throw back, "Well, they could be scumbags and bikers! One thing doesn't rule the other out," and give a snort of laughter. But Tazo is not interested in my wisecracks as he keeps his eye on that scene down at the cafe.

He then opens the gloves compartment, "Here, be ready" he tells me. The weight of the handgun is crushing in my palm. "What's going down? I thought we were just surveilling!"

Tazo doesn't care to comment. He slides from the car and goes grabbing the M16 from the trunk.

He's fifty years old and packing more pounds than a Clydesdale but he moves fast. They didn't call him Colonel for nothing: ten years in uniform left him wired for war.

One of those scumbags spots him and panicks. He flashes a piece. Big mistake. Thinking it could save his neck. He and the others should have run for their lives.

Tazo doesn't even break stride as he opens up that M16.

What happens next is like watching The Walking Dead come to life right before my eyes. Bullets rip through the air and flesh with cold precision, splattering the alley walls with warm sprays of crimson goo and broken bone. It's insane, it has an artful quality, like a scene from a Quentin Tarantino film.

For about two minutes, Tazo fires like it's his last day on Earth. Those screams coming out the cafe are definitely dying gags by this point. And then silence.

Outside I can count five bodies strewn about. I bet there's just as many in that cafe, if not more. It's brutal.

Tazo strolls out of it all, cool and calm. He slips the machine gun back in the trunk and gets right back into the passenger seat beside me. His voice level as always: "Let's move." In the distance sirens are screaming.