Free A Mighty Fortress by S.D. Thames

whispered for a long minute and then seemed to be nodding in agreement.  
    I raised my hand. “So, you guys done with me?” It didn’t hurt to ask.
    Kiki shrugged, as though to ask what Scalzo wanted done. They moved in my direction, but Scalzo stopped them again, and they huddled a few feet away. I could hear some of their murmuring this time. Kiki mumbled something about picking me up at Mons and having no real problems en route. One of them opined something about me telling the truth. I was pretty sure Scalzo told them to have some fun but to cause no lasting damage.  
    Scalzo returned to me. “I want to tell you something. If I ever see your face again, I don’t care if it’s in court, the grocery store, or at Mass—I see you again and I’m going to rip your fucking throat out. We straight on that?”
    I looked at him blankly.
    “You got that?”
    I coughed but said nothing.  
    “You better say something, you scraggly-assed punk.”
    I shrugged and said, “We’ll see.”
    “You got some kind of death wish, friend?” Scalzo studied my eyes.
    I thought of Dr. J and how she might answer that question. Then, without warning or contemplation, I spit blood. I really didn’t mean to, or so I thought, and it traveled farther than I intended, if I even intended it at all.  
    But judging by his reaction, the bloody goober must have hit Scalzo. I didn’t necessarily mean for that to happen, either, though I didn’t exactly regret it when Scalzo’s face twisted with anger. He wiped his face and turned to Kiki. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s go with Plan B.”
    “Plan B?” Kiki said. “You sure about that?”
    “You heard him,” I said. “Plan B.”
    Scalzo got a good jab on my nape. I went to the ground to make him feel good.  
    “Good knowing you, pal,” Scalzo said on his way out. He told Kiki to clean up and call him when it was done.
    Kiki took a few steps away from me, his gun pointed at me. He conferred with Jimmy. As far as I could tell, he was telling Jimmy to calm the hell down. Jimmy didn’t like the plan. He made a point about how obvious it was—the same night I served their boss, I’d disappear, and there were probably cameras in the parking lot at the Mons.
    “The decision’s over your pay grade,” Kiki told him.
    Just then, I heard the whiny rev of the Porsche. Scalzo shed some rubber on his way out, like a good little prick.
    I looked up. The garage was poorly lit—still only the one dangling light bulb, but there were trusses overhead, open rafters, that looked to be about ten feet off the ground.  
    Kiki was finalizing his plan, calming down the kid; meanwhile, I was finalizing mine. It didn’t take long.
    A moment later, Kiki returned to me, gun in tow. “Up,” he said.
    “We doing this here?” I started getting to my feet. He wasn’t aiming yet, and he’d need to take his time in this lighting. Little did he know, the lighting was about to get worse.  
    As I pivoted to my feet, I gave Kiki an uppercut to the groin and smacked the hand holding the gun. It slid from his grip like a buttered ear of corn.
    I took my time with Jimmy, spinning him around before I gave him a quick little choke, making sure to give the old windpipe some extra attention with my nubby thumbs. Not nearly enough to knock him out. I was just going for a good, solid disorientation.  
    Kiki moved slowly, but he was struggling to get up while scrambling for the gun.
    I leapt for the dangling light and swung it up as hard as I could. It shattered against the truss overhead, an effervescent explosion that flashed like a prism and then faded to black. By then, I was swinging from the same rafter, peering through the dark.  
    I dropped from the beam and caught Jimmy. His gun fired, but not before I was behind him, steering him like a puppet. “Shoot, shoot, shoot,” I screamed, plowing him toward the spot I had seen Kiki last. Then I shed Jimmy and veered to the far right. More shots were