Just Run by Culver Chris

Author:Culver, Chris [Culver, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-09-23T00:00:00+00:00

Saturday, September 14. 10:37 p.m

Chicago, IL.

Gunshots outside Anatoly’s apartment were common enough that he hardly even noticed them anymore. The shots that night were different, though. The shooters were so close he could hear the steel cartridges smack into nearby cars. He could also hear his neighbors, including a few children, scream.

The gunfire quieted a few minutes later, but the shouts continued unabated. Someone was screaming about a car. He blocked the sound from his mind as well as he could and slumped down in the chair. Carter and Schaefer had done a fair job of securing him, but they should have tied his wrists together so he couldn’t move his hands. That mistake would save him a lot of grief. With his shoulders and waist slumped, he could just barely reach the back of his shoes. He wrapped his fingers around his pants, pulling the fabric of his right pant leg high enough that he could reach the serrated diver’s knife attached to his ankle.

He pulled the knife clear of the sheath and flipped it around so the tip rested against his forearm. The movement was awkward, but he could just barely reach the plastic wrap holding him to the chair with the razor–sharp blade. He nicked the tip against the wrap, cutting it a layer at a time. After about five minutes of that, he could move his forearm enough to start sawing. It only took another minute for him to get free.

He rolled his shoulder and immediately went to the couch for his firearm. The weapon was still in good working order. Detective Schaefer was going to regret not taking it. He slipped it into his shoulder holster and grabbed a gray wool sport coat from his closet. The first police siren flew by his house as he rooted around the bottom of his closet for a spare magazine. The police came at a pretty steady rate after that. Like many of his neighbors, Anatoly eventually walked outside and sat on the front stoop to watch the officers at work.

None of the shooters remained at the scene, evidently, and it didn’t seem like anyone had been hurt. Most of Anatoly’s neighbors suggested it was probably a gang dispute over a nearby intersection, valuable real estate to the drug trade. Anatoly believed otherwise, though: Carter and Schaefer had taken something that didn’t belong to them and almost paid the price.

He remained silent and watched the police work until a pair of them peeled off from the main group of officers and walked toward the civilians. In a situation like that, it was common for officers to interview neighbors and other potential witnesses, but he didn’t need the hassle. While the officers were still a dozen yards away, Anatoly stood, his knees creaking unpleasantly, and started to walk back to his apartment.

“Excuse me, sir; we need to talk to you. We heard about a possible break–in in the area.”

Anatoly dropped his head. He stood at the head of the steps that led to his door.

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