I'd Kill You First: when bad meets bad

Chap. 61

SODA:

"Well let me put it this way: if you don't tell me where the good ole doc is, I'll break your fingers off and shove them up your asshole one by one!"

The small Asian man standing in the dim lighting of his doorway took a step back with wide eyes, seemingly about to slam his door shut in terror. I anticipated the slam and shoved my foot into the doorway, smashing the door back into the wall and snagging the man by the shirt.

"You listen to me you little Asian bastard," I hissed, spit almost flying from my lips. "I've been all over these streets looking for this doc, and I've been directed to you. You tell me where he stays, and I'll leave you in your quaint little home with all your limbs attached. Don't believe I'll hurt you? Here, I'll give you a sample."

I positioned my forefinger and thumb on either side of the small white earring in his left ear and yanked, successfully ripping the jewelry out in a bloody mess and earning a scream from Mr. Asia.

"Okee, okee," he wailed, clutching at the side of his head. "Bronthan Street, house 284. He work in basement!"

I gave him a sinister grin and patted his cheek twice before heading back out the door, turning back at the last second. "I was never here. Do you understand?"

He nodded bitterly with a fierce glare thrown in my direction, blood trickling down his neck. I shrugged before pulling his front door closed and jogging back to the Camaro. Once inside, I revved the engine and backed out with squealing tires.

Jonathan was unconscious in the back, and his chest wasn't rising very much anymore.

About fifteen minutes later I was pulling into the driveway of a disgustingly rundown two story house. I killed the engine and was out of the car in two seconds, running up the overgrown lawn and pounding on the cracked door.

"Hello! Is anyone here?" I yelled, peeking through the broken windows. There was no answer. "Answer me or I'll kill you!"

It wasn't a threat. It was a promise.

There was the sound of uneven footsteps before a chain rattled loudly on the other side of the door and an old man appeared in the darkened frame of the house.

"What'cha want?" he bit out rudely, tobacco spit flying from between his yellow teeth. My nose wrinkled up in disgust, hoping this man wasn't the doctor.

"I need a doctor," I breathed hesitantly, trying to see past him into the house. He noticed and edged the door shut a little more, blocking my view.

He looked me up and down with a nasally grunt. "We ain't do no 'bortions for them crack whores."

I gave him a glare and stepped forward. "I have a half dead man in my backseat who needs medical attention."

"Take 'im to a hospital!" He hollered, waving me off with a wrinkled hand.

"I can't for reasons that don't concern you," I said through clenched teeth. "That's why I'm looking for a street Doctor. Now you either tell me where to find him or I'll plant your bald head around the shards of that broken window!"

The old man stared unblinking at me for quite some time before his hand appeared from behind the door holding a large shotgun, the weapon now pointing at me. "Now I done gon' say this one time," he hissed, causing me to back up a good bit. "Leave!"

My gun was drawn and fired before he even had a chance to put his finger on the trigger of his shotgun. The last thing that man saw was the hole in his chest before he slumped to the dusty floor with a thud. I stepped over his body and entered the house with my gun in front of me.

"Hello! If doc is here, say something!" I yelled, eyes scanning the dark. "Someone is going to die if you don't answer!"

"Why should I care," I voice said dully from my left. A thin man in glasses and regular clothes stepped forward, looking at me with empty eyes.

I frowned, not sure what to say. All I had left at this point was threats. "You should care because if he dies, you die too." I pointed my gun at him for emphasis.

"Makes no difference to me," he shrugged, moving to sit down on the steps. "I don't mind dying."

I stared at him for the longest time, trying to decide what to do to save a dying man when the threat you give doesn't work. "Well, then maybe you won't mind some pain too."

I aimed my weapon at his left knee cap and went to pull the trigger, but the man took me by surprise as he hopped up like lightning and backed up with raised hands, entire demeanor changed.

"Whoa! Just, whoa. Calm down," he said nervously, face now showing a spirited glow. "That usually works," he muttered to himself, scowling at me. "Fine! I'll help him. Just don't shoot me, good deal Miss Trigger Happy?"

"Were you acting just then?" I asked, bewildered. "You wanted to die!"

He gave me a flat look. "No one wants to die. Well, some do. But not me," he hummed in a clipped tone, dusting himself off in jerky movements. "Well, where's this dying man?"

I looked at him for a moment longer before turning on my heel and stalking from the house. "I'm assuming you're the doctor then?" I called over my shoulder.

"You would hope so, wouldn't you?" He replied with a light chuckle. It was creepy.

"You better be," I muttered as I yanked the back door open to reveal a bleeding and sweaty Jonathan.

The man stood there for a moment, eyes roaming over the situation. "Wow," he said after a minute, "this leather interior is impressive. Where did you get this car? People like you go to hospitals."

I guess the look of fiery rage I gave him wiped the idiot grin off his face as he looked back at the backseat. "Ah well, as for the body on the leather, I can fix it if you bring it inside."

"Are you even mentally stable?" I blurted, hesitating to pull Jonathan out just yet. I wasn't sure I wanted this crack job near him.

"Not according to my institution papers," he chirped, heading back to the house with his arms stuck straight out and leg bent like it was broken so that he dragged it. I think he was imitating a zombie. "But I've got the steadiest hand on the block!"

He reached the steps and fell to his knees dramatically, moaning and groaning like dead people do on TV, and proceeded to drag himself up them at a ridiculously slow pace. I watched for just a few seconds before I heaved half of Jonathan from the car and proceeded to haul him across the dirty driveway.

This could end so, so badly.