Risk

Shock

When George arrived in the taxi, the whole end of the street was full of police cruisers and ambulances. He paid the driver and got out of the car. He looked around amongst all the confusion. Martin was nowhere to be seen. Please, not the ambulances. He walked towards the nearer of the two, but he was stopped by a cop before he could see inside.

“Hey, you can’t go back there.”

“I’m looking for my friend, Martin.”

“There’s been a couple of shootings. I’m sure your friend wouldn’t have stuck around.”

“Can you please check? I’m worried that he might have been one of the ones shot. His name is Martin Porchnik.”

“Okay, wait here.”

The cop wandered off, presumably in search of a supervisor. George looked over at the place they had parked only two nights ago, when all this had started. So fucking stupid! He should’ve known better than to take such risks, given his own situation. Which was what made it so strange. It was hard to believe so much had happened in a few days.

After a few more minutes, the cop returned.

“Yeah, I found your buddy Martin. C’mon. He’s over here in an ambulance.”

“Jesus! Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. Just a little shook up. They’re just questioning him now.”

George followed him across the street and into the parking lot in front of number 50, where the ambulance had it’s doors open, and Martin was sitting on the tailgate with a blanket over his shoulders, talking to an older, broad-shouldered cop with an open notebook.

“Marty, how’re you doing?”

“George, what are you doing here?”

“I came as soon as you called.”

“Who are you, sir?” asked the cop.

“I’m the guy who called 911 after my friend, here, phoned me.”

He frowned and looked at his notebook.

“We'll need a statement from you, also, sir.”

“Yeah, no problem. How is he doing?”

“Your friend has answered most of our questions, but I’ll ask you a few questions as well. I’ll be back in a moment.” He looked gravely at the two of them and then walked away towards the factory doors.

“You okay, Marty?”

“I feel like shit, actually.”

“Did they get the two goons?”

“One shot dead, the other arrested.” Martin briefly relayed the events of the evening to him in a deadpan voice. He looked like he had just woken up from a deep sleep, his hair all rumpled and his black tracksuit looking much like pajamas. He had a swipe of dirt up one side of his face.

“Wow! At least they got the guys. And they have you to thank for that.”

Martin hung his head. “No, nobody should thank me for anything. I really screwed things up. That poor security guard guy. He’s dead.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?” said Martin, looking up at him. “I could’ve gone to the police. He’d still be alive if I did that.”

“You couldn’t have known how things would turn out.”

“It’s my fault. My stupidity led to this.”