Historias

The Gateway contact

Warning: gun violence and swearing.

There I stood, bored off my mind, pretending to read a newspaper while leaning against a pole at the Gateway transit center in Portland, Oregon. If someone had told me a few years ago that I would be able to go undercover on a mission by the time I was twenty-six, I would've been ecstatic. However, as I stared now at the same three lines in the dull article in my hands, I wished I could be anywhere in the world but here. My lose hair flapped in the wind, getting in my face and breaking my train of thought.

Right, back to the task at hand. As the train pulled up to the station, I took the picture I had been given at the debriefing out of my coat pocket. A bald, burly man with an impressively psychotic look in his eyes stared back at me from the mugshot. Jordan Russo was not your average American criminal. Committed to a seven-year sentence for an arson involving one victim, Russo had been released on probation after his incarceration only to fall off the grid a mere year later. Now, three years after his release, he had surfaced as a member of the local gang.

My eyes scanned the platform, searching for my "contact", as the chief had put it. With no bald heads in sight, my gaze landed on my other undercover partners, two of who were standing in opposite ends of the station pretending to be on their phones. After seeing Mikael and Madison, I peered around for Luka, my best friend, but he was nowhere to be found.

Just as the crowd began to disperse, I noticed Jordan was walking towards me with a briefcase in hand. Original, right? I separated my back from the pole, standing tall a few inches below him.

"Mornin'," Russo said with a strong New York accent, "do you have the dough?" Dear God, this guy could not get any more stereotypical if he tried! Had he gotten his lines from a shitty crime movie? Damn did I need a holiday, these crappy criminals were getting on my nerves way too often lately.

I nodded silently, putting my hand inside of my coat and pulling out my gun. "Jordan Russo you're under arrest for drug trafficking and distribution. You have the right to remain silent, anything-" The sound of a gunshot cut me off, scattering the already alarmed bystanders that were now in a frenzy.

As another bullet ricocheted off of the station's floor, Russo took off towards one of my coworkers, Luka. I watched in slow motion as the dealer pulled out a gown of his own, shooting my friend on the right shoulder and then scrambling away. Luka grunted in pain and fell back on the bench he had been sitting on, grasping his wound.

Suddenly, everything went back to its normal pace, and I went after Russo, screaming for him to freeze and drop the gun. I could feel bullets pelting the pavement behind me from the clinic's roof. Huh, so it was a sniper who had taken the first shot. That probably meant that they had known the whole purpose of the meeting from the beginning. Well fuck.

Russo made a sharp turn, running towards the clinic. Before he could take another step in that direction, one of my coworkers tackled the escapee to the ground. I sighed in relief, halting to a stop a mere foot away.

Another shot rang out unexpectedly, startling us all and hitting Jordan Russo right in the forehead. A deafening silence took place for a second, as his body hit the ground and stared up at us from a pool of his own blood. A bullet shaped hole that looked morbidly like a third eye sat right between his eyes an inch over his nose. Mikael and I stared at each other quietly, when we saw Madison, my fourth coworker, sprint towards the ladder on the side of the clinic wall, probably left there by the cleaning service or the sniper himself.

As she started to climb up, another shot rang through the air, grazing her arm and making her fall the six feet she had climbed. Mikael and I scrambled to action, pulling out our guns once more and running for Madison. As he aimed for the sniper and shot the weapon off of his hands, we heard one last discharge.

Everything goes numb as I put a hand to my abdomen. Red liquid coats my fingers and it takes a second for me to realize what is happening. My knees hit the pavement, jostling the wound and making me cry out in pain. Mikael pushes me until I am lying on my back and puts pressure on the bullet with his jacket. I whimper, unable to pronounce a single one of the profanities forming in my mind. I stare at my stomach, watching the blood pool around me. The fast pace of my heart makes me bleed out faster, and I try to calm my breathing, but the unfathomable pain makes it stutter and speed up again. Mikael shushes me, before pressing his jacket again and making me gasp.

The edges of my vision begin to blur, and I think of my sister and niece, waiting for me to come home for our monthly dinner. I think of my parents, expecting me for Thanksgiving dinner in a few weeks. I blink away my tears, fighting for consciousness. Something pulls within me, like I'm trying to reach the shore, but the tide keeps dragging me back.

Suddenly, I can't feel the pain anymore. I hear muffled screams; someone is calling my name. Sirens wail faintly in the distance. My eyes slip shut, and I struggle to open them back up; black engulfs my vision. Luka appears in front of me from thin air, his arm stretched out for me to grab. A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth as I take his hand, letting him pull me up and towards him.