A Morning Smoke
John Southcross
A Morning Smoke
John Southcross
Copyright 2015 by John Southcross
ISBN: 9781311275776
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A MORNING SMOKE
by John Southcross
“Hey, Jose,” shouted Todd, pronouncing the name as Ho-Zay. “Make me a chimichanga.”
Todd chuckled but Edgar remained quiet, both men leaning against the delivery truck’s ramp. Jose continued unpacking the truck parked outside the delivery area of Smokestack 7, towering along the eastern edge of Manhattan. Jose wished evil things upon the men who were just visible over the box in his arms.
“Why don’t you help me instead of making jokes?” Jose said, letting the box he was carrying drop to the concrete floor. The sound of it slapping the floor echoed in the covered loading area.
Edgar stomped out a cigarette, back-handed Todd on the shoulder and said, “C’mon, man.”
“Screw that wetback,” Todd said.
Edgar and Jose unloaded the delivery truck while Todd wheeled out gas cylinders on a dolly.
While Jose and Edgar tossed the boxes of marijuana into the unlit burn chamber, Todd hooked up the tanks of sulfur hexafluoride (SF6) to hoses sticking out of the gas panel. To maintain compliance with 5 USC 420, all the guys had to do was put the weed and the SF6 gas together and push a button. The complex system between the incinerator and the top of the smokestack did the hard work, combining the two substances which resulted in smoke that was heavier than air. The smoke, loaded with THC, would rise for a moment out of the smokestack and then fall to the surface, creating a twelve-foot thick layer of fog that would give anyone not wearing a gasmask a feeling of satisfaction and relaxation with a side of increased hunger.
This was what America wanted and voted for.
When they were finished loading the 75 boxes of weed into the burn chamber, Edgar leaned against the wall and lit a Marlboro cigarette. Jose closed the metal door of the burn chamber and muscled the heavy lever on the door downward, sealing the chamber shut.
Todd said, “If you wait ten minutes you can breathe in better smoke.”
“Yeah, but I don’t wanna swim in that shit.” Edgar took another hit of tobacco smoke and just stood there, looking at something off in the distance.
Todd was going to ask him what was wrong but he already knew. Edgar had once been a NYPD officer. One use of force violation had cost him his job. Now he was a smokestack technician. A 420 Tech, as they were known.
Edgar considered it a fall from grace.
When Todd was done hooking up the the SF6 tanks, he stood up and looked at his watch. “Five minutes until go time.”
Edgar and Todd turned towards a clunk sound coming from the truck. Jose was standing behind the driver’s side door for a moment and then walked towards the front of the truck, lifting the hood.
Todd said, “What the hell are you doing, Ho-Say?!”
“Problem with engine,” Jose replied.
“What problem?”
“Making strange sound. Come see.”
“That freakin’ little idiot,” Todd said to Edgar. “Let’s see what he did.”
Todd stormed off towards the truck while Edgar stayed behind for a few seconds, sucking the last bit of smoke out of his cigarette before flicking it away from him. He followed Todd.
Jose was arms deep into the front of the engine. Todd rounded the front of the truck. “What did you do, dumbass? You screw up the radiator or what?”
“Not really,” Jose said, pulling out a black pistol from a hidden compartment near the radiator. The pistol had a five-inch suppressor on the end of the barrel. He pulled the trigger twice.
CLACK
CLACK
The shots hit Todd in the neck and left eye.
While Todd collapsed Jose swung the pistol towards Edgar who was further away and faster than Jose was expecting him to be. Jose fired twice at Edgar but missed while Edgar ran across Jose’s line of sight, using the delivery truck for cover.
Edgar was behind the truck not sure if he should continue running around it, wondering if Jose would run into him on the other side and shoot him between the eyes. Edgar peeked under the truck to see where the killer was but Jose was already peeking underneath the truck himself.
A bullet caught Edgar in the ankle. He hopped backwards twice and fell onto his back. Blood ran between his fingers as he grasped the wound. “Aaaaah…you bastard!”
Jose ran to Edgar and pointed the pistol at him.
Edgar grunted, “Wait…wait…why are you doing this? I treated you okay….for the most part.”
Jose didn’t lower the pistol. Edgar was staring straight into the barrel.
“You’re right. I won’t let a bullet kill you,” Jose said.
By then another truck was approaching. It was a red pickup and it stopped beside the delivery truck.
Two men stepped out. While one went to the back of the pickup, the other walked up to Edgar. “Finish him.”
“No. It’s okay. He’ll meet his end soon enough.”
“No, man. Don’t do this,” Edgar pleaded.
Edgar watched the other man and his partner roll out a large gas cylinder on a dolly. The tank was twelve inches in diameter and about five feet high. They placed it next to the smaller tanks of SF6 and went back to the pickup.
“What the hell’s that, Jose?” Edgar sensed something sinister going on. There was more to all this than a shooting.
“Does it matter to know? You’re going to die anyway.”
There was so much blood on Edgar’s hands but it wasn’t spurting. Can’t be fatal but damn it hurts. “I want to know what’s coming.”
“You want to know what is coming? Okay, I will tell you. What is coming is the end for the infidels.”
“Infidels? Wha…what are you talking about? You’re freakin’ Mexican.”
Jose laughed hard. “You moron. My real name is Aadil. I am not from Mexico. I am from Saudi Arabia.”
Edgar breathed hard, fighting to stay conscious. “What are you? Al-Qaeda? ISIS?”
“I’m Muslim and you’re not. That’s all that matters,” Aadil said.
Edgar saw the two other men wheeling a second tank and standing it up next to the first.
“Those tanks contain VX,” Aadil said, smiling. “You know what that is?”
“It’s a nerve agent.”
“You Americans are so easy to kill with all your rights and freedoms. Your freedom is your downfall.”
The men screwed the hoses to the VX tanks.
One of the men went back to the pickup, the other approached Aadil. “Quickly. We need to put on our bio suits.”
“I will be there soon. Get in the truck.”
The man joined his partner and began donning their dark green bio suits. Edgar could only see their lower legs and feet since they were parked on the other side of the delivery truck.
Other side... They can’t see me.
“It is time, Edgar.”
“I know.”
Edgar threw a handful of dirt at Aadil’s face and rolled to the side.
CLACK
CLACK
CLACK
Bullets splashed dirt around Edgar.
Rolling up onto his one good leg, Edgar rushed Aadil. He grabbed Aadil’s wrist, keeping the gun pointed away at him, and then punched Aadil in the throat.
With the gun silenced and Aadil�
s trachea crushed, the men in the truck continued to wait for Aadil, not hearing the struggle.
Edgar knocked Aadil down and straddled him, never releasing the grip he had on his wrist.
Aadil fired the pistol three more times but Edgar was able to duck and push the manâs wrist away from him. Edgar punched Aadil in the face repeatedly and then pulled the gun away. Once in his hands, Edgar pushed himself up off of Aadilâs chest and stood up awkwardly. With most of his weight on his good leg, Edgar aimed and fired, the bullet striking Aadil in the forehead.
Aadil arched his back, almost unnaturally before rolling onto his side and ending up face down in the dirt. Within seconds he was no longer breathing.
Edgar looked at the smokestackâs control panel a few yards away and could see the green start light was still not illuminated.
Still not too late.
The pickup truckâs door opened and Edgar prayed he still had ammo in the pistol. He was already aiming when the man cleared the back of the delivery truck. Edgar shot him once in the chest. The man staggered backwards, looking like a dying alien astronaut, and fell behind the delivery truck.
Edgar tried to put weight on the other leg and grimaced. He looked at the pistol. The slide wasnât locked back. That meant there was at least one more round left.
The other door to the pickup opened and the beat of crunching gravel and dirt grew louder and louder.
âArish!â the third man yelled.
Leaning back against the side of the delivery truck, Edgar aimed towards the rear corner, expecting the third man to walk out into the open.
But there were no more steps he could hear.
Shit. It took great effort to quiet his rapid breathing.
And then the steps came closer again until the man appeared around the edge of the truck
Edgar pulled the trigger and hit the man in the left shoulder.
The man yelled and hid behind the truck for a moment before running away a short distance, or at least thatâs what it sounded like.
Looking down the pistol, Edgar could see the slide wasnât locked back. Another round left, but how many? He pulled the weapon close to him and released the magazine. Only one more round in the ammo clip. That plus the one in the chamberâtwo bullets to finish this.
An overwhelming feeling of tiredness struck him. Either an adrenaline crash or Iâm bleeding out.
He could hear the man was on the move but where to?
Edgar moved away from the truck and looked towards the smokestack, pistol pointed out in front of him.
Clutching his shoulder, the other man half walked, half ran towards the control panel.
Oh shitâ¦no, no, no⦠Edgar took aim, tried to control his breathing. It was a ten yard shot and the distance was growing.
Sight alignment, trigger control he repeated over and over untilâ¦
CLACK
The man grabbed the back of his leg, stumbled, but continued limping onward.
Edgar took a deep breath, repeated his mantra and squeezed the trigger.
CLACK
The man collapsed to the ground. The bullet mustâve severed his spine because he continued to pull himself forward with his arms.
âDammit!â Edgar said, seeing the pistolâs slide had locked to the rear.
The man was gaining ground on the control panel, now only a few feet from it. All he had to do was push the green START button to set the plan of death in motion.
Edgar hobbled over to him, clenching his teeth, and when he reached the man, he sat on his back and bludgeoned him repeatedly with the pistol, the heavy, steel suppressor crushing the manâs skull.
Edgar, out of breath and energy, collapsed and rolled off the man. He lay on his back for a few moments, looking up at the heavens while his breathing and his heartbeat slowed down.
When the sense of danger began to subside, he turned his head and looked at the other tall smokestacks, all lined up for a couple of miles. They began to churn out their daily dose of feel-good fog for the citizens of Manhattan, just like hundreds of other smokestacks in other areas of the country.
This time he couldnât help but notice something different about the billowing smoke as it rose and then slowly fell against the orange, morning sky.
