Die Trying

I remember that day perfectly. The gun shot still rings in my ears to this day - the ten year anniversary of my fiance's death. It seems that it doesn't matter anymore since the police gave up searching a long time ago. I'm the only one that never gave up.

Turning my gaze from the steering wheel, I force myself to stare at the small convenience store in front of me. It used to be owned by this nice Indian family. After the shooting though, I'm sure the mob bought it. But I guess I never really would have cared if Amy and I hadn't have had to go buy beer for a party her coworker was having.

I went to the ATM by the ice machines outside, while Amy went to the restroom. I didn't think about the man that went into the store before me. He was just another gangster wannabee that had to walk with his hand on his crotch to keep his pants up. That's what it had looked like from behind at least.

Amy swayed her hips as she hummed 'Paradise City' by Guns 'N' Roses in front of the beer refrigerator. She leaned into me when I wrapped my arms around her waist. I started to sing the lyrics in her ear.



The glass shattered as Amy reached out to open the door.

There was the guy, standing in front of the cash register, pointing a tiny little hand gun at anything that moved. The gun shots were deafening as I shoved Amy behind me, sandwiching her between the beer and my back, hoping that if we stayed silent, the gun wouldn't be pointed at us. I had never been so wrong in my entire life.

I rub the scar on my collarbone every time I think about that night. I'll never forget Amy's scream when the bullet hit my chest. I fell to the ground, my head hitting and knocking over a shelf of personal potato chip packages. Stars exploded my vision as I slowly lost consciousness. I was still awake when Amy joined me. I was still awake when the blood from her head mixed with mine.

Still stroking the scar, I pat the pocket of my jeans to make sure I had everything I needed. The doctor had said I was lucky. I didn't agree. The little balding man had said the bullet nicked a vein, and narrowly missed an artery. He had said some other medical terms, but I never could remember them. The doctor also said I was lucky that somebody had called '911' so fast; I had almost bled to death.

Is it sad that eighty-five percent of the time I wish I had?

It would be easy to just take the gun out of my pocket and end it now. But that would waste everything I've worked on for the past ten years. It wouldn't be worth it, especially since Amy would kill me if I ever saw her in the afterlife. She would probably kill me if she found out what I was doing now.

Three black SUVs with Mexican flags attached to the back seat windows parked on the other side of the store's parking lot. Latino men walk into the small building from the first two, a tiny girl making a few have some arm candy. He wasn't with them. The man I want to shoot a bullet at must be in the third vehicle.

I was going to have to wait for Carlos Gonzalez to get out of the car.

I realize that after tonight, I probably won't be alive. The detective that handled Amy's and my case had managed to get enough evidence on the crime to prosecute. See, Amy and I were involved in an armed robbery of the Mexican Mafia, specifically the Drug Cartel. I had never believed that anything like this would have happened to me before this, even if I lived on a small Texan city by the border.

Back then, Carlos was just a beginner; he was a fifteen-year-old kid that wanted to be like his father. The little group of five beginners, including Carlos, had safely smuggled in a shipment of cocaine across the American border. Their boss wanted to celebrate and see if Carlos had what it took. Carlos was sent to steal any and all forms of alcohol, every piece of money, and to kill all witnesses. The kid had even shot the security cameras and burned any evidence of his existence at the store before he left. He just forgot his gun, which was covered in his fingerprints, under the cash register.

Because I was "lucky", I had to go to trial and watch the boy who killed the love of my life and a bunch of other people receive a not-guilty verdict from the jury because the Mafia had either bribed or threatened each of the jurors. I to move six states away and cut off all ties with my loved ones by entering the witness protection program. There is no way in hell that I was lucky.

Finally, the doors to the last SUV open. Four men, all wearing expensive looking suits, get out of the car with cigars hanging from their filthy mouths. Carlos has worked his up in the span of ten years. Or at least that's what it looks like from the outside.

I silently creep out of my old truck after the guys had gone inside. I grab my extra handgun from the back, now having three, fully loaded fire arms on my person. The ice machines and ATM are no longer outside, so I crouch behind the newspaper stands and look into the barred glass windows.

All of the men, except the ones in suits, rolled up their sleeves to reveal a tattoo on their right shoulder, even the employee. The beer refrigerates were propped open with twelve packs of Bud light and I could feel the vibrations from blaring Latin music.

I try to point the gun at Carlos, but I can't get a clear shot. I only want to kill him, but in order to make an impact, I'd have to kill the leaders. The only problem, though, were the slutty little girls dancing around the men. Even though they disgusted me, they didn't deserve to die.

I didn't think. The bullet exploded from the barrel and skyrocketed into a random gang member's leg. I fired three more bullets into the air, this time hitting a leader in the chest, another leader in the stomach, and a gang member in the arm.

I dash around the corner of the store and stoop behind the dumpster. Even though the music was still blaring from the stereos, I could still hear the girls' screams and the guys yelling at each other in Spanish slang. Only one teenager crept around the corner. I switch handguns to one with a silencer.

The boy walks right past my hideout and peers around the corner. I want to feel bad for the kid - he obviously wasn't cut out for this - but I have a job to do. Blood pours out of his back before I could change my mind.

Stepping over the teen's body, I shoot the door knob to the back door and sneak inside the eerily silent store. Tiny fragments of glass cover the floor from the first bullets I'd shot and the ones the gang members had sent in any direction that led outside. One of the suited men stood by the door and if he would turn his head just a little to the right, he would see me.

I couldn't think of anything to do. If I shot the man, I could be killed before I could kill Carlos. There was no way for me to find out how many people were still in the store with out me moving, which could cause the man to see me.

Suddenly, the decision isn't so hard to make as I blink. I know that if I don't succeed today, I would die trying. Without a second thought I pull the trigger and drop to the floor. Deep voices scream as gang members surround the body. I shoot all five in the ass so they wouldn't die, just be wounded enough to not fight me.

That's when I see him. Carlos doesn't even cringe when I come forward. A flicker of remembrance flashes through his eyes. He pulls a rifle from behind the counter, but I shoot in his direction, making him drop the gun in surprise. Before he knew what hit him, I was jumping over the counter and jamming the butt of my gun into his nose.

Carlos falls to the floor, blood gushing from his nose. I kick his head and throw the rifle outside through the gaping hole where glass used to be. I aim my gun at his head, when a sharp pain engulfs my leg. The young Mexican slashes at my legs, bringing me down to his level to cut any part of my body he could reach. He wants to live just as much as I do.

Ignoring the searing pain, I begin to wrestle for the knife. I get the dagger pointed to the wall as I elbow the man in the neck. Carlos somehow manages to push me into the cigarette carton wall, making all the packets fall and a few of the shelves to crush my back. The knife lays on the floor just out of my reach. I try to catch my breath and grab it, but Carlos' foot kicks it away.

I pull myself into a sitting position and see a few other teens approaching to help their leader. Jerking a gun from my pocket, I fire countless bullets in the boys' direction. No one will get in my way.

Carlos has the knife clutched in his hand when I turn to face him. He lashes out at me, and I try to avoid each thrust. Blood continues to to pour from his nose. He curses in Spanish,

"How much longer are you going to keep this up?" The young Mexican spits blood over my chest. I knock the blade from his hand. "As long as it takes to get justice served to you."

Carlos grins sarcastically, "You don't want justice, you're out for revenge, gringo."

I snarl and smash his head into the ground. "You stole the one thing I cared about from me." I stomp on his chest, "You killed the only thing worth living for." I kick him in the thigh, narrowly missing his package. "You ruined my life and expect me to just let it go."

Carlos opens his mouth to say something, but a hole is lodged between his eyes before any words can come out. Adrenaline fades from my body as I crumple to the floor.

I just killed at least ten people - I only felt guilty about two. I should move, I should leave, but for some reason, I don't want to. I don't want to move even as I see a young gang member approach me with a handgun in his hand.

The kid glances at the body of Carlos, then at me. His eyes dart from me to the body to me again. He points the gun at me, but the bullet hits my thigh.

I don't feel the pain. Instead, I hear Amy's voice in my head. She's not saying any words, she' just singing random notes. I know that if she was alive, that she would of left me for doing this, but I'd rather fail than never really know what had happened to the man that ended her life.

I close my eyes and see Amy's face smiling down at me. She's the last thing I see before darkness overtakes me.