Bang
Bang.
You see it all the time. You hear it. The sound a gun makes when it’s fired. It’s the sound you saw when Joe Chill gunned down Thomas and Martha Wayne. It’s what Nancy Sinatra sang, bang bang, you shot me down. It’s what little kids shout at each other when they run around with sticks, or their fingers, playing cops and robbers, heroes and villains, or whatever mildly inappropriate thing that politically correct parents say their children never do but their children always do.
Bang.
Somehow it just doesn’t live up to the reality. Bang, such a short, precise word for such a powerful action. That hammer hitting the cap, the sound of the gunpowder exploding, the force of the bullet leaving the chamber, going down the barrel, finally exiting and hitting whatever it was pointed at.
Bang.
They don’t tell you about anything else. About how you get to the point where you hear the bang. At least if you aren’t in the military, a criminal, or a cop. They don’t tell you about the cold sweats, lonely nights, and the longing. They don’t tell you about any of it.
Bang.
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I scanned my badge at the door, the electronic pad beeping and the lock on the door clicking to let me in. I clipped it to the collar of my jacket and headed in, ready to start my work day. I walked down the hallway, nodding at Steve as we crossed paths. Steve worked up in design, a graphic jockey, as slick a customer as there was. We didn’t talk much. Design and security didn’t mingle much. Wasn’t much cause for it. Those in my particular branch of security were actively discouraged in fact.
I walked up to the desk at the end of the entrance hallway. Donna was sitting behind it. You weren’t supposed to call them secretaries anymore, executive assistants or something like that, but Donna didn’t stand for that. In her mid fifties, grey hair, horn rimmed glasses on a chain worn completely non-ironically, she’d spent more than her fair share of time in the secretary business. Sorry, executive assistant business. You know what, fuck it, she likes being called a secretary so we’ll call her a secretary.
She looked up and smiled brightly at me. Donna had a smile for everyone, even those of us working out of the dark corners of security.
“Hey Joel!” she said, apparently happy to see me, “How’s that beautiful wife?”
I smiled, I’d brought Emily to the last company Christmas party. She’d been the belle of the ball, making friends and charming everyone. It came naturally to her. Of course Donna loved her, everybody loved her, especially myself.
“She’s doing well,” I responded, “How’s the son?”
She sighed and shook her head.
“Hell if I know,” she said, a little sad, “Haven’t heard from him in a few weeks. Doesn’t update his Facebook or Twitter. It’s like he dropped off the face of the Earth.”
“Sorry to hear that,” I said, then nodded in the direction of the security office, “Anything I need to know today?”
Emily shook her head.
“No, not that I’m aware of,” she said, “But then when do you guys ever tell me anything.”
“True,” I said, a small grin on my face, “Can’t lose that mystique you know.”
Donna shook her head, smiling and shooing me away. I walked away from her desk and towards the security office. I pushed the door open and stepped in.
“Joel,” my boss, Kevin, said, “Good, you’re here. We’ve got a potential security threat. Step into the conference room, and we’ll get started.”
So Donna was wrong. Not that I blamed her, she was right, we never do tell them anything.
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I popped the clip out of the pistol in my hand, checking the contents. Still had some rounds in the cartridge. I put it back in, then checked my pockets. Two clips left. I looked behind me at the two bodies on the ground. I shook my head, this definitely wasn’t an average day at the office. Still, it might turn out to be a good one. I flashed to that night and clenched my teeth. Yes, this might be a good day indeed.
I looked over at Kevin, who was pressed against the wall, his hand on his side. One of the assholes had managed to tag him. He looked at me and nodded. I nodded back. Turning to face forward I pushed it open.
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“James Scofield,” Kevin started, flashing a picture up on the screen.
We were all seated around the table in the conference room, looking at the large LCD television hanging from the wall.
“I believe you’re all familiar with him,” Kevin continued, clicking the remote in his hand, flashing to another picture of James on a phone.
Everyone around the table nodded.
“What’s he done now boss,” Jose asked, “Why we gotta worry about him?”
“He knows about the prototype,” Kevin answered, “And he says he can get his hands on it and onto the open market.”
“Bullshit,” Rocky said, “No way he gets it. What’s he think he’s got?”
Kevin pushed the remote again. This time he got a few seconds of silence.
“Fuck,” Rocky said, speaking all of our minds.
This time it was a picture of James and Cal Smith, the wayward son of Donna Smith, our secretary.
“Yeah, our thoughts exactly,” Kevin said, “Hence the threat.”
“Does Donna know?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“No,” Kevin said, shaking his head, “At least we don’t think so. But we can’t take that risk.”
I nodded.
“Of course.”
“Anyway, security is up, obviously, be on the lookout for anything strange. And if Cal reaches out we need to know.”
“Got it boss,” Jose said.
“On it,” Rocky responded.
The pair of them got up and the left the room. Kevin looked at me and sighed.
“I don’t have to tell you this could be potentially very bad,” Kevin said, “Cal has information on most of the company. Donna’s not exactly the most subtle person in the world.”
I nodded.
“Contingencies?”
“We stay armed in the building. Outside of it too. Be aware of your surroundings Joel, don’t let this fuck us.”
“Of course, got it boss.”
Then I stood up and left the room.
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They hadn’t gotten far. They were stuck at the desk. And there he was, standing over Donna, a crazy look on his face. She had a look of fear, confusion, and betrayal. Her eyeliner was running down her face as she choked back sobs. Then she looked up at me, going silent. Then he looked at me and flashed a grin.
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he cops were at my house when I got home. The yellow caution tape was up already. A uniformed officer was keeping the crowd of gawkers and reporters back. He stopped me when I approached.
“Sorry sir, can’t cross,” he told me, very seriously and very professionally.
“That’s my house,” I said, somewhat dazed and very scared.
The uniform nodded and waved for one of the plainclothes detectives. I didn’t see Emily. I was distracted by that fact as he talked to me. Talking about how it looked like a burglary. How it was unfortunate that apparently Emily was home. Then something about identification.
He took me inside and there she was, lying on the floor. Her dress was torn, her fingernails bloody, and bruises formed on her face. Then there was the bullet hole in her forehead. I verified that that was my wife, my Emily. Something broke then. The detective mentioned the safe, that it was broken into.
My spare badge was in the safe. My hands tightened into fists as I realized what this was about.
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He grinned and it all came flooding back; other smiles and touches, late night and early mornings, dances and dinners, laughs and sobs. It all came back and there was no hesitation. My hand came up, bringing the gun with it. Aim down the sights, breathe, squeeze the trigger.
Bang.
No one ever really prepares you for it, and I don’t know if anyone can ever truly be prepared for it.
Bang.
That sound, that dominating, all encompassing sound.
Bang.
Such a small word for such a big action. The answer to the lone nights and nightmares. The answer to the times I reached over and Emily wasn’t there anymore. Vengeance.
Death. The death of a son, the death of a person, the death of hopes, dreams, everything. Donna would morn because of that one little word. That one sound. That one action.
Bang.
I shot him down.
