Chronicle 40

“It’s me.” John Brick said dryly into the cracked doorway.

“I see the hair, the guns…but you’re a brick.”

“Elan, it’s me. Remember Morocco?”

“Anyone can mention Morocco.” Elan accused.

“Would anyone know about your no-no zone?”

“Get in.” Elan looked around to see if the brick was followed and shut the door. “Why didn’t you wait until it was darker?”

“I’m a brick. And that information is exclusive to two people; you and me.”

“I’d follow a brick.”

“You’d follow anything.”

“No, John. Not anything. Not after Morocco.”

“Thought you forgave me.” John wobbled through the home all brick-like.

Elan lifted a dusty bottle from behind his bar and poured a tall glass of whiskey for himself. He put the bottle back before thinking to ask, “You don’t drink, I assume.” John shifted side to side and Elan wondered aloud. “Aren’t there other people above me on your list of trusted allies?”

“There’s no list.” John stopped in the living room and flipped up onto the couch, seemingly in slow-motion. Elan stared incredulously, moving at a normal speed around the flashy movement.

“Same old John.” he laughed at the brick’s action moves, sitting across from his old blocky pal. The two shared a silence for a few minutes.

“I’ll be gone by the morning. Just didn’t know where else to go.” John confessed.

“You can stay as long as you need. The boys will be home soon, I’m sure they’ll get a kick out of this.”

“Out of what?”

“A talking brick.”

“How are they? They adjusting okay?” John asked delicately.

“It’s been over ten years, John. They just want me to start dating already.”

“That long…” John held a deep silence, ruminating on the time - all the missions, all the targets he’d eliminated in that time. “I’m looking forward to seeing them. Last time I saw the twins, they were my height.”

“Ah, the good old days.” Elan chuckled.

“You still… working?”

“Not in a long time.” he answered sheepishly, his words steeped in the stink of half-truth.

“Good.” Another silence fell on the living room. “You didn’t ask how I got this way.”

“Save it for the kids. I’m just glad to see you.” Elan admitted.

The conversation fizzled and John had been travelling for days before reaching Elan’s home in suburban Big City. Even as a block of hardened clay, exhaustion was a factor. He went to one of the guest rooms and crashed, postponing a reunion for the morning.

As light began to enter his room, John was already doing brick-ups to stay in shape. He knew Elan to be an early riser as well as a coffee addict. Not hearing the coffee pot paired with the lack of a scent of it in the air gave John all the information he needed to deduce something was awry. Pistols at the ready, he stealthily made his way out of the guest room.

Coming around the corner of the living room, he saw two men in all black carrying out the twins, who were still sleeping. Before shooting, he checked the mirror on the bar to see three other men standing in the kitchen, all with assault rifles in hand, looking down through ski masks. John went to the other side of the wall, attaching a silencer to each pistol before unloading three rounds through the drywall to drop each of the intruders. He checked around the corner again and then made his way to see that Elan was bloodied, laid out on the tile floor. John closed his eye lids, upsetting himself when he noticed that he left red dust on his face inadvertently.

Off to save his late friend’s children, John shuffled outside and shoved away a stone lining the pavement up to the door. One of the armed men turned around once they loaded the car, looking for his comrades. John took the place of the stone he moved, and waited for him to return.

“Alpha’s down, we need to move.” John heard on a radio.

As the man dressed in black stepped out of the door, John flipped over onto the pavement and tripped him. Confused, he shot his rifle wildly. The brick flipped in slow motion up onto the man’s neck, pinning him with the weight of a grown man. John endured a couple of bashes with the back of the rifle, which felt like rib shots to him.

“Why?” John asked the man, pistols aimed below his jaw up towards his brain.

“I know that voice.” the man’s voice shook. With his hand on his radio, he sent a final message, “Go. Thick’s back.”

As soon as the message was heard, a car door slammed and the engine started. John let the man live for a moment as he committed to memory the all-black SUV with the twins, license plate ‘PUFFT’.

“Where’s he taking them?” John asked, a menacing calm about him.

“What happened to you?” The man ignored the question and received a quadruple pistol whip for it.

“Where.” he repeated, not a question this time, but a command.

“To hell, John.” The man resigned to his fate.

John Brick fired off two shots into the man’s skull and flipped onto the floor. Within the pockets of the deceased, John found only an extra magazine and a couple coins. The car alone wouldn’t be much of a lead, he thought. The resources and network he used to have access to were no longer an option. He needed something. For Elan.

Then he realized Elan must have done something to provoke the attack. He went inside and shoved bodies from on top of Elan’s so he could search his old friend’s pockets. Though there was nothing of use for saving the boys, he took a picture of them from the wallet. In Elan’s office, John slammed against the keyboard until an email came up. A meeting place had been set for a couple nights prior. Judging by later emails, Elan didn’t show up.

John knew exactly where he was going and what it entailed. The Big City docks, home of criminal enterprise, the only place in the city even the police weren’t safe. He took a last look at Elan and if he were a man, he would’ve mouthed an apology. But he was just a brick.