Stand Off

Welcome to another installment of Brotin Tales. This is part two. You really don't want to read this before you read Otin's part. It will make very little sense, so head over to Otin and see the amazing job he did setting this piece of fiction rolling.
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All I ever wanted to do was prove that I was a man…and she robbed me of that. When they took us out of the house, we walked by the stain of what was left of my father, wondering what he thought now.

I can not imagine what you went through. That’s an awful lot process, can you give me a minute, the paper rim of the cup kisses my lips before realizing that even the coffee has grown cold in the shadow of the moment.

Do you think they will like my story? Martin drew a deep breath through his cigarette, exhaling smoke rings through the light of the window.

Martin, there is a way you can regain that opportunity…

Don’t start talking about making concessions! Everyone needs to hear my story, it could change people’s lives. Now you know what I am asking for, make it happen.

All I am saying is let’s give this story a happy ending, then everyone will like it.

You are just trying to beat me down like the rest of them. I will not lie. For once in my life I will take a stand. I am through giving in to bullies…

Martin, let me make a few calls…

No it’s too late for that…

Martin, you don’t want to…

Bang!

Slow and loud the gunshot rips through my ears, followed quickly by a cacophony of noise and a brilliant flash of light. Boots thud across the floor, voices loud, screaming, bodies moving, shuffling, a loud thwack as something soft and heavy hits the ground then silence…

Sir, target secure. One casualty, need medical assistance stat.

Help is on the way.

No hostages injured.

Absently the phone finds its cradle, though I don’t remember putting it there, later when my mind stops running a marathon. My feet seem to have a mind of their own, finding a path through the patrol cars and vehicles surrounding the bank, ignoring the rush of activity in the aftermath.

He did not try to steal anything, just wanted to show he was a man. The only life he took, his own, in the end.

Fingers tremble, trying to wipe the thoughts from eyes tired from hours of talking, staring at the broken windows, anticipating for resolution. Pausing at the rear of a van, I open the door, looking deep into the eyes that await my explanation.

I am sorry sir. I tried to save your son, but…

I will remember Martin’s father’s eyes in the darkest moments of sleepless nights and wonder just how much of Martin's story was true. No kid should ever feel they need to earn their fathers love and no man should ever hit their kid, even if they are the Chief of Police.

You did your best, his father’s smile leaves me standing in the afternoon sun, shivering.