Milwaukee Deep

“Why can’t you just say something? You can’t just sit there all night and not talk to me,” Michael said softly as he looked across the room to his wife.

Kelly briefly looked up at her husband. The instant their eyes locked she lowered her head.

“You know I never meant for this to happen, don’t you?” Michael continued, “so please, I just want to talk about it.”

Kelly again found the courage to look up.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, her eyes welling with tears, “You’ve been gone for eighteen years. We all thought you were dead – I thought you were dead. I buried you, for God’s sake!”

“And you think that I wanted that? That I wanted you to feel that pain?”

Kelly shook her head.

“I don’t know what you want from me. You turn up on my doorstep after all these years and tell me that you’re back and that’s it! - What? - I’m supposed to say hallelujah, my husband’s home!”

Michael didn’t respond. He kept his head down, staring at his shoes.

“Jesus, you can’t even tell me where you’ve been for the past eighteen years! How do I know there isn’t another wife and child or children somewhere that you’ve now forgotten about, just as you forget about me for 18 years.”

Kelly burst into tears - the pressure to contain her emotions finally giving way to the shock and anger.

“I told you, I can’t remember. Damn it why can’t you see it from my side! I don’t know what happened to me – all I can remember is talking to you on the phone.”

Kelly didn’t respond.

“The next thing I know, I wake up on a beach in Florida of all places and now I’m here in a tiny apartment in Harrison, New Jersey, talking to a woman who yesterday was my loving wife.”

The silence slowly filled the room, like unseen smoke, until it almost choked the couple who long ago had been husband and wife, as they both struggled with the question, where to from here?

Kelly reached for a tissue by the coffee table on her right and wiped away her tears. She kept her head down, willing herself not to look up at the man she buried more than a decade ago. Finally, Michael spoke …

“Do you remember we had a little girl,” Michael began to cry, “she was the most beautiful little thing I had ever seen,” - the pain rising as he spoke of his Marianna - “now she’s gone – I’ve missed her entire life.”

Kelly wept as her husband remembered his little girl – she could sense his pain and it only made it harder for her.

Michael buried his head in his hands – it had finally got to him.

Both sat there in their own sorrow oblivious to the world beyond the apartment. The knock at the door was firm but not so loud as to raise concerns.

Kelly got up to answer, a glance at her watch to reaffirm how late it was.

Michael sat still in his chair.

Kelly approached the front door and looked through the peep hole - she saw two men in suits standing in the hallway.

“Can I help you?” she called out through the door. Even men in suits gave her cause for suspicion.

“Ma’am, FBI – just need to talk to your husband for a moment.”

Kelly again looked through the peephole – the taller of the two men standing there with his identification out in front of him.

Michael heard the word ‘FBI’ and stood up. He started towards his wife.

Kelly opened the door….

“What’s this all abo-“

A mist of blood filled the room as three bullets exited from Kelly’s back – three silent shots fired into her chest.

Immediately the two men entered the apartment, walking over the slumped body of Kelly Burton. The first came into view, his face covered by a white surgical mask.

Instincts took over...Michael ran…

He dashed through the doorway next to him into the tiny kitchen adjacent to the living room and headed for the window and the fire escape that sat outside. As he placed his leg through the window, his other in the sink, his attacker entered the doorway to the kitchen. Without thinking Michael grabbed the first thing he could get hold of, a large glass that sat dirty in the sink, and threw it hard at his assailant, hitting him in the chest. As the glass shattered by the gunman’s feet, Michael leapt out onto the fire escape. Seconds ticked by as he began his descent down the metal scaffolding, adrenalin pumping, thoughts muddled as the realisation of the death of his wife conflicted with the fear for his own life.

As he glanced up, he saw the gunman stick his head out of the window and fire, the bullet just missed him and ricocheted off the rung he was about to step on.

“SHIT!”

Michael looked at the parked cars below and again up as his would-be assassin stepped onto the metal platform outside his late wife’s apartment. For a second both men paused as they looked into each other’s faces, the emotionless plastic mask of the pursuer and the mix of panic, fear and confusion on Michael’s face. The interlude was broken by a shot from above – the second gunman firing from the kitchen window - this time the bullet ripping through Michael’s shoulder-blade.

The force of the blow pushed Michael onto his weak leg.

What felt like hours only lasted micro-seconds as Michael’s weight pushed him over the railing. With his eyes tightly shut he felt the ground approaching fast as his body slammed into the roof of the car.

The seconds ticked by…the two men above watched as their quarry did not move.

“Call in the crew,” Cheapers looked over to his partner, “tell them to pick up the body by the alley behind the building.”

“Hold on!” Karidis called out, “Look!”

Michael began to move slightly – his head, neck and shoulder ached as he lifted himself up onto his side. He threw his body off the vehicle, landing in a puddle of filthy water and scampered down the alley as fast as his wounded frame allowed.

Both agents leant over the fire escape railing and began firing at their target…

Keeping as close to the apartment building as possible, using it to shield himself from the bullets, Michael stumbled down the alley, trying desperately to get as far away as he could from his assailants.

“He’s coming up around the back,” called out Cheapers into his receiver, “Get him as he enters Essex Street!”

Michael saw the street ahead…

“I don’t see him…I don’t see him – where is he?!” came through the call in Agent Cheapston’s ear pierce

“Get off Bergen Street, you fucking idiot and get onto Essex NOW!”

As Michael ran out into the street he was immediately blinded by a set of headlights.

He froze.

The taxi came to a screeching halt inches from where Michael stood.

“Are you fucking nuts – are you trying to get yourself killed!” yelled the cab driver as he jumped out of his car.

Michael immediately turned around and rushed over to the driver.

“What th-?!”

Before he knew it, the cab driver found himself on the bitumen as Michael grabbed him by the collar and threw him violently to the ground…

“You son of a bitch!” he yelled and watched as his yellow cab speed off down the road.