I Hear the Sirens in the Street

going,” I said.
    I couldn’t see her face now, but she whispered “Good luck.”
    I crawled through the living-room doorway but as soon as I opened the back door shotgun pellets thudded into the door and into the gap above my head.
    Fuck.
    The house was surrounded.
    I crawled back into the living room.
    “They’re there ahead of me. Is there any kind of cellar or cellar door or priest’s hole, or anything like that?” I asked her.
    “No. Nothing like that. A front door and a back door. That’s it.”
    “There’s no way out!” Harry shouted.
    I slithered to the broken window and looked out. Half a dozen shadowy forms arranged behind the stone wall. Maybe two more out back.
    “I called the cops, Harry! The fucking cavalry is on its way! You boys better run if you don’t want to go down with your boss!” I yelled.
    “We heard your conversation to 999 and we yanked the cable! Do you think we’re daft, Duffy?”
    “Fuck!” I whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
    “Come out and it’ll be quick, Duffy. No nonsense. No torture. We’ve got marksmen. You won’t even know it.”
    I was beat already and the whole night was ahead of us. Night and into the morning and however long Harry wanted to keep at it on his private land.
    The cars were still shining their headlamps at the farmyard and it was hard to see what was going on, but I did notice one careless fucker stand up to take a shot at the house. I lifted the .38 two-handed, carefully sighted it and squeezed the trigger. A crack, a slight recall, the man went down.
    “That’ll gentle his condition some, eh, Harry!” I yelled. “And that goes for all of you fuckers! Who wants it next? Just remember that when Harry tells you to charge the house!”
    “Peeler scum!” somebody shouted by way of retort.
    “You’re doing this for Harry? You’re going to risk your life so he can make some cash in a drug deal? And what do you get out of it! Nothing! Think about that, too, before you charge!”
    “We’ll be all right, you can’t watch both doors at once, can you, Duffy?” Harry yelled.
    It was a good point.
    Emma’s arm was on mine.
    She was looking at me.
    “He can’t, Harry! But together we can. I’ll cover the back with Martin’s shotgun and he can cover the front! The first man I see in my backyard is a dead man!” Emma yelled.
    I couldn’t make out all of her face in the dark but I could see that smile and the fact that she was holding a double-barrel shotgun.
    “You don’t have to do this, I’ll send you out under a white flag,” I whispered.
    “I’m staying here!” she said and kissed me on the cheek.
    Why the flip? Guilt? Resignation? Death wish? They were all good.
    A volley of gun shots smashed the windows and sent sparks flying across the floor.
    We hit the deck.
    “You better cover the back door. Don’t expose yourself. Keep low,” I whispered.
    She nodded and crawled towards the kitchen.
    I waited for whatever was going to happen next.
    No movement that I could shoot at.
    The rain was getting heavy and the sky was moonless, starless, black.
    Nothing happened for a minute. Two. Then I saw two arcsof fire and a Molotov cocktail landed on the thatched roof and another tumbled through the broken living-room window into the house, exploding in a sheet of crimson flame across the hardwood floor.
    I pulled a curtain off the wall and threw it over the conflagration. The curtain caught fire and I had to smother it with my body. It singed my face, fizzled for a moment and then went out.
    I knew now that it was all over. Of course, they would simply burn us out.
    Why would they charge the house when they could stand behind the wall and lob Molotovs at us?
    “Are you okay, Emma?” I yelled into the kitchen.
    “I’m okay, are you?” she shouted back.
    “I’m fine.”
    I crawled into the kitchen. “What are we going to do?” she whispered.
    I peered into the backyard. I could see bobbing lights beyond the fence. They were getting ready to fire another round of Molotovs.
    “They’re going to torch the place,” I said.
    “Oh, God! I’d rather be shot,” she said desperately.
    “Do you want me to parley with them? You still have a chance.”
    She shook her head. “No. No, it’s too late now. I’ve made my choice. I should never have … I’ve made my choice.”
    I kissed her tear-stained cheek.
    The men launched their Molotovs and I broke the kitchen window and shot at one of them as he threw. I missed him and both