Round 10 Challenge: Kill off one of your characters.
Word limit: 1200 words
Jamieson pulled the car off the road three blocks back from the SUV. The place gave him the creeps. If he’d ever questioned the morality of his job it was answered tonight. Anyone who chose to birth in a place like this deserved to be in prison and their baby taken from them. He relished the idea of putting hand cuffs on the both the women and pulling them all out in the blaze of kreig lights set up by the news crews. For now though, everything was quiet and still.
“Colbert and Kravin checking in. We’ve got a visual on the SUV.”
Booth pointed on the screen to the blip of the back up car just off the main road and directly to the side of the SUV.
“We got a fix on you.”
“What now Jamieson?”
“We wait. We do this as per normal protocol.”
Booth reached into the back seat to retrieve the thermos his wife packed as he’d changed back into his work clothes.
“White with two?”
Jamieson nodded taking the stainless steel mug from Booth and blowing gently into it, before taking a sip. Booth’s wife made the best coffee. It was one of the things which got him through the long hours of a birth stake out.
“She’s on the move … getting out the car …going around the back.”
Jamieson expected this – she’d grab her gear and then disappear into a nearby building. He’d send Colbert and Kravin in to check out the lay of the building while he enjoyed the coffee. The temperature in the car had already dropped ten degrees.
Booth took out his binoculars, flicking them into night vision mode.
“She’s taking her time.”
Rather than standing the suitcase on the road, she’d put it in the back seat. Jamieson swapped the coffee for the binoculars.
“Do you think this is the final stop?” asked Colbert. Jamieson adjusted the focus, watching her get back into the front seat.
“It would normally be, but this is no ordinary assignment.”
“Maybe she’s too scared to leave her kit out,” said Booth. “Maybe she’s lost?”
“Why get out and get her kit. This has got to be the place.”
“How’d she look when she got out Colbert?”
“Vigilant but hell, you seen this place. I wouldn’t be getting out the car unless I had to.”
“I’d get over it. You’ll be getting out sooner than you think.”
But Jamieson knew what Colbert was talking about. On top of the place giving him the heebie geebies, he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. He probably was. This was the worst possible part of the city to be pulled up in. City officials ignored what went on here. This close to the Dead Zone they left the residents to their own business except for the token hourly police patrol acting more like a body collection service than upholding law and order.
Booth handed the coffee back and took the binoculars.
“Does the wife know she’s making the coffee for me?”
Booth shook his head.
“I’ve never had the heart to tell her I don’t drink coffee white with two sugars. You know what they call it – white with two.”
Jamieson shook his head.
“Nothing wrong with a bit of royalty.”
It was Booth who shook his head this time
“Wrong sort of royalty. We’re talking the queers who dress up in women’s clothing and sing, sort of royalty.”
“Huh?” Jamieson looked into the coffee and shrugged. “Still just white with two sugars in my book.”
“We’ve lost visual.”
A large cloud moved across the moon and without the assistance of street lighting the street plunged into an inky abyss.
“Enough with the funny guy routine.”
“I’m serious the car’s gone, I looked away for a moment and it was gone.”
“Shit Colbert! How’s that possible?”
“Look,” Booth pointed to the screen. There was only one other dot on the map.
Jamieson kicked over the engine. He didn’t want to pull both cars out and expose them.
“Pull out Colbert. Maintain a visual.”
He shoved the coffee back into Booth’s hands.
“Colbert? Kravin?” There was no response.
Ahead they heard the squeal of tyres finding traction on the tarmac. Jamieson waited to see a Government issued sedan slide into the street ahead.
When the street remained empty, it took a moment for Jamieson to realise what was going on. Every second of hesitation put the SUV further ahead without an electronic fix. He slammed his foot onto the accelerator. Mulholland would strip him of everything if he returned empty handed.
“Agents down.” Booth radioed in. “Visual on original target. We’re in pursuit,”
– – –
Marcus kept low as he approached the silver sedan, the silencer stabbing into his abdomen and his shoulder brushing the warehouse wall. When he could see the condensation pooling inside the back window, he got down and scrambled crablike to the rear of the car. Although he’d fed earlier on in the night, it still seemed a waste to use bullets. Time was of the essence though.
A thin trail of exhaust fumes leaked from the SUV rolling down the gutter, as he reached the front. Pulling the hand-gun from the front of his jeans he sprung up, thumping the bonnet to ensure both men looked up. At such close range he couldn’t miss.
Moments later the SUV’s roared and the tyres squealed. He ran back to the Mustang knowing he had less than a minute to intercept the other car.
‘Hold on Mutt,” he said to the dog, which slid from the passenger seat into the foot well in readiness.
Revving the engine hard Marcus threw the Mustang into gear and accelerated hard. The Mustang shot down the side street and into the intersection, skidding into a 360 degree spin as Marcus jerked on the handbrake. The screech of brakes tore through the night, followed by the ripping metal. The Mustang came around and Marcus saw the sedan career across the footpath and into a building, hitting the wall in an explosion of bricks.
The dog whined. Breathing hard, Marcus snatched the gun and got out. Without a second thought he put a bullet into the passenger crushed into the side of the car as he strode across the road. The driver was barely conscious when Marcus jerked open the door, blood pouring from a deep wound at the hairline. The man moaned.
“Sorry to gate crash the party,” Marcus said, shoving the gun into the small of his back and going through the drivers pockets for identification. A bagde confirmed his suspicions – they were government agents. He threw it away
Spreading his fingers around the man’s throat he spat, “She’s mine!”
Marcus knew there wasn’t time and he should put a bullet in him but the opportunity came so rarely. He tightened his grip, closing his eyes as electricity crackled up through his fingers, hand and over his wrist, followed by the surge of heat transfusing through his entire body as the energy drained from the thug’s body and into his.