The following day, after the car/phone incident, an image
was watched from a tall building's view onto Central park.
There a young boy of 8 and his parents walked playfully
through the paths. The boy was playing with a ball and
laughing; his mother, a blonde with curly hair and a slim
figure, was playing along to amuse the boy, and the father,
a strict yet gentle type, was walking behind them watching
with a grin. Then all of the sudden a small splatter of
blood shot off of the father's neck and onto the pavement.
The boy and his mother looked back to see what had happened
and rushed to aid the fallen father. He was dead. A gun shot
through his neck had collapsed his trachea, better known as
the wind pipe. Blood flowed out consistently and created a
rather large blob in the center of the sidewalk. The mother
cried for help while the boy tried to block the bullet
entrance wound with his hand, but it was not enough. The boy
was stunned and didn't know what else to do. A crowd
gathered around with sounds of awe and surprise. They
pointed at the body but did nothing to help. The mother had
by now encouraged someone into dialing 911 for her and
reported the whole incident.
- Scott woke up in a cold sweat, his breathing heavy. The
room was without light, and he rummaged through the night
stand by him to find the night lamp and turn it on. He had
now realized it was only a dream, a dream about an
experience he had been through when he was eight years old.
His father was brutally murdered at Central park. He shook
off the pestering thought and got out of bed; he had no work
planned for today, and Scott had 6 days before he must meet
the strange man who took his car hostage momentarily. He
decided to reminisce today; the troubled hero got dressed
and headed off to Central Park.
Jameson was sitting on a bench in the park, a couple yards
away from where his father was killed, professionally
apparently. On the pavement was a stain of dry blood no one
ever bothered to clean out. It was a smaller stain than it
was in the moment, time had worn out and it got smaller and
dirtier, but the memory was still strong and vivid. His
father was an executive manager for a small produce company;
it wasn't a big firm but more of a 'pop's and mom's' sort of
stores. The company had earned a great deal of money and was
thinking of expanding from their old style into a 'buy it
while it's still here' conglomerate that made everything
overly expensive just to buff up the executive's payroll.
His father was opposed to such a change thinking it would
alter the company into something it was not. Other
executives thought he was a waste of time now that he was no
longer a yes-man and had his own opinion. Firing him would
be impossible because of all the seniority he had gained in
the company, but to get a killer to do their job for them
wasn't out of the question, and so they did. Or at least
that was something Scott was sure of.
Scott decided it was too late and that he must return now
before he brought back other memories, ones that hurt even
more. He was walking away from the park when a police car
pulled by the side of the road. Scott thought he had no time
to deal with trouble from the police as he was always
suspected of the crimes he had committed, only never proven
guilty of it. You know the great rules of America, innocent
until proven guilty. He turned to walk the other way, but
the car followed him. When he got deeper into the park, the
cops climbed out of the car and began a foot pursuit.
Jameson was running as fast as he could, but the cops were
never too far behind, but eventually he took a couple lucky
turns and managed to outmaneuver the pudgy officers. He went
back home, a small 2 room apartment he didn't care much for
because he was hardly ever there. It had a couch, a couple
of chairs and a small 16 inch television. But it was enough
for him. He went to bed.
2 days later, 11:03 PM. NYC Court of Law. Trial number
22084, the case of Alberto Rivas VS. Officer Roger Barnes.
The charge; excessive use of force.
Judge Peter called out, "May the defendant rise". Roger
stood up silently, "How do you plea Mr. Barnes?"
"Not guilty, your honor", Roger said, maintaining his poker
face, serious.
"Does the defendant's advocate have anything to say?"
"Yes your honor, I would like to make it very clear to the
jury before us that the charge my client is accused off is
an entire exaggeration. Yes, Officer Barnes did use his
weapon on Mr. Rivas here, but it should be noted that there
is also a standing law suit against Mr. Rivas for trying to
rape a woman when Officer Barnes found him and shot him in
the knee caps to put a stop to that vile crime", Roger's
lawyer spoke firmly and with confidence.
"Alright, does the Prosecutor have anything to say?" The
judge turned to the other side of the hall. A lawyer in a
grey suit stood up and began to talk.
"Yes, your honor. I would like to say that while my client
is charged with an offense at current time that does not
excuse Officer Barnes from taking responsibility for his
actions. He shot my client in both of his knees seriously
wounding him. This is why he is here today on a wheelchair
and will not have his own trial take place until he is off
pain medication and able to defend himself. What Officer
Barnes has done is really assault disguised by his cop
uniform. As a cop he should be aware that there are laws
that say he can't fire away at any suspect at will. A
warning has to come before the gunfire; a warning my client
never got to hear".
The Judge is considering both sides and turns back to the
defense side suggesting it's their turn.
Roger's lawyer stands, up but just then so does Roger. He
orders his lawyer to sit down, "Your honor, let me bring to
your attention several things. One is that it's true, I
didn't warn Mr. Rivas that I was about to fire but it should
also be noted that if I had waited another moment before
taking action, Miss. Elis here would be traumatized for the
very rest of her life because of Rivas' asinine actions".
"Stop that language at once or you'll be held in contempt
Officer Barnes", Peter Taylor, better known as the case's
judge, said to Roger with a tone of anger in his voice.
"No", Roger disputed.
"What I did was what I signed up to do. I stopped a crime
from happening; I saved a life; I did what none of you
pretentious pricks in suits would ever do; I risked the fact
of getting shot myself to help Cheryl Elis who's sitting
here today. If I had given him his fucking warning in that
open alley I could have been just as dead as Cheryl could
have been moments later not to mention violated. I didn't
give him the pleasure of being able to shoot me, instead I
blew off his knees so that he was unable to attack me or
Miss. Elis, just what I and the entire police force is here
to do. And that's all I have to say", Roger sat back down.
The judge was angry. He held him in contempt, the jury
excused to make their verdict, and either way Barnes would
spend 2 nights in jail at a bail price set at $1000.
The jury stepped out about twenty minutes later, making
their verdict clear; not guilty. Barnes was still escorted
to lock up for the next two nights, thankfully not too long.
He had an appointment, at exactly midnight, in 4 days, on
the third bench in the local park.
4 days later.
11:43 PM, the local park named after Steven Samuel. Scott
slowly approached the area in total darkness. The place was
abandoned of any life, but for the sounds of wild life
swarming on the innocent grounds of the park. Jameson was
thinking to himself, "If this was a movie, the camera would
focus on my foot, putting out a cigarette. But I don't
smoke". Jameson sat down on the third bench as he had been
ordered to. It was cold, his breath turned to vapor with
every sigh and yawn he let out.
Jameson was early, one thing that could always be said about
professional killers. They are a lot of things, but never
late. Scott noticed the dim lights of residential homes
about a quarter of a mile away. He wasn't pleased with the
fact he could be seen, but he accepted that his appointment
had more information about him than he should have, and for
now he must follow directions.
11:58 PM. A dark silhouette slowly walked to the arranged
location at the park. It dropped a cigarette. Scott looked
at the character's foot as it extinguished the smoke, inside
cynically asking himself where the cameras were. He stood
up, his hand fastened to the simple 9 millimeter he carried
with him in questionable situations.
The silhouette speaks in a firm yet quiet voice, "You
Jameson?"
"Depends who's asking, are you the bastard who had my car
towed?" Scott asked. In his mind he had already released the
safety on his pistol and fired 3 shots at the unknown
intruder and left for home. But it was not all that simple
now.
The silhouette spoke again, "That would be me. But before
you have the temptation to shoot me now and end this bizarre
incident, know that I'm rigged to a button that will send a
GPS included message to the police about my death. No hiding
place exists for a quarter of a mile and the nearest patrol
car is only a couple hundred yards away. Sure you'd take
that risk? Eh killer?"
Scott's hand pulled away from the pistol as he began to
smile. He was pleased his new employer, while not the most
hesitative, was clever. In his line of work he had met
people of the most extreme of variations. Some he claimed to
be so much like the missing link they proved Charles
Darwin's theory all the more true. Scott sat down on the
bench and gestured with his hand for the silhouette to sit
down as well with a simple tap on the wooden panels. It did.
The conversation began.
"So, I have job for you, you'll do it, and you won't be paid
any money. Any questions?" Barnes said calmly.
"Yes, why should I do it if I'm not paid anything?" Scott
replied. Swallow his spit, he dreaded the answer; it could
be anything.
Barnes grinned through the misty light of the pale moon,
"because I happen to have contacts in the police, and if I
say the word, you'll be arrested, and you know how
unpleasant that is, don't you?"
Jameson clenched his jaw, he didn't like being cornered.
"You have one week. Here is all the information you'll need:
Work place, address, phone number and photo. It can look any
way you want; accident, cold blooded murder, professional
hit, your choice, but she has to go".
"She? What could you have so bad against a woman? What'd she
do, steal your tampons?" Scott inquired.
"Funny, but just get it done", Barnes stood up and moved to
leave. He stopped momentarily, speaking with his back to
Scott, "You have one week to complete the job and another to
meet me here, this day, this time, again". Roger left the
park.
Scott briefly looked at the photo. It was of a young woman.
She was 25 years old according to the record of information
Barnes gave him. She looked different to him. His life had
always been a rollercoaster of women, but they are all
sleazy and cheap. All with no self respect, making it easier
to leave them. Scott had never felt love; he dismissed that
emotion as one only weak people experienced. His life
perspective was unlike most men. His trauma at a young age
had left him changed, and he could no longer feel. Not love,
nor sorrow, nor any other human sensation. He was hollow.
But it was that day and on that moment, when he gazed at the
photo of his upcoming victim, that the walls of the castle
he had built around his heart since childhood felt its first
crack in the wall.
Scott hated this feeling. He tries to shake it off; he
closed the folder and went home, needing sleep. Tomorrow
would be a long day.
October 30th, 4:15 AM.
Scott woke up, squinting his eyes as he turned on the night
lamp at his side. He was not sleepy, unable to sleep through
any part of the night. Never before had a job truly scared
him like this, but this time something felt very off to him.
He decided it was time to begin his research work on his
victim. He drove to the address he's been given. It was a
medium sized apartment building in the city. His victim
lived on the 8th floor, thus looking inside the apartment
wasn't possible unless he was to commandeer an apartment
from the 8th floor of the adjacent building, and that was,
quite frankly, too cliché for him. He waited until she
left the building, which she eventually did at about 7:30
AM. He followed her to the work place; it was a law firm in
which she worked as an assistant. It was too early now, but
later today he'd come in and try and find out more about
her. He stayed in the car, taking a nap slouched behind the
steering wheel.
Jameson woke up at 12:00 AM. He had a plan set up. It would
be rather improvised, but he knew he had the skill to pull
it off. The plan was simple and unfolded quickly. Jameson
walked into the building, and discreetly located the victim.
He saw the office of the lawyer she 'assisted'. He attempted
to walk right past her and headed towards the office, but
she stopped him, "Sir, you can't go in there, do you have an
appointment?"
"Sure, I do... but this is urgent. I'll just walk right in,
don't bother", Scott said calmly, much to the dismay of the
assistant. She tried to say something else, but Scott had
already walked into the office and shut the door. Inside
were two men. One behind a fancy Mahogany desk had an
expensive haircut and small glasses in a nearly invisible
black frame. He looked at Scott suspiciously, asking, "Ever
heard of knocking?" The other man, probably the client, a
middle aged man with a small bald spot in the back of his
head, was wearing a blank white collar shirt and was now
looking at Scott as well. Scott wasn't intimidated and said,
"Your secretary let me in. She seems very...drowsy. Maybe
she isn't cut out for the day shift. I'm actually a Dr.
specializing in sleeping disorders and she seemed to just be
one of those cases where if people are forced to work during
the day they are totally useless but at night they thrive at
work. Just something to consider, I'll come back whenever".
Scott left the office and headed back down, smiling to the
assistant looking at him strangely from behind her desk.
"Stage one complete. Now, we wait". Scott pondered to
himself.
2 days later, 1:00 AM, Arendt & Medernach Law firm, in NYC.
The building was surprisingly open because the firm offered
around the clock service.
Scott walked into the building in casual clothes, came up to
a very sleepy assistant, and started talking to her, "Miss,
I'm with the post office. There has been an express package
sent to this office, but I'm afraid regulations say that we
are only allowed to drive the package to destination, we
can't deliver per say, so you'll have to come down with me
and pick it up", Scott hoped the pitiful excuse would work.
"What? What sort of lame ass regulation is that?" The sleepy
assistant woke up and asked.
"I just follow the rules Miss. Now would you? Please?"
Scott's tone was relaxing; it reassured her that she was not
in any danger by him. She was wrong.
She dragged her feet to the lift with Scott; she decided to
be nice and tell him her name, "Karen Barnes".
"Scott Jameson", Scott answered back in a bit of a rush,
immediately unsure of his answer. He remained confident of
it, however, safe in the knowledge she wouldn't live to use
it against him.
They went down to the ground floor, the security officer at
the desk in the entrance long asleep; his face had now taken
the print of his mobile metal detector he used as a pillow.
It would look really stupid in the morning. Scott reminded
himself to come and witness that.
The two exited the building as Scott guided her to his BMW.
Karen was sleepy, but still noticed something was fishy,
"Post office uses Coupe BMW's to transport packages now?"
Scott smiled, having already prepared his answer the
previous night, "Well when we say express we mean it.
Packages have to get to places on time. I agree, an empty
bus would hold more, but go slower". Scott shrugged,
suggesting he had no clearer explanation for Karen. She was
too tired to argue. Scott opened the passenger door and
reached in. After a few moans of effort, he claimed he was
too wide to reach the floor of the car, where the package
had fallen and she needed to take it.
Karen was exhausted, but willing to dive into the car. Just
as she climbed in it struck her, "What package?" Scott leapt
in and gagged her with a cloth doused in Chloroform. She had
been through too much to resist and fell asleep quickly.
Scott was relieved; stage two was complete.
Jameson tied up Karen, her hands bound tightly to her back,
her legs to each other. He blind folded her and gagged her
mouth with an S&M like red ball attached to a rubber strap
(surprisingly much more effective in gagging than any
Hollywood description using duct tape or a sock...). Scott
put her on the floor of the car before returning to the desk
Karen was behind, and leaving a note to her boss saying she
had left because of an emergency and wouldn't be back for
days. That should remove suspicion off of him for about a
week or so before the cops caught on.
Scott drove off to his home. No one was up at this time to
see him, and those who were up must have done their own
crimes at some point. Scott lay Karen down on the couch; he
would tend to her in the morning.
November 2nd, 7:47 AM. Karen woke up. She was trying to
shout and move around, but fell off the couch and hit her
head on the floor. She groaned in pain and continued trying
to break free and scream.
Scott was awoken by the yells, and calmly approached his
living room. Karen spotted him with a pistol in his hand and
stopped making sounds. She was sweating, her breath almost
stopped, and she closed her eyes.
Scott saw her fear and began talking to her, "Miss, I'm
going to explain everything to you, but first I need you not
to scream when I take off the gag. Besides annoying me,
screaming isn't going to do anything anyway; this building
is old and the walls are thick. No one who isn't inside here
will ever hear you; it will only piss me off. You do not
want to do that".
Karen looked at Scott silently and nodded.
Scott approached and removed the gag from her mouth.
Immediately Karen began shouting for help in the most
annoying and loudest pitch Scott had ever heard. Scott put
the gag back on, "Alright, I get the point. Now you'll just
have to listen to me gagged".
"I tell all my victims the truth before shooting them. As
for you, someone hired me to kill you; he's a cop. That may
sound familiar to you, and whoever it is, I hope you haunt
him, but I still have to kill you". Scott finished and aimed
the pistol; he switched off the safety and placed his finger
on the trigger. He fired... she was dead.
Or at least that is what would have happened if Scott's
phone hadn't rung that very moment; Scott put the gun down
and checked the phone. Karen's heart was pounding quickly
like that of a whore stuck in church, or that of someone who
had just won the lottery and raced across the house to
celebrate. The pressure was enormous. Scott checked his
phone; the colorful screen put out a message saying, "Event
Reminder: Doc." Scott came back to her seconds later, picked
up his gun, switched the safety back on and said, "You're
lucky, I have places to go. I'll be back in about an hour,"
Scott turned to leave, but made one final remark to Karen,
"Don't go anywhere", with a grin. Karen hums through her
gag, "Not funny".
Scott enters his Dr.'s office. It's 8:30 AM.
"Hey Doc, what's up?" Scott casually asked as he sat down.
"Well, actually I've bee-". Cooper was interrupted.
"Doc, I have to tell you something. I'm kind of in the midst
of a job right now. Right now there's a beautiful woman in
my house tied up to a chair that I have to kill. I know it
sounds dreamy but..." Scott paused to think, "...but it's so
wrong. Some cop threatened me into doing this job because if
I don't he'll turn me in. In all my years in this profession
I've never been cornered like this and it makes me feel like
something is wrong.''
"Well, do you even know why he asked you to kill her? Maybe
you should hear her side of this first. Perhaps he's an
asshole and you are better off not doing it". Doc said,
trying to help Scott.
"No, I don't know her. All I know is that if I don't do it
I'm in for a world of shit. What do you suggest I do Doc?"
Scott dug the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and
rubbed them as if when he opened them none of this would
happen.
"For starters, I think you should listen to her side. After
that if you feel she is better than you thought and you
cannot...fulfill the job, then you let her go. Tell her she
has to run away, run away somewhere far and no one loses.
The cop won't know she's alive, and you will know she isn't
dead".
"You're right Doc, I should do that". Scott stood up and
headed for the door.
"Hey, you still have 48 minutes on my payroll", Cooper
added.
"Keep it. Buy yourself something nice for a change, you look
like a bum". Scott commented and exited the office. Cooper
was taken aback with that shocking remark and started
examining his clothes carefully.
Scott's place, 9:17 AM.
Scott returned to his home. As soon as he opened the door
Karen pounced on him from the side with the chair tied to
her back. She tries to run to the exit, but Scott grabbed
her by the leg and pulled her back in.
The two struggled vigorously, Karen fighting and kicking for
her life, the chair still tied to her back forcing her to
bend somewhat to walk, and the S&M gag still on her mouth.
Scott decided he'd had enough tomfoolery and wheeled her in
from the ground and closed the door. He then proceeded to
pull out his pistol once more, a Bul Cherokee with a black
body and a slick sliver painted barrel. It held 17 rounds,
which were 16 more than it took to scare the absolute shit
out of poor Karen. She gave in, sobbing momentarily. Scott
was trying to breathe normally after the incident, ordering
Karen to sit back in her place. He was strangely obsessed
with neatness and order. If something was out of place, he'd
threaten it back to where it belonged. And when Scott
threatened, objects obeyed.
"Look, I just went to see my Doctor. He said I should listen
to what you have to say before I kill you". Karen began to
nod aggressively. Scott stopped it by aiming the gun higher
and to her head, "But after that little attack I don't think
I should take that risk. What do you say, Mrs. Barnes?"
Karen raised her eyebrow to Scott. She hummed to him,
suggesting he removed her gag. Scott noticed quickly. He
said to her that if she screamed again he'd replace the gag
with the 108 millimeter barrel of his handgun. She nodded in
agreement. Scott removed the gag.
Karen asked him, "I just want to know how you know me and
who sent you".
"Fine. I was hired to kill you by someone unknown, with
considerable influence in the police force, and a grudge
against you. I never saw his face that well. He gave the
info about you; work place, name, the lot. You're just
another job out of hundreds that pass on daily in this
city", Scott answered and slowly lowered the gun.
"Police force? But the only person I've ever met who's all
that is my husband. Well, I mean my ex... but we're not
divorced yet, we're just sepe-", Scott interrupted her,
saying, "Spare me, I know how marriages end".
"So, your husband, or 'ex' sent me to kill you, any idea
why?" Scott now switched the Cherokee's safety back on and
placed it on the shabby wooden desk to his left.
"Well, it's complicated. I caught him with another woman,
but I can't prove it because she denies it, so does he, and
there's no other evidence. I want to divorce him, but he
doesn't want me to get a penny. I guess he knows that won't
work so he got you. How much you cost him anyway? He may as
well have used that much money to divorce me and end it
either way", Karen now discontinued her attempts to break
free and sat still.
"It didn't cost him anything, he flashed that shiny badge in
front of me and to keep 'all this' (Scott spreads his arms
over the apartment) I have to do this job or I go into a 6
foot by 9 cell". Scott was frowning at the thought of
spending the rest of his life around shaved head Nazi gang
members.
"Figures... he never makes any effort to get anything",
Karen sighed as she spoke.
Scott collapsed on the chair behind him; it was old, very
old. He sat in it, heard a loud crack, and before he noticed
it, the chair broke off one leg, hurling Scott about 3 feet
to the right and into a wall. Jameson bumped his head
against the wall. Karen made no escape attempt. She
restrained her laughter, and she now eyed the Cherokee, but
couldn't break free from the rope's grip. Scott got up;
kicked the chair and rubbed his skull. Stood up, Scott told
Karen the facts simply and clearly, "I can kill you right
now if I wanted to, but it would be a mess to clean up and
frankly, I have better things to do than kill the innocent
wives of cheating cops/blackmail artists. My shrink would be
proud of me for that."
Karen thanked some Deity for her fortune. She pondered for a
few minutes, and then her eyes lit up as if an idea had just
burst in, "How about I suggest something that would help
both of us?"
Scott turned to her, his eyebrows projecting a cynical
stare, "I'm listening".
"How about with my help, we gather all the information we
can about my darling husband and make it his execution.
Evidently love is war and rules for this war are all but
non-existent".
"I could just as easily have let you go, told you to run to
another state or country and no one would be the smarter,
but if you want to bring in my specialty here, I'm willing.
But what do I get out of it?" Scott is now attentive to her
words.
Karen smirks, "Well, how about one less cop to know of your
profession and one much, much happier woman?"
Scott managed to pull out a sarcastic looking grin and
nodded in agreement. He headed forward to untie her. Karen
seemed overjoyed.
"Do I get my own gun?" Karen asked with all seriousness.
Scott concentrated, looked at his Cherokee, then back at
Karen, "Can you fire one?"
"Well? How hard can it be, You just pull a trigger and the
guy's down", Scott looked at her knowing she did not just
mean to imply his profession was a simple one, "Bu-but...
but I didn't mean your work is easy at all, it must be
really, really hard not... getting caught?" She struggled to
finish the sentence in a way she didn't end up being shot
herself.
Scott reviewed her body figure briefly with a quick glimpse,
and spoke to her, "Follow me".
They walked into another room; it had a nice bed, not
rotting walls and a very large metal closet with locks on
it. Scott went to the closet, opened a drawer, looked
around, and pulled out a COP .35 Derringer, saying, "It
fires 4, you think you can handle it?"
Karen smiled and nodded, snatching the gun from Scott.
Immediately she pointed it at the wall with one eye closed
and both her arms reaching to hold the small Derringer by
the small silver rugged gripping handle. Scott appreciated
her enthusiasm. He gave her a small holster to keep it in so
she didn't have to shove it up her pants.
They decided to sit down and plan their information about a
certain Roger Barnes. Karen had uncovered all she could, but
reminded Scott that Roger was an unsteady character and
would change things often as not to be the subject of a
hit.
Scott, however, had already seen all the tricks in the book
from avoiding hits. So now it was time to study our little
friend. One day would be wasted on planning, the other 13 to
spying, and at 0 hour, the hit would occur. Scott had set up
a fake photo in which Karen played along, being dead, soaked
in blood and bruised.
Day 1 - 13 to go.
Scott woke up from the bland sound of his alarm clock. Karen
was already up, dressed and waiting for Scott. He washed his
face, his stubble irritating his skin. He reached for his
razor, the blades clogged entirely with hairs and utterly
blunt. Still half asleep, he looked at Karen.
Karen brushes aside the medium length skirt she was in when
kidnapped. Her looks were smooth and nearly showed Scott's
reflection. He was displeased and looked at Karen with a,
'I-haven't-had-my-coffee-yet-so-please-no-problems-from-you'
look.
Scott gave up shaving; he decided to go looking like Hugh
Laurie had rubbed off on him. Jameson now headed for the
coffee; there was a pot of black good in a container and a
mug. He flipped the pot upside down. The black goo went
nowhere. It was solid now. Scott looked at the coffee and
made a disheartened face.
Jameson had now decided to simply shake himself into being
awake; it seemed to work, it also made him rather dizzy. H
regained his composure and told Karen to come. Scott was
holding his pistol and was getting into his shoes when
something inside hopped out and ran to the wall. Scott
instantly shot it. It was a rat; a dead rat. Karen came
running out asking what had happened. Scott pointed to the
heaving pile of blood to his far right. Karen covered her
mouth; she whispers out, "You killed whiskers".
"I killed what?" Scott was baffled.
"Whiskers! He was the rat I found in your shoe, I thought he
needed a good home..." Karen now frowned, angry with Scott.
"God, I knew I should have picked the other shithole..."
Scott shook his head again and walked out, Karen soon
followed.
The local police station.
Scott and Karen had abandoned the fancy BMW for something
with less...'bling'. They had stolen a cab at gun point from
a rather innocent Pakistani cabby. Karen was in the front
seat and Scott was driving, following Roger's patrol car
from about 5 cars behind. During a pause in a traffic light,
an Austrian tourist walked into the cab, "Oh, I didn't know
ther waz some one here, we can...how do you say...split?
Split the cab?"
Scott kept cool, turned back and said, "Sorry pal, this fare
is special, can't drive no one else".
The tourist was calm, and exited the cab, but first said to
the two, "I love your country".
Scott smiled, waved his hand lightly and replied, "You can
have it". Karen is enraged at the comment, her mouth slowly
widening. The tourist laughed and got out. Right then Karen
slapped Scott's shoulder, "What was that supposed to mean?"
Scott was reluctant, "So you want to live here? Here where
your husband has ordered me to have you wacked?"
"Well, not if you put it that way, but it's all I know",
Karen said, looking at the city's view.
"Well, I promise you you'll see a better life after this",
Scott said to Karen. She looked into his eyes. He gazes into
hers, Scott admires their Emerald green shade. They lean
closer until they are inches apart. Just then a car horn
echoes out behind them, "Come on, you losers, it's green!"
"So will be your tiny fucking dick when I'm done with it if
you don't leave this alone!" Scott furiously replied out the
window.
Karen says, "Scott, I think we should go..."
"Yeah, whatever". Scott said displeased.
2:26 AM.
"This is enough for one day; we've found nothing out, he's
not about to do anything more tonight. This was a bust, what
do we do next Scott?" Karen was wiping her sleepy eyes.
Scott did not reply; he was looking deep into the road ahead
of him
"Scott? I asked you something", Karen said worried.
"We mail him". Scott plainly answers.
"Mail? As in, letters, mail?" Karen asked, confused.
"Yes, just that type of mail. We'll put some pressure on
ole' Roger. I'll leave a letter saying I have to leave town
soon and can't make his deadline. I'll meet with him, tell
him your dead and that I'm out of town. I leave him a
location to come to next Saturday at midnight to find your
lifeless corpse. Which he'll find", Karen looked suddenly
shocked, "don't worry, you won't be the dead one. We'll just
fake it with you, but when he comes in to check that you're
dead, we work together. You stick him with that Derringer,
and I'll get him with the Cherokee. Then we'll throw him
into the East River, where the appointment is conveniently
located. Sound good to you?''
Karen nodded with a grin on her face. All she heard was
blabber. Oh well, she supposed she'd catch on as she
worked.
Day 3, the letter reaches Roger.
Roger Barnes was in for a serious surprise when his small
mailbox in the police department was filled with this one
letter sent by someone who wouldn't give his name. The
letter said he was to meet his employee on the dock the next
day, at night. And so he did.
Day 4, Roger waits at dock, alone.
Roger Barnes had been summoned to this dock in a letter
today for a reason; because his new 'employee' had to take a
day off. They met there. Roger was cautious as always. Scott
showed him pictures of the kill, and he promised the real
thing would be right there on Saturday night. Unfortunately
he could not make it there.
"She better be here on Saturday Jameson! You know what I can
do to you right?" Barnes asked Scott with a bit of a fearful
tone in his voice.
"Fear not, it will be here, I have my connections", Scott
said confidently.
Barnes left the scene.
Day 5 was eventless, so was day 6.
Day 7, Scott was making breakfast in the kitchen for himself
and Karen who was staying with him for now. Mr. Jameson
served an omelet and some water. He was not happy, his mind
was troubled with the upcoming plan. Eating silently to
himself at the table when Karen walked up to him.
"Scott, what happened that day, in the cab? Was tha-" Karen
was trying to talk to Scott when he interrupted her, "It was
nothing. Now let it go".
"I just can't help but feel there was something there when
we almost...You know". Karen focuses on Scott's.
"There was nothing there, it was just nearly an act of
stupidity in a bad time. That's all". Jameson refused to
acknowledge the feeling he had when he first saw her
photograph.
"It doesn't have to be like this, we CAN be together". Karen
was trying to near Scott silently. He pulled away.
"No, I can't. I just can't do it. Nothing happened and
nothing will. I am a professional. I do not get involved
with clients/victims". Scott was furiously washing his plate
in the sink.
"I'm just saying it's alright if you did Scott. We are all
still people. You can't block out emotions forever. Maybe WE
could give this a try?" She took a deep breath, waiting for
the answer.
"No, you just don't get it do you? I'm not that type of
person. I'm not who you think I am. I'm not the mobster with
a mansion and a Lamborghini. I'm just the guy who kills
people for a monthly income. We can never be together".
"So... you don't like me. I understand", Karen's heart was
working slower, his disappointment filled her mind.
"No, God. It's not that; I like you. I really like you, more
than I've liked anyone I've ever met. Hell, I liked you
before I even met you. But it's not it. You know the life I
lead. If you choose to be with me, you put yourself and me
in the greatest professional risk there is. You would become
my weakness. You think the local Mafia is pleased with me
taking their business from them? They want me dead. They
probably have a laser pointer at me 20 hours a day if not
more. If you become my weakness they'll go for you. They'll
kill you, to weaken me. And I can't risk that. I can't have
a weakness. I can't let another person die like that. I
can't, I won't".
Karen just looked at Scott. She cannot speak.
"I accept the risks; I want to be with you. Look, I've been
trapped in a loveless marriage for 6 years now. I married
Roger because at the time, he accepted me for who I am, and
I wasn't much. And I loved him for that, but now it's gone,
and so is he. I want someone who listens to me, someone
who," Karen now looked away from Scott, looking at the floor
to divert her stare, "someone who would risk life and death
for me".
"It's bigger than that. It's not just the two of us. If I
let you near me in that way, odds are that soon enough, you
and your entire family will be the victims of hits. And I
just want you to live, and that won't happen if you're with
me. So after the cop's dead, find a place. Live there, work,
and forget he or I ever existed".
"We could try and be friends, that wouldn't show weakness,
would it? You can have friends, can't you?" Karen was
desperate to get something going.
"No, it's no less a risk, and besides, I have no friends. I
grew up alone. My father was killed when I was young and my
mother could never handle it. She couldn't until one year
later she killed herself and that was the end. I was taken
to some god forsaken foster care, but I spend all of my days
outside, on the streets. That's how I grew up to be who I
am. That's my education. That's what I'll always remain, and
that's not what you want from a guy".
"Alright. Fine. You are right. We can never be together or
even close, it will be risky. We'll part ways after Roger's
gone". Karen's sadness leaked out and tears rushed within.
She goes back to her room. Scott put the plate back on the
dish rack, angry at himself for what he had just said, but
it needed to be said.
Next Saturday - Armageddon Day.
All was set up; Karen would hide in a body bag by the dock
which Scott would place. When Roger came too close, she
would shoot him with the Derringer. That would shock him,
and then Scott would come out and finish him with a couple
shots from his faithful Bul Cherokee.
Midnight.
Roger Barnes drove up to the dock, and stepped outside onto
the curve at the end. Right before the water is a dark large
bag. He neared it slowly, with his gun raised. When he poked
the bag with his gun and nothing happened, he put it away.
He slowly unzipped the bag. Inside was the lifeless corpse
of Karen Barnes, or so he thought. She was pale (make up)
and puffy (add-ons) as a dead woman about a week old would
be. He unzipped further down to see where the wound was, but
as he did, when he reached her forearm, he heard a loud
bang. A gunshot and it went right from the bag, and into his
shoulder.
Roger fell back in pain. The Derringer was weak, but none
the less, painful. Roger reached for the S&W 4506-1 on his
waist when another shot rang out. A sharp pain raced through
his body again, this one emanating from his back. It was
Scott's Cherokee. Roger lay in pain on the ground, but
looked as he saw Scott approaching him slowly with his
pistol. Scott was about to fire one last shot into Roger's
head when he starts laughing.
"What the hell are you laughing about, asshole?" Scott was
angry and wanted to be done with this.
"It's just funny", Roger responded.
Scott didn't follow. Roger began to explain.
I know the guy who whacked your father, he was in trial when
I was in the jury. If it wasn't for me he would have gotten
a hell of a longer sentence. Funny, isn't it?" Roger made a
motion with his hand that Scott did not see. He pressed a
small button hidden in a device he had tucked under his
sleeve.
Scott nodded. He closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. A
splatter of blood landed on his clothes. He didn't care, for
this was retribution. Now, it was all over.
Scott and Karen stood close together, looking at Roger's
body. They were about to leave when the distinct sound of
police sirens echoed around. Squad cars rapidly surrounded
the whole area. Cops left their cars and pointed their
weapons at Scott and Karen.
"Drop the weapon!" An officer shouted.
Scott pauseed, he whispered to Karen, "There is a concrete
barrier wall to your right, jump behind it on my cue.
1....2...
"Drop the wea-"
"Now!" Scott shouts. They both jump behind the barrier as
the cops opened fire. Karen was scared. Scott had to think
of a getaway plan quickly, but his options were very few
now. He decided for the best plan he could. He turned to
Karen, "When I say go you run around the dock and to my car
in the back. Here are the keys. Run away. Run as far as you
can from here. They don't know you, they want me. I have a
bank account in Brazil. The password to it the serial number
of the Derringer you're holding. It's yours; I'm not going
to need it where I'm going".
"No," Karen said, "this can't be the only way. You have to
come with me".
"There is no other way, just do as I say, please. I'm doing
this for you".
Scott took a deep breath and shouted, "GO!" He stood up and
fired at the cops. They took cover behind their cars. He
squeezed the trigger as slowly as he could to make those 16
bullets last as long as possible. Karen made it to the car
and drove off. The cops didn't even notice in the rapid
exchange of fire.
The clip was empty. Scott changed it. Seventeen more rounds
to either live, or die. He stepped out of the barrier
protecting him. He shot at the cops and killed 3 out of the
8 there. He then aimed at the cop that was aiming at him. He
knows he should shoot. He knows he could win. He could kill
them all and escape, but what for? For the life of a wanted
man? The police would never stop looking for him if he
killed all 8 and got away with it. It would be no life worth
living. But Scott was no fool, he wouldn't just kill a bunch
of officers and run, he'd just run.
Scott leaps into the water behind him, it's filthy but he
swims through it, the cops don't notice for several minutes
that he's gone because he jumped from behind the small
concrete barrier, when they do notice he's gone. He's gone
and never to return.
Never to return.
המציאות הנו מקרי בהחלט. אין צוות האתר ו/או
הנהלת האתר אחראים לנזק, אבדן, אי נוחות, עגמת
נפש וכיו''ב תוצאות, ישירות או עקיפות, שייגרמו
לך או לכל צד שלישי בשל מסרים שיפורסמו
ביצירות, שהנם באחריות היוצר בלבד.