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Creel's head rocked back, and Mike threatened to slap
him again. The bomber outside was having trouble with the explosives. Sliding
back to the car, he scowled. Tapping on the window got his attention. Mike
pointed at the timer, then his watch. The man's scowl turned to a worried
frown.
Mouths opening and shutting, the whole pack started
pounding their weapons on the car. The insulation kept them from hearing any of
it, but Regal Clunkers! Auto Agency
was going to have to spring for a new paint job.
With a sigh, Mike turned on the car and managed to get
the speakers working.
“You do realize this is a federal operation you're
disrupting.”
The bomber gave Mike a good look at his middle finger.
“Well, your picture is going out to our offices in
Safe Side. We should have help coming in less than half an hour. They'll be
hunting for you.”
The man started laughing, then the entire crowd. A
woman held up a length of wire.
Mike looked at Creel. His voice was mild. Calm.
“You took a car on stake-out that had an external
antennae? Why?”
Creel opened and shut his mouth a few times. “It was
all they had –”
“Bull shit.”
Mike took a calm breath. He even smiled. “There were
at least a dozen cars—better cars—in the garage.”
“B-b-but they were spoken for. The mayor and city
council –”
“Are not here. This is a friggin fed operation, not
a bunch of fat-cats that suck the marrow out of the dead bones of Philadelphia,
you ass.” Mike punched the ceiling and some of the rage left. “Jesus, what
the hell did you think you were doing when you signed the contract with the
Project?”
Creel huddled away from Mike. The bomber was fiddling
with the plastic again. Mike sighed. He turned on the speakers.
“Man, this is getting monotonous. Check the friggin
batteries, already, will you?”
The bomber scowled, but opened the back of the timer
and started cursing.
He pulled the batteries, switched them, and scowled a
grin at Mike.
Then the world melted into a red mist and smoke.
The car rocked. The radio blared and snapped and the
engine roared to life.
Ears ringing, Mike winked at a sobbing Creel and
turned on the lights. The remaining windshield wiper ground to life, smearing
the blood as they drove away.
At the garage, Mike took a new car. The paint was
still fresh enough to smell. A guard rushed out.
“Sir, no. That's the mayor's car.”
Opening the door, Mike smiled. “Tell him I said he
was worth piss.” He moved in, already palming the ID into the car.
Pulling a gun, the guard found himself staring into
Mike's .45.
Mike slid down and Creel dived in. They pulled out
with the guard cursing.
A hologram appeared over the dash; the woman was
dressed in a military uniform, her face cold, set in stiff lines.
Mike returned the looks. “Captain Hill.”
“Agent Donnelly. Sir, we have a lead on your boy.
Follow the map. One of our pigeons will bring him out for us.”
As she faded away, the map appeared. Mike set the
controls on automatic and poured a cup of coffee. His hand shook a little. He
was going to have to kill the kid. Cindy would go insane. She would have him
castrated, then tortured in that dungeon under her mansion.
Mike sipped at a fresh cup of coffee. But no one would
ever know about Terry Jo. His sister would be safe, and with that to console
him, Mike gave Creel a smile.
The door burst open and Jim was up in a flash,
standing between Kat and the stranger. Benny grabbed for a weapon and came up
with a rat. It struggled, its squeals piercing their eardrums.
Benny held it tight enough it couldn't escape, but
not so hard it was harmed. In a pinch, anything can be a weapon, and rats were
deadly.
“Is cool,” the man shouted. He scratched a
homemade match on the wall, holding it so they could see him, then blew it out.
“Gotta take care. That methane, it blows quick-like.” He gave a low chuckle,
adding, “Last time folks stay here, the gas took ‘em. Doc calls it
asphyxiation.”
“The rats were here,” Benny said, slapping the rat
he held against the wall. It went limp. “So we stayed.” Asphyxiation?
“Smart.” The man's voice hinted at being
impressed. “Most don't know.”
“My Grampa Wya was a miner.” And the other
grandfather, a collection agent. Now old man Grey was one of the walking dead.
In a not quite religious way, Benny was praying that the maggots would finish
off the old man before the old man found Benny again. Benny pushed away from
that train of thought.
“Come on. Agents is hunting you.”
Helping Benny up, he let him stagger along till they
came to a flight of plastic stairs.
“This takes us out to the ‘hoods again.”
Coming to a door, he punched a code into the computer,
and the door groaned open.
It was dark with the gaping holes that once were
windows staring at them from dead buildings. Behind them the building was long
and low, the roof partially covered with heaps of rotting bricks and dead weeds.
Somewhere, a hog barked a warning, then lights shot over them.
Kat froze. Jim shoved her down only to face the man
and a small laser.
“Bastard,” he whispered.
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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