Falcon rushes forward and barrels into the off-balance gun man, knocking the gun out of the man’s hand and sending him off his feet. The one sleeved man is sent backwards and over his partner. Phoenix spins out of the way as the airborne attacker passes by, crashing through the back door of the bus. He grabs on to the door, his legs dangling just above the speeding road. His grip loosens and he slides down to grab the door handle, desperately trying to keep from losing his grip as his legs and feet are dragged across the cement. His pants are getting frayed and shredded in the process.
Phoenix returns to her own opponent and kicks the sleeveless man in the stomach, sending him toward the front of the bus. He continues slashing at the air, swiping the blade uncomfortably close to more scared bus occupants. Phoenix moves forward and catches his wrist. She slams it against the top of one of the back rests, forcing him to loosen his grip. The knife falls to the floor, narrowly missing the feet of an innocent bus rider. With a good grip on his wrist, Phoenix twists her body around and flips the man over and onto his back.
Falcon vaults over her and rushes to the open rear door. The door dangling attacker has managed to get one foot back onto the floor of the bus. Falcon kicks at the door, sending it and the one sleeved man swinging back out. Falcon grabs the overhead luggage rack for support and he reaches out for the man’s hand, trying to pry his fingers off of the handle. But the assailant is stubborn and just before his fingers have nearly released the handle, the man quickly switches his grip and grabs Falcon’s wrist, pulling him out of the bus.
“No.” Phoenix watches as Falcon disappears out of the rear door. She moves quickly to the opening and sees Falcon holding onto the man’s belt as both of them are dragged along the road. The assailant kicks his legs, trying to shake Falcon off of him. Despite that, Falcon makes his way up to the handle of the door by climbing on the man.
He finally gets a grip on the rear door handle, right on top of his would-be assassin. The two go to trading blows with one another while dangling from the bus door. Both doing whatever they can to cause the other to lose their grip. Neither gaining much ground in the process.
Phoenix turns back to the sleeveless man and let’s out an exasperated sigh as her opponent begins to sit up. She sees the gun under one of the bus seats. Unfortunately, he notices it, too, and they both dive for the weapon. His hand hits it first but that only serves to knock it farther under the seat. Phoenix reaches for it while the man tries to pull her arm away. Like Falcon and the one sleeved man, the two go to trading blows. Phoenix is faster and manages to deliver a flurry of punches to his already injured head. Her last one finds his throat as a target. The man’s hands instinctively wrap around his neck as he gasps for air.
Phoenix reaches for the gun and grabs it. She bolts to her feet and heads back to the open door. There’s no time to wait as Falcon seems to quickly be losing ground against the dangling assassin. She aims the gun at Falcon’s opponent and pulls the trigger. The bullet hits his shoulder and the one sleeved man releases the handle and falls to the rushing pavement below.
Falcon watches as the man rolls to the road, getting smaller as the bus travels onward. He looks up at Phoenix who reaches her hand out to him. He takes it and she pulls him back into the bus.
Oxygen fills the sleeveless man’s lungs as he regains his ability to breathe. He watches Phoenix assist Falcon back into the bus before looking around for a weapon. A glint of metal catches his eye as light reflects off of the hunting knife under the seat. He crawls to the weapon and draws it back out. Re-armed, the man rises to his feet just as Falcon is almost back on the bus. He pulls out his other knife and, with her back facing him, dashes toward Phoenix.
“Move.” Falcon pushes her to the side on top of two other passengers just in time for both knives to come down and hit nothing but air. With no target to sink his attack, the knife wielder’s momentum carries him, stumbling, forward. Falcon helps with the transition by tripping the man. One again, the back door bursts out, along with the last of the attackers. Falcon reaches out and grabs the man’s wrist. He maintains a hold while the knife wielder’s legs try to find footing on ground, rushing underneath them.
Using the wall of the bus to keep himself from falling back out, Falcon holds the attacker far enough from the bus that he can’t grab hold of anything to climb back on. “How does the Emperor know I’m here?”
The man looks down at the concrete as it blurs beneath him.
“Tell me!” Falcon jerks his arm in a move meant to threaten.
“Just doing my patriotic duty.” The man smiles.
“Patriotic—” The knife blade swipes at Falcon’s arm before he can finish the sentence. The quick move surprises him and forces Falcon to release the man. He watches him fall to the road and roll to a stop as the bus speeds away.
Phoenix watches Falcon stand in the doorway. He looks out at the open air then down at the speeding road. “Just tuck and roll,” he mutters.
“Step back from the door,” she tells him.
“I warned you,” he fires back.
“Falcon?”
“What if I jump?”
She raises the gun. “You’re worth more alive. But even dead, the contract is fulfilled. And I can live with that.”
3
The smell of outdoor cooking wafts through the windows of the bus as it drives into the town. Smaller buildings line a street that is alive with the foot traffic of pedestrians and sellers. The road is congested with people on bicycles or pulling makeshift rickshaws. The passengers of the foot cabs wear far nicer clothes than those of the operators.
Phoenix keeps her gun in Falcon’s side as she watches the private sellers already approaching the slowing bus to hawk their wares. Falcon keeps his eyes on the windows of war-torn buildings. Many of the taller office buildings and skyscrapers of the old world exist as shells of their former selves. The smaller buildings survive as new businesses and homes for some of the citizens.
The bus stops at a small kiosk and the occupants of the passenger vehicle hurry to collect their belongings and exit the bus. The recent fight and gun use was much more excitement than any of them cared for. The faster they distance themselves from the two Freelancers, the better.
Falcon steps off of the bus. Phoenix keeps the gun to his back and one hand on his shoulder. Her eyes dart around just to get a read of their surroundings. Falcon takes a longer gaze. He watches hanging signs as they swing gently from their awnings. Characters and kanji of different types and in different languages are painted on windows and doors. A mixture of languages roars through the air–English, Vietnamese, Japanese, Chinese. Korean, Taiwanese, Laotian. And those are just the languages that are the loudest. People haggle back and forth over prices. Others thank merchants for a good deal. Falcon doesn’t understand anything that isn’t English, only the gestures and mannerisms the people make in relation to one another. None of them seem threatening. Not near the bus stop, anyway.
“Now what?” he asks.
“Now we find a car and I take you to the Ivory Republic.” She pushes him forward. People weave in and out of the street on various modes of transportation. Only a few cars work their way, slowly, down the crowded street. Their horns blare for those in slower vehicles to move out of their way.
Falcon stops abruptly and turns to his left.
Phoenix almost bumps into him. “Quit stalling.”
“You ever been there, before?” He stares at a tall building. It is the only one of its kind. Ornate gold and red eaves adorn the building’s surface, sweeping skyward and resembling an ancient pagoda. It’s clear they are not original aspects of the structure.
“The Castle? Where do you think I got amnesty?”
“So you’re in good with the Emperor.”
“Who cares?” She pushes him forward.
“Just trying to make conversation.”
“Well stop trying and start walking.”
The two make their way through the crowd of buyers
and merchants. They both have to wave off and stop people from shoving items toward them. The crowd is too dense for them to move very fast and the constant start and stop from groups of people blocking the path makes it difficult to move forward very far.
“How does a Freelancer get amnesty in one of the nations?” Falcon asks.
“Shut up.”
“Come on. It’s not like we’re gonna get a car any faster if you don’t tell me.”
“I said shut up. Does it matter, anyway? You said you’re not wanted here. What difference does it make if I’m welcome and you’re not?”
“Well I just want to know how I can get back in the Emperor’s good graces.”
“You crossed the man, himself?” Surprised, Phoenix pulls the gun slightly away from Falcon’s back.
“Who are you trying to fool, old man?” A loud voice yells over the din of the crowd.
“This good quality. You not find but my store.” An older voice replies in broken English.
Falcon and Phoenix get closer to the argument. A woman with a small cart backs up and joins the sea of bodies, revealing the two debaters. A seedy looking, wiry man in a fedora and cheap leather jacket throws a china doll down on the table. It shatters into several pieces.
“See? These things aren’t supposed to break,” the wiry man says.
“You buy now. You break, you buy now,” the old seller tells him.
“I ain’t buying nothing. My Grandma is from old Japan. She knows how to make these things for real.”
“You break you buy,” the old man repeats.
Falcon stares at the sight.
“Keep going,” Phoenix tells him.
“Slim Jim Soon?” Falcon ignores her.
The wiry man turns and his eyes go wide. “Falcon? What? Hey, good to see you, man. I heard you got banned from here. What are you—“
“There’s a contract on you from the BSN,” Falcon says.
“What? What are you talking about, man? I squared that with the King. I got amnesty in the Black Sovereign Nation.”
“Uh-uh.” Falcon shakes his head and steps forward.
“Yeah. I’m in good over there, now—” Slim Jim spins around and grabs the nearest pedestrian, shoving her between him and Falcon before bursting through the crowd, knocking over anyone in his way.
Falcon digs his boots in and runs after him.
“Falcon!” Phoenix raises the gun, ready to fire but it’s too risky with so many people around. She holsters it and takes off after him, trying hard not to knock anyone down.
Without her captive to block sight of her, those closest instantly recognize Phoenix. Hands hold out items in front of her. Voices in multiple languages plead with her to take their offers. They want her to have them for free. She tries to politely decline while forcing her way through. The only clear sign that Falcon is still in front of her are the heads of people being pushed to the side as he and Slim Jim barrel through the crowd.
Phoenix pulls her gun and fires straight into the air. Those furthest from her desperately try to run away. Those nearest merely duck.
That’s gonna be a black mark on my karma, she thinks.
But the move pays off and a clear path forms. She catches a glimpse of Falcon, dashing around a corner and she takes off at a run after him.
Falcon chases Slim Jim down a narrow side street. It’s far less crowded than the main market but there are still many people walking up and down it. Slim Jim grabs objects and people nearest to his grasp and tries shoving them in the path of a quickly gaining Falcon. The Freelancer doesn’t slow. He runs around some of the items. Others he jumps over. If people are put in his way, he does his best to avoid running into them. Unfortunately not everyone is lucky enough to avoid an impact and some innocent bystanders are knocked to the ground.
“Stupid Anglo!” a man yells as he rises back to his feet after Falcon slams into him, forcing him to the ground.
Falcon watches Slim Jim dart down an alley way. He takes one look back toward the main street to see if Phoenix is behind him. She isn’t. He sees only a sea of people moving up and down the street.
Facing forward, he follows his quarry into the dim alley and stops just at the edge of the two buildings creating the narrow space. A few people sit or lean against the walls. Some of them shift in their spaces but none of them make any moves toward or away from Falcon. And none of them are Slim Jim.
A metal sound bangs from above. Falcon looks up to see Jim almost to the top of a ladder. The wiry man scrambles up it and over the edge, disappearing on the roof of the building.
“Dammit.” Falcon runs for the ladder and leaps to the second rung.
Phoenix finally pushes past the crowd and onto the side street. She squints her eyes to see if she recognizes anyone. She doesn’t. No one chasing after anyone. And no one being chased. Just more buyers and sellers moving forward to add themselves to the crowd now behind her.
“Great.” She holsters her gun and walks briskly down the middle of the street. She turns her head down the alley and sees only the same, barely moving people. A few vendors smile and wave at her. She replies in kind, though her demeanor is less authentic. Phoenix turns from the alley and back to the street then to the alley again, trying to decide which way to go. She decides on the street and runs to the next intersection.
“Wrong move, Jim!” Falcon yells as his feet clomp along the roof of the building. “You should have stayed in the crowd.”
“I know my town, Freelancer.” Slim Jim jumps over the wall dividing the adjoining buildings. He heads back in the direction of the market street.
“There’s nowhere else to go.” Falcon jumps over the dividing wall as Jim makes a wide turn back toward the alley. “You won’t make it. It’s too far.”
Jim’s foot hits the raised edge of the building and he launches himself into the empty air. Falcon watches as he disappears below his line of sight before running to the edge.
On the building across the alley, Jim scrambles up a steel balcony. “Too bad for you. No pay day for the Freelancer.” Slim Jim slaps his own chest in praise of himself.
Falcon stares at him then down at the concrete below. It’s only two stories up but a fall from this height will probably break something if he lands wrong. Even if he lands right, a sprain or twist is almost guaranteed. If nothing else, the impact shock will put him on his butt. Either way, Slim Jim gets away and getting away from Phoenix will prove nearly impossible. Of course, if he doesn’t try, Slim Jim still gets away. Falcon looks at the steel scaffold Jim stands on. He turns around and walks to the opposite side of the building.
“That’s right. Go back home. The Asian Empire’s not good for you,” Jim yells as he watches Falcon disappear on the roof.
Falcon stops at the other side of the building and turns to face the alley. He swings his arms in front of him, readying himself. “He did it. You can do it,” he says under his breath. Falcon inhales, deeply, and holds it for a moment. Narrowing his eyes, he exhales and bursts forward, sprinting for the alley.
Slim Jim Soon starts to make his way down the fire escape when he hears the sound of scraping concrete. He looks up just in time to see Falcon leaping over the gap between the buildings. Jim’s eyes grow wide as the man gets closer to him.
Falcon grunts as he collides with the balcony railing just below Jim. His fingers grip the steel, preventing him from falling. In a panic, Jim switches directions and heads up the stairs to the ladder leading to the roof.
Falcon pulls himself up and over the railing. The steel pops as his boots hit the metal bars acting as a platform. He continues racing after his prey.
Jim vaults himself over the edge of the building and onto the roof. Falcon mirrors his movements and makes it halfway across the roof before he sees Jim wink at him and slide down the ladder on the other side. Falcon double times it.
Several feet away from the edge, he leaps forward and grabs the rails of the ladder, flipping himself around to the other side
of it. Falcon’s feet hit the rails and he slides down just as Jim’s feet hit the pavement below.
Phoenix stands on the corner of the intersection. She watches as more rickshaws and bicycles pass by. There are fewer cars on this street, though that isn’t saying much considering how few there are on the market street. She watches as drunk individuals-- and those on their way to drunkenness--meander sloppily along the side walk. Lights flash around her and loud music blares from the different bars and parlors, doing everything they can to entice those with money to come in and spend. After the day she’s had, Phoenix is tempted to do just that. She shakes the thought and turns her head just in time to see Falcon hit the sidewalk.
“Hey!” She starts after him.
Falcon sees her approaching but continues after Slim Jim, anyway.
“Not again!” she yells. It’s mostly for herself but it also doubles as an order. One that is quickly furthering itself from being heeded. “Stop!” She draws her gun and fires it into the air again. Falcon ducks down and looks back but he keeps moving forward.
“Falcon!” A deep voice bellows. The Freelancer faces forward and is met by a massive hand colliding with his throat. The hand is attached to the arm of a very large man who lifts Falcon into the air. Falcon watches over the man’s shoulder as Slim Jim turns around and salutes him before disappearing around a corner and out of sight.
Falcon tries to swallow. The man’s grip is tight but not too air restrictive. “Big Wang. Nice to see you.” Falcon tries to hit the large man’s arm, hoping the strikes will release him. They don’t.
“Falcon.” A smaller man appears from behind the larger one. “What are you doing here? You know you were banned from the Empire.”
“Little Wang,” Falcon starts. “You’ll have to ask her about that.” He flicks his thumb back at Phoenix.
“Well, hello, Phoenix. It’s a pleasure to see you again. You honor us with your appearance in our capital city.
Freelancers: Falcon & Phoenix Page 2