by Mike Gomes
The big man reached down and picked up his hat and placed it carefully on his head. The group of teens stood not moving and watching to see what the big man did next.
A teenage girl with dirty blonde hair and jeans that were too small for someone of her size pointed into the crowd. “He went in there.”
“Much obliged, maam.” said Wyatt with a tip of his hat and a smile to the girl.
He turned on a dime and pushed his way into the crowd. He had lost sight of Duke but bargained on the idea that he was trying to get as far away as possible. Wyatt aimed directly for the opposite side of the square. He moved people like they were rag dolls pushing them aside. None of them bothering to say a word in his wake.
Gazing above the crowd he saw Duke standing outside a vintage record shop where they sold old vinyl records that so many of the hipsters liked to listen to. The big man crouched and pulled off his hat peering between the heads in the crowd.
Duke went into the shop and looked out seeing if he had gotten away.
Wyatt moved in a flanking maneuver landing himself two stores up from the shop but had a clear view of the front opening. He surveyed the area to look for a way to remove Duke from the congested street when he saw a man with grey hair who had been in Duke’s hotel room just thirty minutes before.
“Hello, Gramps!”
Chapter 30
Keeping his eyes locked on the older man he could see that he had seen Duke as well. He was holding his position keeping his eyes on Duke. His lips moved but his head did not turn and there was no reaction from the people around him. Wyatt was sure that he was using some kind of communication device to talk with the other members of his team. If the old man was already there then the others were sure to be.
The traffic went by in a blaze as cars worked their way through the chaotic system of roads in the truest area forcing all the people to pool to the sidewalks. Piccadilly Circus was a functional part of the city as well as a tourist hotspot. Most businesses in the area closed at a standard time. Just the eateries, arcades, and retail stores stayed open for the crowds that came at night for the neon. This was all the cover that Wyatt needed.
Keeping himself in a crouched position he walked with the crowed. He pushed himself into a group of teens that were yelling and swearing as they moved.
“Who you hiding from mate? Cops?” asked one of the teens.
“No. A friend. Just sneaking up on him for a gag.”
“Nonthin’ like bustin’ the chops of a friend yeah?”
Wyatt smiled at the young man who seemed perfectly willing to go along with his plan by keeping his feet moving crossing in front of the record store.
Taking a quick glance to the side he saw Duke leaning inside the inner doorway of Groovy Tunes. Inside there were rows of records stacked in boxes and lined up one after another. Most of the people in the store were older men flipping through the records looking for the treasures of their youth. Duke did not make eye contact. He was looking above the crowd seeing if he could see the cowboy hat bobbing its way through the crowd. But it was nowhere to be found.
Looking ahead he had seen Tim had not moved.
Waiting for backup! Thought Wyatt realizing that time was of the essence. If he did not make his move soon he would be outnumbered three to one with the Duke ready to flee. If the old man’s back up did not get there before he could take care of things then it would be fine. He could simply slip away into the crowd with Duke. If they got there first there was a strong possibility that people would die in the crowd. He would shoot his way out if needed.
Tim’s eyes did not divert from his target. He was trained well to stay singularly focused. Wyatt could see that he was trained in the military by his stance with slightly bent knees. He tucked himself into a corner minimizing his profile but able to keep eyes on the target at all times. He was professional and patient. An amateur would have rushed in and attempted to make the grab himself. He would have not had the ability to hold back and take in the whole area and make a plan. Wyatt smiled knowing that the one mistake the older man made was he did his survey of the area too soon and he finished before he had gotten to his spot finding Duke and him. He had done everything right and it was an honest mistake but it was costly now that Wyatt found himself passing by the older man and peeling off from the group of teenagers ten feet behind him.
Wyatt slid into a doorway just behind Tim. He looked out over the crowd and saw no movement. No sign of the others from the room running across the intersection. They had not made their move yet.
He placed the cowboy hat atop his head and adjusted his jacket. He walked calmly and slowly up behind Tim who had not heard his footsteps with the sea of noise that was splashing over his ears.
Wyatt paused and reached into the pocket of his jacket. His hand emerged with a set of brass knuckles interlacing his fingers like a wedding ring on each one. The brass was hard and with the force that Wyatt could yield behind it potentially deadly landing in the right place. His right hand was ready to produce a level of damage to ensure that Tim would no longer be a problem with interfering with him taking Duke.
Raising his left hand Wyatt grabbed the back of Tim’s coat. Wyatt’s eyes cut down to slits and his jaw turned hard. All of his focus found its way into the three inches that ran across the metal of the brass knuckles.
His right foot pressed down hard as his hand fired forward. His training with the Israelis taught him to aim two inches behind your target to ensure that your power goes all the way through them. His fist sank into the lower back of Tim causing the man’s knees to buckle and let out a hard grunt. The fist had hit its mark of the kidneys.
A pain shot up from Tim’s lower back up to his neck. His back arched and Wyatt’s right hand kept him from falling to the ground.
Wyatt’s hand fired again and again and again into exactly the same spot. The pain overwhelmed the older man who hung by the right hand of Wyatt. Dropping him to the ground in a wiggling pile, Wyatt kicked a half drunk cup of beer that had been discarded on the ground next to the building. The spray of beer covered Tim as he laid on the ground. The addition of the beer making him look like the perfect drunk who had passed out on his way home from the pub.
Smiling at his handy work Wyatt Houston stood tall and proud walking directly for Groovy Tunes.
Looking to the side Duke picked up the big man but it was too late. His hands were on him and he started to drag him away without saying a word.
“What are you doing.” gasped Duke with his feet barely touching the ground as he was pushed along by Wyatt.
“Shut up.”
“I will not shut up. I asked what you’re doing?”
Wyatt stopped hard in his tracks exasperated by the words of Duke. He grabbed hard on his right wrist and yanked his arm up behind his back pushing it to the point just before breaking it. Duke let out a squeal and raised up onto his tiptoes trying to get higher and higher to stop the pain. The cowboy leaned in close to Duke’s ear placing his lips less than an inch away and whispered “I said shut up. If you don’t I will blow off your mother fucking head right here. Right now. Do you understand me.”
“Yes.” whispered Duke.
“You ran from me twice. That just does not happen without you having to pay for that mistake.”
“I will give you anything you want. Just please don’t kill me.”
“Kill you? Brother, I am the only friend you have. You think those other three are here to just talk to you. They are assassins ready to kill you for the people they work for. It took some convincing from my people to let me come after you than the woman they wanted to send.”
“I am sorry I ran. I should never have done that.”
“You’re right, you should not have. I am sorry too because I need to make sure you’re not going to run again.”
Duke started to squirm and pulled himself back up again trying to get away from the grip of the big man. His hand keeping hard pressure upward and digging into his back.<
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“Pain is the only thing that will keep you from running. You’re a weak rich boy. You could not move fast with a blister. Just remember you brought this on yourself.”
Wyatt held tight to Duke’s hand with his left hand and placed his right hand on the front of his shoulder and one smooth motion he pulled the shoulder from the socket leaving it to dangle.
Duke let out a cry of pain and Wyatt pushed himself up behind him concealing the wound from the onlookers.
“Yeeee haaa!” yelped Wyatt playing the part of a drunken friend to Duke. The eyes looking from the crowd were short lived and turned away as fast as they had arrived.
Wyatt swung to the front of Duke and pulled the dislocated shoulder in the opening between the holes in his button down shirt having it act as a basic rest for the arm. He pulled off his sport jacket and wrapped it around Duke concealing the dislocated shoulder.
“You walk where I push you. If you don’t I am going to punch you in the back of your broken shoulder.”
“I understand” said Duke his face void of color. “Shit!”
Duke’s eyes looked past Wyatt seeing Falau standing no more than ten feet away. Wyatt’s head turned with the gaze of Duke and saw Falau standing rugged and strong. His right arm was pulled tight to his body showing he was favoring it from the gun shot into the shoulder. Falau stepped forward moving in quickly to attack Wyatt from behind.
Wyatt’s vision had taken in the attack and he kicked back hard placing the kick precisely into the wounded shoulder and knocking Falau to the ground with a thud. The feeling of fire shot from the wound racing across Falau’s chest. His other hand reached across his chest and grabbed at the wound out of instinct. He felt a warmth starting to run down his chest. The kick had opened the wound and the blood had slowly started to run out of it.
Wyatt grabbed Duke by the broken shoulder and pushed him into the street stopping the first car that arrived. A Mini screeched to a halt and a wave of disappointment washed over Wyatt’s face knowing he had no choice in what to do next. He slammed Duke off the hood of the car and moved to the driver’s side pulling the man out of the seat. The man shook as the cowboy’s hand grabbed him by the front of his shirt and ripped him from his seat and threw him to the street. Wyatt reached over and grabbed Duke and stuffed him into the car and climbed in.
Before closing the door he tipped his hat to the man that he had just stolen the car from and said “Thank you, sir.”
He put the car into gear and hit the gas getting a less than impressive acceleration.
Gabriela pushed herself to the front of the onlookers who had gathered in time to see Duke and Wyatt driving away and Falau getting back to his feet with a stain of blood starting to cover his chest.
“They are on the move in the Mini.” called Gabriela rushing over to Falau.
“Got it.” said Falau with his arm held firm to his chest and all eyes on him from the crowd. He staggered past Gabriela without making eye contact and off the curb into the street. The sound of screeching tires cut through the air and a hood ornament that looked like a peace sign sat inches from his waist. A beautiful blonde woman sat in the driver’s seat of the Mercedes S class with both her hands covering her mouth and shaking from the close call of hitting the pedestrian.
Falau turned and looked at the woman with his half shut eyes. He reached behind him and pulled out his Ruger SR9C and pointed it at her. The crowd exploded with screams and running people. Falau knew this would be the result before he pulled out the gun and he saw it as a tactical advantage. The chaos would create confusion and it would take time for the police to see what had happened.
He flicked the gun to the side indicating that he wanted the woman to get out of the car and she did without hesitation.
“Gabriela you drive.” said Falau walking to the passenger side door. He looked over the top of the car and gave the woman a half hearted smile. “I am sorry about this. I have no choice in the matter. We will do our best to make sure your car is ok. I hope you have a nice night. Oh and I would never have shot you. I just need the car.”
The woman smiled at Falau seeing the touch of vulnerability in his face and words he said and she believed him as she watched him racing away in her car.
Pushing his way through the mass of people, Tim got to where the action had been and saw his teammates driving away in the car. He reeked of beer and was covered by the dirt that had been ground into the sidewalk. His hair was tattered and a mess. He raised his hands to signal to them but the moment had passed. He was left alone on the sidewalk watching their tail lights fade away.
Chapter 31
The Mercedes S class dug its tiers into the road immersing itself in the connection. They did not slip or spin they just grabbed hard and lurched the car ahead with a force that pushed Gabriela and Falau back in their seats. The power of the car was going to waste to some extent. Open road is where it could really shine. Even after dark the streets in London were alive with activity. Cars and trucks moved in and out of streets, stop lights went red, and pedestrians were prone to walking off curbs without looking. Tourists from America were the greatest offenders due to their road laws having them drive on the other side of the street. Their instinct was to look the wrong way putting them in danger if they forgot to look both ways.
“Damn traffic!” snapped Gabriela pounding the brake bringing the car to a stop just inches from the car in front of her.
Falau’s body pulled forward and then snapped back against the seat banging hard with the stopping of the car. A grunt emanated from his body with the impact against the seat.
“I still have eyes on them. They are two lights up.” said Falau concentrating on the mission hoping to distract himself from the pain that was now shooting though his back and arm. The blood loss was significant and most of the front of his shirt was covered in crimson.
Gabriela pressed the gas with the changing of the light and slipped through an opening between two cars before they could close the distance between them. She constantly scanned the road looking for more opportunities to get the slightest bit ahead. In the city the Mini was somewhat of an advantage. They could move up in the pack easier. The car was shorter and thinner than the others on the road but they also needed to be cautious knowing that any accident could render the car useless.
Pulling out his shirt to look inside at the wound, Falau felt the fabric sticking to the blood that had started to dry. The rest of the shirt felt soaked to its capacity and dripped blood back onto his already stained chest. Wyatt’s kick hit exactly the right spot even though Falau doubted that he knew where the wound was. Falau could see that the wound was a jagged mess that constantly pooled blood each time it was wiped clean by his hand. The original bullet wound had no time to heal so the depth of it was still there. The nerve ending now exposed to the air and the pain of rubbing against his shirt and the movement from his arm. There was no avoiding the pain and it was far too sharp of a pain that he could endure it or get used to it. Each contact sent a separate flash of pain across his back chest and arm. Losing more blood would only make it more debilitating.
“I need your shirt.” said Falau curling his lips looking in again at the sopping wound.
“You’re not going to die so you’re not getting lucky with me. My shirt stays on.”
“I don’t want your body. I just want your shirt to stop the bleeding.” said Falau attempting to sound light hearted despite what he was seeing inside his shirt. “Just rip a chunk off the front and I will be good.”
The car came to a stop at the next light and Gabriela pulled to the far right of the road. Her hands grabbed the t-shirt and ripped up on the left side of her body. Stopping a few inches below her breasts, she ripped across and then down the other side making a sheet of fabric that was about the size of a handkerchief. She stretched up her hand and gave it to Falau.
Falau smiled and winked at her. “Nice muffin top.” He said glancing down at her stomach.
“Muffin
top. What the hell is that.”
“You know the part of the muffin that hangs over the bottom like your gut.” said Falau going to work on his shoulder. He bound up the fabric and made it into a long and thin object looking like a cigar. Remembering Tim’s handy work he stuffed the fabric quickly into the hole to clot all the bleeding. Light flashed in front of his eyes like lightning bolts on a humid summer night. Everything went to black and white with the pain and he feared he would pass out. Pressing his foot hard into the floor he contained his desire to scream and let Gabriela know just how bad the wound was. If she knew she may go to a hospital to help him rather than finish the mission.
“There is not one ounce of fat on this body and I sure as hell don’t have a muffin top!” ranted Gabriela with her eyes focused on the red light two cars in front of her and not noticing what Falau had done. “You have some nerve, Falau. You’re not exactly Mr. Fit and Trim.”
“Green light!” said Falau.
Gabriela punched the gas pedal and cut hard to the right bringing the car up onto the sidewalk with a loud clunk of the bottom of the car rubbing against the curb.
“Screw waiting in traffic.” she said speeding the car up to fifty miles an hour in a flash. The side of the road held street lights and if not for the occasional post office box it was open. Well, as open as something could be with people walking up and down it at all hours of the day and night.
Gabriela punched down hard on the horn and flashed the lights clearing the crowd in front of her. People jumped to the side as they saw the car rocketing for them.
Falau placed his hand out on the dash of the car and then looked to his partner. He was lost in his emotions of not knowing if he should be impressed with Gabriela’s commitment to the mission or in fear that she could kill countless people just to catch up to a Mini several blocks ahead. He stared at her face and could see the cold hard hazel eyes focused on nothing but what she was after. There was no deviation for the Mantis. People could die. People could get hurt. None of that mattered as long as she completed her mission. He wondered if she had any empathy at all because in the time he had known her she has yet to show any empathy toward anyone or anything.