Cheap Thrills (6 Thrilling reads) (46 page)

Sixty Seven

Jason holds his AK47 much like a militia soldier would hold his. He paces the length of the train nonstop as he surveys the fear in the hostages’ eyes. He stops and points at a man he had forced to kneel on the ground with his hands on his head.

‘You. What’s your name?’ Jason manoeuvres his way closer to the man.

‘Speak up.’ Jason points the foreboding AK47 at the silent man’s chest.

‘Jason,’ the petrified man says.

Jason’s eyes light as he excitedly points the gun upward, signalling the man to rise to his feet.

‘My name is Jason, as well’

The man looks nervously at Jason.

‘Would you say Jason is a common name?’

‘Pretty common,’ the man answers.

‘So, does that make me a common killer then?’

The man’s eyes tighten with fear. ‘No sir.’

‘So you don’t respect me, the man with a gun.’

‘I did not say that.’

‘It’s too late for apologies, Jason, the damage is done. My feelings are hurt.’

The man bows his head in fear.

‘Look at me.’ Jason waves his AK47.

The man reels with sweat. 

‘There’s only room for one Jason on this trip.’  Jason unloads a full clip into the man’s torso.

The bullets contort the man’s body and he falls unnaturally to the ground.

The barrel of Jason’s Ak47 blazes with smoke and Jason smiles as he changes the clip. The heavy mag hits the floor with a frightening thud as passengers gasp in horror at the mangled body on the floor.

Jason looks up and smiles.

‘I take it there aren’t any more Jason’s on this train?’

The passengers watch him silently.

Some of the bullets have hit the cabin door of the driver. He walks to the metal door and opens it. The trains’ driver is a mess with sweat and fear. He tightly grips the controls of the train.

Jason grins at him.

‘Everything okay in here Mr Train Driver?’ The driver nods cautiously, visibly upset.

‘Good. Full steam ahead then. Make sure you slow down where I told you to. We are making a slight detour, but we will be back on course very shortly. Is that understood?’

The driver nods.

Sixty Eight

A member of his crew drags Adam McKenzie’s body off as Chase watches blood smear the hard flooring and fill the minute holes with red specks.

The struggling guard is visibly tiring. Adam’s bulk is sheer muscle. Chase sympathetically offers a hand. ‘He’s a burly one.’ The guard nods in agreement. ‘They don’t build them like this, anymore.’ Connor grabs Adam’s motionless legs and follows the guard’s lead through the room lit only by camera light.

‘Who do you think he is, Boss?’ ‘No one special, I guess.’ Chase answers. ‘Some poor sap risking his life for a pay check.’

The guard’s short laugh turns to a wheeze as he bears Adam’s weight. ‘A bit like us, then.’

Chase stops and lets Adam’s feet hit the floor.

‘What do you mean?’

The guard looks nervously at Chase. ‘What we are doing could be considered dangerous.’

Chaser shakes his head. ‘No, that’s not what you meant.’ ‘Don’t you think this is a lot of effort for some money?’

Chase closes in on the jittery guard. ‘What money?’ The guard seeks answers from in his surroundings.

‘Look at me,’ Chase grabs the guard’s jaw.

‘I did not mean anything, boss.’ Connor pushes him away, into the wall.

‘This isn’t about money. This is about principle. When you lack that in life, the only thing you have left is your shadow. The shadow of a man with no principles is a man with no word. A man with no word has no balls. If he has no balls then all he is a bitch. I’m talking about a female dog. Are you a female dog?’

The guard shakes his head cautiously.

‘The only thing female dogs are good for is sniffing around.’

The guard nods in agreement.

‘You’re here to do a job, not speculate on finances. You do it correctly; you will get paid. I am not here for a hand out, I’m here for change. Now drag that body down to the cellar. Make sure you douse the body in gas just like the rest. We may be here for a while; I don’t want the place stinking up.  We’ll have a cremation ceremony before we leave this shithole.’

Sixty Nine

He walks up the stairs holding a suitcase. The stairwell is well lit considering the geographical location he is in. He reads a plaque on the wall. “Willard Intercontinental Washington Hotel Fire Exit”

He smiles as he manoeuvres up the last couple of steps, lugging the heavy yet indispensable metal briefcase. He sighs in relief as he reaches the top floor. He would use the elevator going down, because time would be of the essence, but that didn’t help him now.

The heavy fire exit door glistens in the artificial light coming from the warm industrial light tubes on the walls.

He is dressed in a business suit, not uncommon for such a distinguished building. He must look the part for what he is about to do. In a sea of suits, it would take ages for them to find the person responsible. A guy casually dressed in such an establishment would be quickly found.

He opens the large metal door inward. Strong winds brace his suit against him. The swift breeze flows up his sleeves and ankles. He walks onto the rooftop and sees a view of Washington that surprises him. The picturesque skyline is surprisingly comforting. He closes the door behind him, casually takes in his surroundings. Metal grates and bellowing AC units occupy the roof styled to look antique. He contemplates whether he will see a gargoyle.

He finds the spot designated and crouches. He produces a small pair of binoculars from one of his pockets and scans the horizon. Pennsylvania Avenue below him is littered with the Press. The police are cordoning off a parking spot in front of the hotel. He leans against the ledge and looks down toward the ground. It appears minute.

Leaning back in from the granite ledge, he turns around and sits. His actions seem rehearsed and covert. He flicks the code needed to unlock the briefcase and looms over it once it opens. He tingles with excitement as he unpacks the contents. He carefully unfolds a black silk cloth on the ground. He reaches into the case again and starts pulling out bits of metal and wood. He clicks the pieces together and a rifle takes shape. He attaches a barrel and then calmly screws on the suppressor. The soft silk pouch he pulls from the briefcase becomes an 18x Zoom scope. He attaches it to the fully formed rifle and places the constructed rifle on the black cloth. His last piece of equipment is a tripod, which he fixes to the ground. He stands up and walks over to the ledge and looks again through his binoculars. He shakes the tripod to see if it’s sturdy. That confirmed, he pulls a balaclava from a suit pocket and puts it on. He takes off his suit jacket and puts on an army shirt and places the suit jacket on the silk cloth. He picks up the heavy rifle and manoeuvres to the tripod to click the rifle into place.

Kneeling in front, he lines the scope up and looks through it. He scans the ground, marks a couple of random people in his sights and pulls a PDA from his trouser pocket. He clicks the touch screen buttons and hits an application. When the loading bar hits one hundred, he places the PDA on the ground by the rifle. He places a small ear piece in his ear and clicks “SYNC” on the device. He breaths in deeply and takes aim again. He scans the horizon and sees nothing. The earpiece clicks.

‘ETA on the President, thirty minutes,’ a voice says in his ear.

Seventy

Mike approaches Sandra Austin at the vending machine. ‘Have you spoken to Bob yet?’

She takes a long sip from the warm cup.

‘Since the last time you asked me, Mike, the answer is still no. I haven’t spoken to him.’

Mike shakes his head in frustration. ‘Well to be honest, Sandra, I don’t like sitting on my ass all day at a Goddamn train station waiting for something to supposedly happen when one of the biggest newsworthy events of my lifetime is happening right now. And I’m not there to film it!’

Sandra throws Mike a mocking look. ‘Do you expect them to let you into M.I.T to film Connor Chase and his men up close, Mike?’

‘Not exactly. But I want to be in the vicinity when they send in the SWAT team.’

‘Don’t you think that might warn Chase about their plans to infiltrate?’

Mike shrugs and reaches into his coat pocket to pull out a cigar. He lights it and blows smoke into Sandra’s face.

She shoos the smoke away with her hand and grimaces at Mike before throwing him the bird. He laughs and walks away.

‘Asshole,’ she mutters.

Seventy One

Three security officers stand at the door when Eddie walks into the interrogation room. He signals them to go, relieving them of their duties. Eddie shuts the door firmly behind them and turns to Frank, who sits at the table watching Eddie.

He walks to the table, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he takes a seat. He and Frank make eye contact. Frank smiles and relaxes.

Eddie shakes his head as he lights a cigarette.

‘I think it’s obvious, don’t you?’

‘Not exactly Eddie. Enlighten me.’

‘I’ll give you one clue’

Frank is shackled with handcuffs around his wrists. Eddie gets up and slowly makes his way around the interrogation table. He grabs Frank’s head and slams it hard into the metal table.

Frank grunts in pain.

Eddie walks back to his seat and sits down. The three security guards rush in, guns drawn.

‘Is everything okay, Sir?’ one asks.

Eddie nods. The guard sees Frank’s bleeding nose and smiles. They walk out and slam the door.

‘I’ll let you have that one for free, Eddie.’ Frank wipes the blood off his nose.

‘This isn’t about me ‘getting one for free’, Frank. It’s about me trusting you. I put in a good word to get you back on the force. Then what do you do? You go and break the chief of police’s nose. Then to make matters worse, you are suspected of being in a damn fire fight with the secret service.’

‘What do you mean the secret service?’ asks Frank

‘Don’t play stupid, Frank. Did you not go see Jacob Reach in downtown Boston earlier today?’

Frank shakes his head and wipes at his face once again. ‘I did not. And even if I did, I wouldn’t be fighting the damn secret service.’

Eddie stubs out his cigarette on the metal table and stands up.

‘So all this chatter about you being involved in a shootout downtown is bullshit? And the fact that I found you in a warehouse not too far away from the alleged shooting is pure coincidence?’

‘You’re Goddamn right, it’s a coincidence. Ever since I came back all I’ve been hearing is how I’m in it for me and not one of the team. Truth is my own team sold me out. So you tell me, Mr DA, who should I trust?
 The Goddamn department? The people who seem to have a raging hard-on over me and my business? Or a guy who has done nothing but his job; a guy with nothing but dedication and balls. I admit I am not perfect. Truth is, Eddie, I’m the cop I need to be, the cop Boston needs me to be. Nothing else. If they don’t like it, then they can kiss my ass. Quite frankly, if you’re going to arrest me, do it now. If not, then un-cuff me. I have an ass hole to arrest.’

Eddie walks over and unlocks Frank’s cuffs. ‘Look Frank, all I want from you is the decency not to make me look like an idiot. You do what you have to do, then make sure that it doesn’t come back to haunt me. I know sometimes rules have to be broken. But don’t go out and cause havoc. You are representing the City of Boston and law enforcement. Don’t you forget that.’

Frank gets up from his seat and nods. ‘Is Shaw okay?’ he asks.

Eddie laughs. ‘Yeah he’s alright. His nose isn’t really broken, just his pride.’

‘Well the asshole deserved it. All he does is bark orders. He should keep his fat mouth shut when it comes to me and my life.’

Eddie pats Frank on his tatty shoulder. ‘Frank, you need some hot food and a shower. A change of clothes and a belly full of food will do you good. Beats no food and half a bottle of Jack.’

‘I hear you.’  Frank walks towards the door.

‘One more thing.  Keep away from Shaw.’ Eddie adds. ‘He wants blood. The guy wants your career, Frank.’

‘As far as I’m concerned he can have the damn thing. Less problems for me to deal with.’

‘Just be prepared. After this shit storm is over, he’s coming for you. I’ll put in a good word with the FBI or some other agency and get you transferred out of this crappy place.’

Seventy Two

Jason paces the train, his eyes never leaving the hostages. He watches their every move.

He processes each of their faces. He leans against the large window and peers outside. He stares long and hard at the fast moving landscape. The hostages quietly watch his every move too.

Shaken and distraught, most dare not look at each other for the fear that Jason will think they are conspiring. The mangled corpse a few feet away reminds everyone enough of the danger.

One man watches Jason with calculating intent. The man has dirty, long brown hair speckled with grease and grey. He wears a black hoodie. His blue washed denim jeans are typical and he’s a man you wouldn’t notice in a hurry.

The man staring at him is tall and slender. The herd of hostages don’t notice the tall hooded man. No one notices him except the pregnant woman sitting next to him.

She turns her head and addresses the hooded man.

‘I wouldn’t stare at him like that,’ she cautions. The dark pregnant woman’s deep brown eyes plead with the man. He interrupts his intense surveillance and smiles at her with his eyes. ‘I’m not staring.’ ‘You could have fooled me,’ she says softly.

‘Trust me. I’m planning. There’s only one of him. It’s going to take a lot more than an AK47 to stop me.’

The woman shakes her head in fear, begging him with her eyes not to be a hero. Her heart hopes otherwise.