Disclaimer: May contain peanuts but no intend for copyright infringement.
A/N: Part one of a two-chapter story, kindly betaed by weapon13WhiteFang.
"So, what's it gonna be now? You're gonna kill me?"
Guerrero snorted contemptuously.
"Dude, why would I wanna do that. Your're not even worth the trouble. I've got everything I need. I'm just gonna lean back and watch you trip over yourself, but until then you and I will live perfectly happy lives. Seeya!"
Sporting his sassiest grin Guerrero turned his back on the mortified face of the corrupt firm boss he had grilled these last few minutes and saw himself out of the glass-wall office.
On his way back to the car Guerrero continued grinning. He couldn't believe the pathetic white-collar criminal considered himself bad-ass enough to be worth being killed by Guerrero. In reality he had already generated a mental list of the many ways Dawson and his computer company could be of use in the future. For now he had only claimed a rather useful program he probably could have written himself, but really, wasn't it better to save some time and "make some new friends" along the way?
The assassin was heading for the caddie when suddenly he felt a sound. He knew what it was. His instinct screamed for him to drop, but instead he turned around. He paid for this mistake when the shockwave pushed against his core and sent him flying all the way back to his car where he was brought to an instant, painful halt. He felt the heat wash over his body while he slid down the side of the Aldo, then everything went black for a few seconds. As he forced his eyes open it took him a moment to take in the sight: the building he just left had gone up in a huge ball of flames before his eyes and was now nothing but a huge burning pile of debris, dust and smoke.
Guerrero's ears hurt and he shook his head to get rid of the dizzying ringing. He knew he needed to clear away immediately if he didn't want the whole city looking for him as the bomber, so he willed himself back on his feet. He had to lean against his car as the ringing in his ears became even louder and the ground under his feet seemed to shift awkwardly backwards. He fished the car key from his pocket and actually tried to insert it a few times before he realized that he could open his car with the remote. When he pressed the button he found that at least part of the noise in his ears had come from the car's alarm system. It felt natural to sit in the relative silence for a while, but as Guerrero heard the first sirens in the distance he peeled out of the parking lot.
He had only been on the road for a couple of minutes when his cell began to ring. The sound didn't quite agree with his sore head. He knew who it was without looking as he answered the call.
"Dude, it wasn't me."
"Well, you sound alive enough." Chance answered.
"Huh?" It hadn't even come to Guerrero that Chance had called to make sure his friend was still in one piece.
"It's all over the news, Guerrero. When I heard the company name, you know I got a bit-"
"WHAT? Is there any footage of me?"
"You mean you were still there when the place exploded? What's going on, Guerrero?"
"Chance, is there any footage of me at the scene?"
"Relax, news chopper isn't even there yet. Where're you at anyway?"
"I- whooaah!" Guerrero jerked the wheel violently as his car swerved to the opposite lane.
"What happened? You still there?"
Since when had driving straightforward become so hard? And why did he feel like everyone was staring at him?
"Cell phone driving, dude. Should be illegal in all fifty states. Headed to you now." With that he cancelled the call and tossed the phone on the passenger seat.
When Chance opened the door for Guerrero the latter received the same appalled look he had seen on the drivers' faces on the streets.
"Yep, looks like you were there alright. Sit down, we need to clean those cuts." Only then did Guerrero notice the blood on his shirt. Some of it seemed to come from his face, but there were also cuts in the fabric. Exploding office building equalled flying pieces of glass. He could've thought of that sooner.
"'We'? I don't think so, dude."
When Winston heard the news he did something he had often chastened himself for back in his days as a cop: he followed a hunch and drove to Chance's loft. As he let himself in, he found Guerrero on the couch, topless, applying butterfly bandages to what seemed to be several gashes on his torso. His face looked like he had starred in a damn Saw movie. Guerrero all but ignored him. Chance's eyes were drawn to the TV where a chaos of a huge black smoke column and a lot of fire fighters unfolded. As Guerrero silently added another bloody gauze ball to the compilation on the table Winston put two and two together. His hunch had been right.
"Explain. Now."
Guerrero shrugged. "Gotta go wash my face, dude." He grabbed the bottle of disinfectant from the table and stole past Winston. Winston knew better than to stop him and instead took his place on the couch.
"Guerrero not in the mood for explaining? Why am I not surprised. Please tell me he had a run-in with a cat or something." Chance shook his head no and put the TV on mute.
"Winston, he's got nothing to do with this."
"You're telling me his being there the exact second a building is reduced to a pile of ashes was coincidental?"
"I'm telling you he didn't do it." The way he said it left no room for argument. Winston trusted Chance, he just wasn't sure if he trusted Chance trusting Guerrero. However, this was not the time to discuss this.
"Okay. Guess he'd know better than to blow himself up, anyway … do I even wanna know what crazy-ass insanity he was trying to achieve there?"
"He just went to get a program the company had invented. Got it without problems. Real small fry."
"Yeah, without problems my ass. Be honest with me here, Chance, do you really think that this is a coincidence? That someone decides to get back on Dawson the day, hell the minute Guerrero's around?"
"Don't know, Winston. We don't know. If not, we'd have to assume that this is about Guerrero, not Dawson."
"As many reasons I can think of to kill Guerrero, there are easier ways you know."
"I heard that, Winston, despite the jet engines in my ears." came Guerrero's voice from behind him. He joined them on the couch and watched as the number of people assumed to have been in the building climbed to forty-eight.
"There were a lot of talented programmers in that building."
"Oh is that your only concern now? That the hacker community misses out on its next messiah? I see the explosion didn't knock any common sense into you."
"Dude, I'm saying that this was with a certain probability about one of their customized programs or about a person who wrote one. If this was about me, the timing would've been a real piece of shit. Wouldn't they wanna make sure I was still in the building when they blow it up? Why not put the bomb in the caddie? How's that for common sense."
"So to you this is just a wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time kind of thing?"
"Stranger things have happened, dude. In 1975 a guy on a moped was killed by a taxi and exactly one year later, the man's brother-"
"I know the story, thanks, Ripley. So now you're just gonna creep back to your little Odditorium and pretend that nothing ever happened?"
"No. With the help of this wondrous apparatus called a computer I'm going to find out who did this and why."
"Why?"
"I had plans for Dawson. Now I'll have to find a new B-list computer company criminal."
*tbc*
You hear that high-pichted noise in your ears? That's my obligatory desperate outcry for REVIEWS!
