Los Angeles
Los Angeles, California; Saturday, June 11, 8:27 P.M…
"…And then he yanks me aside while I'm stopped, and he gets right up into my face and spits at me, 'That was on purpose, you arrogant little jerk! I saw it with my own eye! That does it; you're fired!' And they kicked me right out of the league after that! I mean, come on! I was the best young driver they'll ever see, and they kicked me right out!"
"But, was the crash on purpose?" Penelope asked.
"Well…maybe. I mean, the guy flipped me off as he passed by me! He totally had it coming!"
Normally, Sly and Bentley would've been bored by another one of Murray's enthusiastically-narrated stories. But, since their two flights here – the first being from Paris to the JFK Airport in New York City, and the second being from JFK to LAX International in Los Angeles – had been almost completely silent, as well as the fact that this was the first time they had all been back together in person in eight years, they were just glad to see their friend again, and listened to his story just as intently as Penelope was. It had been Bentley's suggestion that they meet up with Murray first, see if he wanted to help out. Penelope agreed, and Sly had simply nodded his agreement silently.
"But anyway; that's how it happened. So I got canned, and the next closest thing I could get to that job was working at the local Royal Quick Lube." Murray shook his head in disgust as he spit out the last three words.
"Sorry, pal." Sly said as he patted his old friend on the shoulder.
"It's alright. I mean, at least I've still got the van with me."
"And she doesn't look a day over 20 years old." Sly remarked.
"I know, right?" Murray replied, completely oblivious to the joke. "Now, about this whole, uh, trip, that you have planned…you basically want me to come with you?"
"Why not? You and the van are the best transportation that we could ask for. You don't ask questions, and you're willing to go into dangerous territory with your eyes closed. And besides that…it won't be the same without you. It'll be just like the old days."
"Well, in order to do that, I'd have to ask for a little vacation from the RQL…and they might fire me for asking for something like that."
He paused for a moment.
"OK, I'm in."
"Good."
"After all, if we do encounter some bad guys, then I'll get to crack some skulls for the first time in…how long has it been?" He briefly turned back towards Bentley as he asked this.
"Eight years."
"Eight years? Dang, I really have been out of it. Yep; I'm ready for this."
"Good."
"We can head back to my place first; you guys can spend the night there, if you want. You know, rest for a bit?"
"A generous offer, but we can't afford to waste too much time. And it's early enough as it is. Barkley has given me five days of leave, which started earlier today."
"Oh, yeah; that reminds me. How did you manage to convince your boss to give you five days off? Didn't you say that those two guys told him about your ideas of getting revenge?"
"Yeah, they did. But he was still willing to give it to me, surprisingly. My guess is that either it's because he doesn't trust Braskel and Whitman that much, or because I was able to use my sickness from earlier as a boost to my chances. Either that, or maybe he was just glad to get rid of me for a little longer."
"Well, whatever the reason is, the point is that you have five days off, so let's make the most of them."
"Right. So we'll head back to your house for a bit, prepare and relax, while I make preparations for our next flight to Russia. The Volcano isn't too far from Russia's eastern coast, so it shouldn't be any further than our last two flights were."
"Sounds good. But…do you really think that we're gonna run into some serious trouble there? I mean, we have no idea who we're dealing with. That's not including this guy who apparently killed Inspector Fox."
"Who did kill Inspector Fox, pal."
"Uh, right. He did kill her. Well, anyway, even if it is just that guy, then who knows what we're gonna run into, right? Anyone?"
The silence that replied was enough to tell the hippo that no one could answer his question. For the remaining few minutes, the four occupants of the van remained in this strong, heavy silence, unaware of the police car, several vehicles behind them, stealthily trailing them.
…
He had been on his way to the Royal Quick Lube that his sources told him was the place where the hippo was currently employed. However, on the way there, he had seen the familiar, unmistakable van pass by in the opposite lane, deprived of the infamous raccoon icon on the side, but still the same exact shape and design. He had been subtle, of course, and waited for about ten seconds before quickly performing a U-turn and following them. As they moved through the traffic, he always remained several car lengths behind them, following them at every turn, but remaining at least one lane over and never directly behind them.
As they turned right at another intersection and entered a suburban area, he briefly placed a firm hand on the newest weapon he had achieved: The Colt pistol in his holster. It really had been quite fortunate for him to stumble upon an off-duty officer, in his patrol car, alongside a fence just outside the airport after he had arrived, smoking a cigarette. He had figured that he might as well get some kind of leverage while he was here, especially considering the traffic.
Of course, the pistol and shotgun already in the car was nothing compared to his other trusted weapons, still secure in one of the lockers in the helicopter. He didn't trust the personnel at the LAX Airport anymore than he trusted one of his clients. But, just for safety, he had brought along one of his own pieces: A fully-loaded Uzi 9mm, with several spare clips on the seat next to him.
The van turned into the suburbs, but he decided to hang back and let them get a bit of a head start. He turned in after them when he knew it was right, and barely managed to catch a glimpse of it disappearing around another corner. He slowly and carefully followed behind.
For about another minute, he followed by the slightest of glimpses of the van disappearing around corners. Eventually, he traced it to a large, two-story, white house on a corner. He watched from afar as it pulled into the garage after the massive door opened, then slowly closing behind them.
He reached over and put the car in Park, then turned the ignition off. He left the keys in the ignition, ready for a quick start if necessary. He reached over to the passenger seat and quickly checked the Uzi, making sure that it was loaded.
…
Within a few more silent minutes, they finally made it into the suburbs and pulled slowly into the driveway of Murray's house. After they pulled into the garage and entered the house itself, everyone was stunned at the unusual elegance of it; large, two-stories tall, even with a few chandeliers in it.
"Whoa." Penelope said.
"Murray, this…this place is amazing!" Bentley agreed.
"Yeah. You'd be surprised how much I got paid while I was in the league, despite my short time on it. There's several rooms upstairs you guys can stay in." As Murray closed the garage door behind him, he hung his keys on a small hook on the wall just next to the door.
"The kitchen's down the hall there, but I always order out, anyway. This is the living room, right next to us."
Sly walked ahead into the living room, with two couches, a chair, a coffee table, and a wide-screen TV against a wall with three large windows in it. The front door was in the opposite wall, just next to the TV screen, with its polished oak wood, golden handle, and stained glass. Sly tossed his bag onto one of the nearby couches. "Again, we appreciate the offer, but I wouldn't suggest unpacking."
The others followed him into the living room.
"Why?" Penelope asked. "We can't always be on the move."
"Yes we can. Like I said, I think it's best if we don't stay here for too long."
"Why, Sly?" Bentley pressed. "Do you think that somebody's after us, or something?"
"Well…I don't know. I just have a feeling that…we're all in danger."
"How do you know?"
"I don't, OK? I just have a feeling inside me that's telling me that every second we stay stationary is another second closer to danger."
"Sly, you can't just automatically assume that this guy who killed Carmelita, whoever he is, is some kind of assassin. Who knows? You said yourself that Carmelita's made plenty of enemies…"
"You're missing the point, Bentley. Knowing that the Volcano is involved only makes it even more obvious that this is someone we've dealt with before. This guy who killed her is probably a hit man. And I said that the attack against her was more of an attack on us. I just…I just don't want to wait around to run into this guy."
"But you're so determined to get your revenge…"
"But we have no idea what we're up against, OK? For all we know, he could be an eight-foot tall Terminator, the size of a tank and with a whole National Guard armory on him! Do you really want to face off against someone like that?"
There was only silence.
"I didn't think so. So you might as well just put your stuff here and try not to get too comfortable."
The others reluctantly followed suit and placed their luggage onto the couch at the far end of the room. Sly sat down on the other couch, more in the center of the room, reaching into a pocket and pulling out a map. The others gathered around him as he unfolded a section of it: The west coast of North America, the Pacific, and the east coast of Russia. Bentley and Murray were behind the couch, looking over Sly's shoulder at the map, while Penelope stood on Sly's right, leaning over to get a look at it.
"OK, so if we're going to bring the old van along – which I assume we will – then any mode of aerial transportation is automatically ruled out. We'll have to be more subtle, and take a form of transportation that's better fit for transporting automobiles overseas. We'll take a ferry. There's a small harbor on the outskirts of the city…here." He pointed at the spot on the map. "We'll board a ferry heading across the Pacific, and arrive here in-."
Then, all of a sudden, the front door flew open. Kicked from the outside, it flew halfway off its hinges, sending splinters of wood flying and knocking the door frame itself out of place. The four occupants immediately lifted their heads up to see the intruder.
He was a massive police officer, at least seven feet tall. He was pure muscle, built like three tanks. He had a fully equipped officer's belt, complete with a pistol. However, his true weapon was in his hands: an Uzi 9mm, firmly grasped in both his hands and aimed right at them.
Almost immediately, they reacted, diving out of the way as the intruder unleashed a hail of bullets on the spot where they had all been standing moments earlier. Sly threw the map down and instinctively grabbed Penelope as he dove around the corner, while Bentley and Murray were forced to go the opposite direction, and ducked down behind the couch. The intruder's bullets tore up furniture, pictures, walls, and everything in its path. He turned the weapon towards the corner where two of them had gone, and continued shooting. Sly had to jump back when several of the bullets actually shot through the wall.
Almost immediately, Bentley was freaking out.
"AUGH! What the heck is going on here? Who is that?"
"I don't know, but this guy sure as hell means business!" Sly replied.
"What are we going to do? We have to get out of here!" Penelope stated loudly.
"My van!" Murray yelled across the room. "In the garage!"
"OK!" Sly yelled back. "Everyone to the van!"
"But Bentley and Murray!" Penelope replied.
"I'll get them, you don't have to worry. Just go!"
With one nervous glance back in Bentley's direction, Penelope bolted for the garage.
Sly slowly reached for his service piece. He removed it from the holster and checked the magazine. Full, ten bullets. He reloaded it and held it steadily with both hands. When a pause came in between shots, he thrust the gun around the corner and fired four blind shots.
The intruder saw the gun the moment it swung around the corner, and retreated through the doorway and behind the wall as the bullets shot through the space where he had been standing moments earlier. Sly peeked around and saw the blur of his body disappear behind the wall just outside. He fired two shots at the wall, hoping that they would pass through and hit him.
"Sly! Are you crazy? That wall's made out of solid cement! Good luck shooting through that!"
Sly held his fire and turned briefly towards Murray. At that moment, his ears perked up. He could hear the clicking sound of something detaching, pulling loose from a socket.
He was reloading.
"Quick! He's reloading! Bentley, get over here now!"
Murray helped put his friend's wheelchair back upright, after lying on the ground to duck out of the intruder's line of vision, and he instantly started wheeling towards Sly as fast as he could. At that moment, the intruder appeared in the doorway again, Uzi aimed.
"Bentley!" Sly reached out and took hold of the front of his friend's wheelchair, yanking him behind the corner just as the shower of bullets tore up the wall behind him. Bentley retreated further back even after he was around the corner, and tore into the garage, gasping and breathing heavily.
"Bentley, start the van up once you get in!"
"Keys!"
Sly repeated the word to Murray, across the room from him.
"On the wall next to the door, hanging from a hook!"
Bentley soon found the keys and snatched them up. As he entered the garage, Sly yelled back at his friend, "What are you gonna do? We can't leave you here!"
"I'll find a way out! Just go and start up the van!"
Then, at that moment, the intruder suddenly stopped shooting. They could hear a metallic click, then something clatter to the floor.
He was reloading again.
Almost immediately, Sly's mind raced. He had to find a way to save his friend. His eyes darted around the large living room, eventually glancing up at the massive chandelier. An idea formed in his head in less than a second. He raised his piece again and squeezed off three more shots blindly, stunning the intruder. He then turned and raced for the stairs, flying up them three steps at a time. He raced all the way to the top, and then across the overhanging area until he was directly across from the massive piece of crystal. He backed up just as he heard the click of a fresh clip being inserted into the intruder's gun. He then raced forward, leaping at the last second and just barely clearing the ledge. He soared through the air, a story above the floor. The intruder looked up and saw him instantly. He aimed his gun and fired wildly, the bullets tearing up the ceiling. Sly managed to land on the chandelier, rocking it side-to-side. The intruder aimed right at the point where the chandelier connected to the ceiling, and fired. The bullets tore up the thin wiring, shattering several of the crystals and causing it to lean to one side awkwardly.
As the chandelier jerked, Sly slid off the edge, only managing to hang on with the hook of his cane. The sudden shift in weight did the rest of the damage on the small metal plate holding it in place, and it snapped. The wires shot out, and the massive chandelier fell straight down. It landed on the floor below, smashing in on itself from the impact despite landing on a carpeted floor. Sly barely managed to throw himself off before the hundreds of crystal shards flew in all directions. There was a spark from the electrical wires, and a shower of sparks shot out, landing on the carpet and one side of the couch Murray was behind.
That was all it took.
Small blazes formed on both the carpet and Murray's hiding place. Soon, they grew. The flames started to consume everything in the room, and the intruder had to stop briefly, slightly stunned by this unexpected turn. Murray, behind the couch, didn't know what was going on, but figured that the ruined chandelier and the fire would make enough cover. He leapt to his feet and dashed out from behind the couch, racing across the room behind the chandelier to the corner of the wall, where Sly was also hiding. He could hear the bullets of the intruder's Uzi following him as he ran. The two of them made it around the corner, away from the bullets and the heat, and made a mad dash for the garage.
The intruder stopped, looked around at the damage around him, and grinned slightly. He paused for a moment, expecting some kind of return fire from the targets. But there was none. His Uzi raised, he took a step forward.
In the garage, the van was already started up, courtesy of Bentley. Both he and Penelope were in the back of the van. Sly and Murray came racing in, jumping into the driver's seat and passenger's seat, respectively.
"Alright, gun it! Get us out of here!"
"Wait just a second!" Murray shot back. Grabbing a small, black box that hung from his keychain, he pressed a button in the center of it. There was a loud clanging of metal, then the sound of gears and other mechanism working as the garage door opened.
"You didn't think I was gonna just ram through it, did you? In reverse? This isn't a movie! I don't have enough room to gain enough speed to back right through it!"
When the garage door was halfway up, Murray finally threw it into reverse and started backing up. Just then, the wooden door in the opposite wall was kicked open, and the intruder came out, weapon aimed. He had heard the sound of the garage door opening, and knew that he had to hurry. Panicking, Murray slammed on the gas, speeding out in reverse, and scraping the bottom of the rising door with the roof of the van, but ultimately making it out in one piece.
The intruder raised his gun just as Murray turned the wheel to the right as he backed out.
"Get down!" Murray yelled.
Both Sly and Murray ducked quickly as the bullets tore through the passenger side window, and put many holes in the right side of the van as it turned in the street. The tires screeching loudly, Murray put it into drive, and slammed the pedal even harder. The van peeled down the street, leaving two rubber tracks in its wake.
The intruder, still hardly fazed, dashed out of the garage and was up to his police car in an instant. He yanked open the driver side door, jumped in, put it into drive as well, and took off after his targets.
The van rounded a corner, barely missing another car as it was turning onto their street, which honked loudly as they passed by.
Sly looked out his shattered window as they sped off, and saw no sign of their attacker.
"Oh…thank God." He muttered as he slid into the seat, putting his sweaty palm over his eyes.
"OK…let's try to get a hold of this situation, calmly…WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT ALL ABOUT?" Bentley exclaimed.
"I don't know…but that guy was using a really tough gun!" Murray replied. "An Uzi 9mm, and in very fine condition."
"Murray, we're not discussing the kind of guns he's using; we're trying to figure out what the heck he was doing, and why he was trying to kill us!" Sly explained.
"Well, he's a cop…"
"Oh, no way." Bentley interrupted.
"What? Why not?"
"Because," Bentley explained. "LA cops are supposed to be very well-armed; don't get me wrong on that. But in all my years, I'm still yet to see a cop who carries an Uzi around on him regularly! And besides that, he totally just barged in, and opened fire on us just like that! That violates the ROE for all police officers."
"'ROE'?" Sly asked.
"Rules of Engagement. Cops don't just start shooting at a criminal; they have to wait until the criminal shoots first. That's two strong things going against him, so I seriously doubt that he's a police officer. Not LA police, not any kind of badge."
"OK, so what are you suggesting?" Penelope asked.
"That whoever this guy is, he's not a cop!"
Sly's eyes widened, then slowly squinted again as he furrowed his eyebrows and gritted his teeth. His hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.
"It's him."
Suddenly, there was the sound of screeching tires behind them. Sly leaned out his window and looked behind them just in time to see the police cruiser round a corner, lights flashing and sirens blaring.
"Here he comes again!"
"Faster!" Penelope exclaimed.
Murray slammed on the pedal, but the cruiser was already gaining. Bentley, stretching out of his wheelchair to see through the rear door's window, could see the attacker leaning out his window, Uzi in hand…
"Uh-oh! Duck!"
Penelope hit the floor as Bentley instructed, and Bentley and Sly crouched in their seats, cradling their heads in their hands. The bullets started streaming out, pelting the rear side of the van. The multiple inward dents instantly appeared, small blemishes in the sleek gray metal. One of the rear windows exploded, shards of glass flying inside the van.
Murray swung his head around and saw the damage. "Aw, man! He's tearing up my van!"
"We have to fight back here!" Bentley declared.
"Murray, you wouldn't happen to have any weapons in here by any chance? My piece alone won't be enough." Sly asked from his defensive position.
"Who do you think I am? Rambo?"
After a pause, he quickly finished, "OK, so I kinda am…but I don't have any guns on me! I never expected something like this to happen!"
"And you always talk about being prepared…" Sly muttered, shaking his head. He glanced to the side, seeing the massive freeway now towering above them, the suburbs to their right.
"The freeway! Take the freeway!"
"What? From here? We'll be going the opposite way!"
"If you're as good as you say you are, then you can handle it! Besides, that guy cannot be suicidal enough to follow us through that!"
"This is a bad idea…" Murray muttered. He looked ahead of them and saw the exit ramp coming up on their right. He whispered a prayer. "OK, everyone! Hang on tight!"
"Wait! What are we supposed to-."
Bentley's question was cut off as he and Penelope were thrown quickly to the side by Murray's jerking the wheel hard to the left. They dashed up on the off-ramp, narrowly avoiding an exiting car. They flew up the rest of the ramp and emerged on the freeway, endless upon endless headlights approaching them.
"Oh, God…"
"OK, just stay tight!"
Murray started maneuvering quickly, dodging cars like speeding bullets and swerving between lanes. Honks and rushes of air were all around them, and Bentley was cowering underneath his computer console.
"We're gonna die, we're gonna die, we're gonna die, we're gonna die, we're gonna die…"
Murray swore as he barely weaved around an oncoming van, which honked loudly and screeched its tires.
"How much longer should we do this?" Murray asked loudly.
Suddenly, a majority of the cars started pulling aside, swerving into other lanes or pulling over to the divider.
"What the…?"
"They're clearing a path! Sweet!"
"Uh, that's not so sweet, Murray."
"Why?"
Sly jerked a thumb behind them. Murray glanced in his side view mirror…
…which shattered instantly as a bullet dashed it to pieces.
"Oh, you've gotta be sh-."
The hail of gunfire silenced him again, and the incessant sound of sirens behind them grew louder.
"Come on! Will this thing ever give up?"
"Just keep driving!"
Murray looked behind him, growled, then looked forward again.
"Hang on!"
"Wait! What are you-WOAH!"
Sly screamed and clutched his seat in panic as Murray braked hard and swung the wheel to the left a full 90 degrees, screeching loudly and sending steam off the asphalt from the burning of rubber. A station wagon had to screech to a halt to avoid them, and Murray wasted no time in gunning it again, now facing the direction of the general traffic. He sped right past the attacker, who was too stunned to shoot at them. Instead, he followed suit, screeching completely around and chasing after them again.
Now, with traffic flowing with them instead of against them, it was only easier for the attacker.
"OK, this is getting ridiculous!" Sly yelled as the next wave of bullets started slowly but surely tearing up their van. "We've got to find a way to fight back!"
"There must be something…I've got it!" Bentley declared loudly.
"Please share it with us, if you don't mind!"
"I think there's still a crate of my old bombs in here!"
"Say what?" Murray exclaimed, shocked. "You mean I've been driving around all these years with bombs in the back of my van?"
"Well, I'm not sure if they're still active, given how old they must be…"
"Where are they?"
"Here, under the computer console…"
Sly quickly dove over his seat and tore for the console, pulling open the cabinet-like doors underneath it and reaching inside. He pulled out an average pillow-sized, square wooden crate. He wasted no time in shoving the hook of his cane under the sealed lid and throwing his weight down on the stem of his cane, working it like a lever and prying the lid right off. As Bentley said, there were dozens upon dozens of his original, orb-like bombs lined with red lights.
"Wow…" Sly grabbed one and pulled it out.
"Now, if they were still operational, you'd just have to press the single light on the top to activate it, and from there you'd have exactly three seconds before det-."
Sly pressed the light, and all of the other lights started flashing. All eyes widened, and Bentley gasped. "It is live! Sly, get rid of-."
"On it!" Sly raced over to the broken rear window and chucked it out. It bounced along the pavement for one more second before exploding. The fantastic blast, still considerably large and powerful for its size, obstructed their view of the pursuer's car for a moment before it burst through the still-lingering ball of orange and black, Uzi blazing.
"OK, so that one missed, but at least we've got…hey! Where are you going?"
Sly had already grabbed the crate and ran back to the passenger's seat. "Murray, slow down!" He commanded as he started to roll down the window.
"What? Why?"
"Just do it! Trust me!"
Murray slowly eased his foot off the pedal a little more, reducing their speed to 130 mph.
Sly leaned out the window with another bomb in hand. He paused for a moment, then pressed the top light and tossed it. The bomb exploded just ahead of the attacker's car once more. He reached in, unfazed, and grabbed another one. He pressed it, then paused a second before tossing it. The explosion, again, was too early. Sly cursed and fell back inside the safety of the cab.
"Reduce the speed even more! I want this guy right on our tail!"
"I hope you know what you're doing!"
"Of course he doesn't!" Bentley argued. "Not even God knows what he's doing!"
"Thank you for the input, partner." Sly growled.
Murray eased the speed again, the speedometer falling down to 115.
"Lower…"
110.
"Lower!"
The speed fell even lower to 90.
"OK, good!"
Sly then grabbed two bombs, one in each hand, and leaned out the window once more. Pressing the lights on both bombs simultaneously, he tossed them right out just as the attacker swerved over to their right to avoid hitting them. Both bombs bounced over towards it. He swerved hard, ducking behind them again as both bombs exploded where his cruiser had been moments earlier.
"OK, I scared him that time!" Sly declared. He was quickly silenced and forced to retreat when the cruiser emerged on their side again. Another stream of bullets tore up the van along its side, shattering the remaining side view mirror.
"Whoa!" Sly yelled as he fell into his seat. "This guy means business!"
Without the mirror, Sly had to listen for the engine of the cruiser. He closed his eyes and listened intently.
"Sly?" Murray asked when he saw his friend's eyes close suspiciously. "What are you…"
"Shh!" Sly held up a finger and listened. The hum grew louder. "He's right alongside us."
"How do you know that?"
"Just trust me. With the mirror out, I don't want to trust leaning out the window to see. Bentley! Penelope! Is he right behind us?"
Penelope raced over to the remaining rear window and looked out.
"Nope! He's nowhere in sight…"
"Uh-oh." Sly groaned as his eyes widened. "Murray! Ram to the side, right now!"
"You got it, Sly!" Murray jerked his wheel to the right, immediately slamming them against another large, unseen, hard object with a loud scraping of metal. The screeching of tires was heard. Sly almost instantly grabbed another bomb and pressed it, launching it out the window after a second's pause. He waited for the explosion. They heard it, as loud as ever right beside them. The impact rocked their van slightly, steering them to the side a little and barely missing a civilian Prius.
"OK, he's backed off!" Sly declared, grabbing three more bombs, pressing them all one at a time and launching them consecutively. Three explosions, one after the other, rang out as the bombs detonated behind them. They could hear the screeching, followed by more gunfire. More dents appeared in their van, and Murray started swerving wildly between lanes.
"Argh! We can't keep this up forever, you know!" He yelled angrily. "He's just gonna shoot up the whole van!"
"Murray's right, Sly! You've got to try something new!"
"Alright, fine! You want new?" Sly shot back. "I'll give you something new!"
Sly then grabbed the crate, still plenty full, and jumped over the seat. He raced over to the rear doors.
"I've got another idea!"
"Oh, great! What now?"
"Get behind me!"
"What?"
Sly then reached behind him and shoved both Bentley and Penelope behind him with a swipe of his arm. He peeked through the remaining window, and could see the cruiser backing off, the arm and Uzi still hanging out the window.
"OK, hang on!" Sly then kicked open the rear door opposite them, swinging out and letting a rush of air in.
"Augh!" Bentley cried as he cowered behind the closed door. "Are you crazy?"
"That's why you're behind this door! Murray, heads up!"
"What? Why? What for?"
Just then, another stream of shots started tearing through the newly vacant opening, tearing up the back of the passenger's seat, the dashboard, glove compartment, and right side of the windshield.
"What the friggin' heck? Aw, man! SLY!"
"Trust me, pal! It's all part of the plan!" Sly yelled back.
"That's usually my line."
Sly placed the crate down at his feet, pulling out a single bomb. He looked back out the window and saw the arm retract for yet another reload.
"Come on! How many rounds can this guy have?"
"Usually, I'd say that this is similar to a past case…but it's not!" Bentley answered.
"Meaning?"
"I've never seen a guy like this before! Never! He seems to have a whole arsenal on him!"
"And he probably does." Sly looked back out the window. Through the cruiser's windshield, he could see the empty clip come out.
"OK, hang on!"
Sly then pressed the top light of the bomb in his hand. Without hesitation, he dropped it back into the crate.
"SLY! WHAT ARE YOU-."
"Just watch!"
Sly grabbed the crate, with the single live bomb inside on top of the dozens of remaining ones, and tossed it out the open door. He watched as the crate spilled out onto the road behind them, bombs flooding from it and scattering into their pursuer's path.
He could see the look of shock on the man's face as he fumbled with putting the Uzi down and grabbing the wheel, attempting to turn at the last moment.
But it was too late.
The bomb Sly had activated detonated, immediately setting off the chain reaction just as he had intended. An entire field of them went off, right underneath the pursuer's cruiser.
He didn't even have time to brace for impact as the multiple powerful explosions rocked the cruiser and sent it flying, flipping up over itself and upside-down on the road. The lights on top of the cruiser were obliterated, shattering as they were crushed between the bulk of the vehicle and the hard pavement. The roof was also being chewed away with a sickening scraping sound as the injured vehicle continued sliding, the man inside bracing himself against the ceiling.
"Yes!" Sly cheered.
"Wow! It actually worked!"
"Good job, Sly!" Penelope congratulated.
"What happened? Is he dead?"
"No. Not dead." Sly replied.
"Incapacitated? Yes." Bentley answered.
"What does that mean?"
"It means don't stop!" Sly interjected.
The cruiser continued sliding towards them, a shower of sparks flying from underneath it. Murray was quick to pick up speed, nearly throwing Sly from the van. He was quick to reach out with his cane, grab the open door, and pull it closed. Through the window, he watched the next, incredible scene unfold.
As the bulk of the cruiser finally started to slow down, a Toyota Tacoma was coming up right behind it. Sly watched as it swerved hard to the left to avoid hitting the injured car. He watched incredulously as it tore across the next two lanes…
…and was obliterated by a massive red semi, carrying two matching red V-shaped trailers of wheat behind it. The white pickup was destroyed in the ball of fire as it was smashed against the flat grille of the semi. He could see the look of horror on the larger truck driver's face as the smoke and fire started to obscure his vision. In his panic, he also swerved, this time to the right. At the same time, Sly could hear the screeching of brakes as the massive behemoth was thrown violently to the side. He watched as the perfectly still wheels, steam coming from them, started to lift off the ground…as the semi started to flip over.
"Oh, God…"
The semi flipped onto its side, the tops of the trailers and the cab facing towards them. Sly watched in pure astonishment as the tons of wheat poured from the open tops, spilling onto the road. The trailers themselves were stretched out across all four lanes, cutting off all traffic instantly. Sly glanced over to the one lane that was still fairly open; the one on the far left. That lane was occupied by another semi, this one with an elongated hood, and the truck itself was a dark gray. Behind it was a long, cylindrical, silver tank. This truck driver, fortunately, had the sense to simply slam the brakes rather than swerve, and the screeching tires managed to halt the truck just as it scraped against the overturned cab of the first truck, with the burning wreckage of the Tacoma right in front of it. By now, the white truck was a scorched black, and flames shot from the cab and windows.
In less than thirty seconds, four vehicles were involved in one massive crash that blocked all traffic behind for miles…and it was caused by them.
Sly could feel the blood rush from his face as this dark realization hit him. Beside him, Penelope could only gasp. He could hear a whistle from Murray behind him in the driver's seat.
"Damn."
"Well…" Penelope uttered. "At least we…stopped…him, right?"
"Yeah…But we also killed at least two people. Two innocent civilians."
By now, Murray had screeched to a halt, yards from the tragic scene. Sly pushed the rear door all the way open and jumped out, taking several steps away from the van. As he stared mutely at the tragic scene, he could feel his knees start to buckle under him. As he sank to the ground, his head slowly started to hang. By now, the twilight had fully settled into darkness, reflecting the heavy mood hanging in the air around the four friends…
…
Meanwhile, just on the other side of the scene of destruction, beyond the overturned semi, the rows and endless rows of cars had screeched to a halt. The burning inferno of the pursuer's police cruiser lay on its roof, the siren uttering its dying sounds. On the ground a few inches away was the Uzi, broken in the middle.
And a few more yards away, in the other lane, was him, thrown clear of the cruiser at the last second. He was lying face down in the pavement. He slowly reached out with one hand and felt around among the debris scattered around him. After a moment, he found what he was looking for: his aviators, miraculously barely scratched. He slowly put them back on his face, then got to his knees with little pain. He brushed himself off lightly, then turned to the side and observed the wreckage nearby. Obviously, the stolen police cruiser was worthless. He limped over to the Uzi, bent down, and picked it up. One glance was enough to tell anyone that it was damaged beyond repair as well. He tossed the weapon aside.
He slowly looked around, scanning his immediate surroundings for a new vehicle. His eyes rested on the silver semi; the nearest vehicle still in good condition…
Inside the cab of said truck, the driver was still leaning forward from the impact, head on the dashboard.
"Ah!" He cried in pain as he attempted to sit up. He reached up to his forehead and stroked his fingers across it once. Already, his fingers were covered in the warm, sticky blood.
"Damn it!" He cursed as he leaned down to fumble with his seatbelt with bloody fingers. He was unaware of the limping police officer slowly approaching him from the driver's side…
The seatbelt buckle clicked, and the buckle flew from its place. The driver grabbed it and threw it behind him, turning to the door.
It was already open. A gargantuan police officer stood there.
"Whoa! Officer, what the hell's going on around here?"
The man did not respond, but only grabbed the truck driver's shoulder. Hard.
"Ah! What the hell are ya-WAUGH!"
The driver had no time to react as his large frame was thrown from the cab. He impacted onto the pavement with a crack as his shoulder gave in, and he rolled along. He clutched at his wound, screaming in pain.
"AUGH! What the hell is your problem, man?" He called. When there was no answer, he turned towards the cab, only to see the officer already inside, door closed, and hand on the wheel.
"Oh, no! Don't even think about it!" The goat cried as he leapt up onto the step outside the door. He grabbed the handle and attempted to jerk it open, only to find out that the officer had locked it. "Hey! You open this door right now, ya hear me? I don't care if you're a cop; this is a company truck! You do any damage to it, and my boss'll have your badge, you jerk! You hear me! Open this d-."
The roaring of the engine and the rumbling of the truck starting to move immediately made the driver have second thoughts. He jumped backwards off the step and backed off, watching in pure astonishment as the cop drove off in his truck. He rammed the overturned cab of the other semi, brushing it aside and scraping it along the pavement, as well as the burning wreckage of the smaller car, as he sped off.
"My boss won't like this." The driver muttered miserably as the truck sped away.
…
At the loud sound of scraping, groaning metal, Sly raised his head once more. His three friends, all still in the van, stared in horror, eyes wide and jaws dropped. Sly more or less had the same reaction of disbelief and terror at what he saw: The massive semi-truck, the one that had been stopped by the overturned one, scraping right past the overturned one and speeding right towards them.
"Sly…" Bentley started to call.
Almost instantly, Sly started screaming at the top of his lungs. He forced himself to his feet and nearly stumbled the entire way back to the van, jumping in and pulling the doors shut behind him.
"Murray! Slam it!"
Murray instantly put the van back in drive and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The tires screeched, kicking up steam and leaving a thick black trail on the asphalt. Not too far behind, the truck followed. All of the entire rows of cars ahead of them had long since passed on, and no more were coming through. They were the only two vehicles on the entire freeway now.
"Come on, Murray, get us away from him!"
"I'm trying! I didn't think a truck that big could go so fast!"
"Well, we're not gonna have much cover for us now that all of the traffic is severed." Bentley reminded them.
"Even if we did, that freak clearly doesn't care who he kills in the process. He just wants us dead!"
"But why?" Penelope asked desperately.
Before anyone could answer, Murray yelled, "Hang on, everyone! I'm gonna take us off the freeway!"
"Are you crazy?" Bentley asked.
"It'll be better, trust me! There's less lighting in the back roads, so maybe we have a better chance of losing him! Now hang on, the exit's coming up!"
Bentley and Penelope clung desperately to each other, and Sly jumped into the passenger seat, securing his seatbelt once more as Murray turned hard, taking them down and off the freeway at last. They could hear the groaning of brakes as the truck turned to follow them. Sly turned back and watched through the rear windows as the headlights, distancing themselves more from the lamplights of the freeway, became more like a giant pair of eyes following them in the darkness. Sly slowly turned back around and leaned back in his seat, still in complete disbelief.
"Sly, shouldn't you try to get a few more shots off at him or something?"
"Are you kidding? I've got only one clip left for the time being. And in the dark? At the distance between us? And while riding on these rougher roads, making it nearly impossible to get decent aim? I don't think so. For now, the darkness is our best weapon."
They made it to the bottom of the off-ramp and swerved around another corner, passing a small gas station. The truck's brakes hissed as it slowed down to get a steady turn before picking up speed once again.
Murray was constantly glancing between the dark road ahead of him and the rearview mirror, at the truck that actually seemed to be gaining on them.
Just then, a thought crossed his mind. He glanced down at the small clock on the dashboard.
6:42
"I've got an idea!" Murray declared. "Hang on…again!"
He then spun the wheel around as hard as he could, turning it all the way around and sending the van spinning around and kicking up dirt. Just as they faced the opposite direction, the massive headlights dashed by, inches from their side. As the body of the truck, and the trailer it was pulling passed by, Sly caught one word on the side of it, large and clear. It made his blood go cold upon seeing it.
Murray slammed the gas again, and they took off.
"Murray…I hope you know what you're doing!" Bentley called.
"Don't worry! I know this area well…and its daily routines!"
As Sly looked back, he saw the stopped truck already in the lengthy process of turning around to face them, buying them plenty more time.
"Oh, thank God. That should buy us some time."
When they reached the four-way intersection that was near the base of the off-ramp from earlier, Murray did the unthinkable: He stopped.
"Murray! What are you doing? Don't stop!" As Bentley yelled this, he glanced out the rear window nervously, focusing on the pair of headlights in the distance behind them.
Murray glanced down at the clock again: 6:43.
"He's gaining on us! Murray, we're losing precious time!" Bentley yelled up.
"Murray, go! What are you waiting for?" Sly added.
"Trust me; we need him right behind us."
The headlights drew closer, closing the distance gap fast.
"MURRAY!" All three of them shouted simultaneously.
Murray, with a grin, instantly took off and turned the van to the right, heading past the gas station once more. As the truck turned to follow them, its right side jumped up onto the curb, passing dangerously close to the gas station, but passing on with no incident.
"Murray, I hope you know what you're doing. You usually don't."
"Don't worry, Sly. I've lived here for years. I know the routines. You see the time?"
Sly glanced at the small clock's readout. "6:43?"
"Every day, at about 6:45, a train comes into town, passing by this nearby intersection coming up. It's off the main road, so hardly anyone really crosses it in the first place."
"What are you saying?"
"Just watch!"
As Murray sped up, he flipped a lever behind the wheel and turned on the high beams. The much brighter lights instantly illuminated much more of the road ahead of them. As they advanced, and as the clock struck another minute, they could see something faintly in the distance ahead: Two tall, metal apparatuses, both exactly alike…
The clock moved to 6:45.
Almost perfectly, it was at that moment when the four pairs of eyes glued to the dark road up ahead could see two pairs of red lights start to flash on the railroad crossing guard towers.
"Now see? What'd I tell ya?"
"Nice going, Murray! This could work!"
"I've just got to get it right…"
Murray glanced into the rearview mirror, and watched the truck gaining closely behind them. After a moment, it instantly picked up speed, obviously after the driver saw the same thing that they saw.
"OK, he sees the lights! Hang on, I'm gonna gun it!"
Murray pressed his foot down as hard as he could, the pedal now lying flat on the carpeted floor of the van. The van was picking up speed, and as the lights ahead continued flashing, two huge bars started to come down.
"See, the thing about this crossing is that there's huge gaps in between the rails and the road, which creates a huge bump. So everybody hang on, and tight!"
As they approached, the bars drew down lower and lower. They heard a single, long, loud honk behind them. The headlights drew closer. The bars were halfway down.
When Sly glanced off to the right, he could see three bright lights, arranged in a triangle with two on bottom and one on top, approaching from the darkness at an unbelievable rate. He glanced back at the crossing arms, still dropping.
"Murray…"
"HANG ON!"
They reached the crossing. As Murray warned, the van jumped at least a foot in the air from the bump, causing all loose objects to fly briefly. As they crossed, they could hear the loud screeching of metal as the bars scraped the top of the van. Then, a much louder, deeper sound. The blast came from the immediate right, and resounded for seconds after it stopped.
Then, they were on the other side.
"Yes!" Murray cheered, pumping a fist in the air.
"Way to go, Murray!" Bentley cheered.
"Alright!" Penelope agreed.
Sly glanced back, watching the large headlights suddenly start to grow more distant. Almost instantly, he heard the choking sound, and the screeching as the truck slammed on its brakes, skidding dirt and dust in front of the headlights. The pair of eyes started slowing down, attempting to stop before the crossing. But it was too late.
The massive hood of the vehicle barreled through, smashing through the first bar. There was a massive clunk and a thump as it hit the bumps on the tracks. The cab was almost jolted to a stop, the lights just behind the second bar.
Then, the lights were still. They didn't move at all, except growing smaller as the van continued on.
"Yes! Murray, he's stopped! And he's right on the tracks, too! You were right all along!"
"But that's not all! See, I figured that if we made it and he was on the wrong side of the tracks by the time the train came in, he'd try to stop. But he'd be too close, and end up going onto the tracks anyway. Well, if he did hit the crossing, while trying to slam his brakes as hard as he did, the bump of hitting the tracks and the impact of crashing through the crossing arm combined would cause his engine to stall. So he's not going anywhere for a long time. See? I can come up with a good plan, too."
"You sure can, buddy. But I don't think we want to be around when that train hits."
"What? Why?"
"When he passed by us when you spun around back there, I saw a word on the side of the trailer: Chevron."
Murray's eyes widened. "You mean…"
"Yep. And I can't count on one hand how many times the word 'Flammable' was on there, too."
"Then what are we waiting for? Let's get the heck out of-WAUGH!"
Bentley was thrown back as Murray hit the gas again, and the van took off once more. Sly turned and looked back one last time, watching as the massive lights off the road drew closer to the two trapped lights on the crossing…
They rounded up over a small hill, the railroad crossing behind them falling out of sight, and turned on an off-road, a single sign indicating that they were heading back towards downtown.
As they continued on, they heard one last sound: The blast of the train's horn, followed by a much louder, stronger, deeper boom that silenced it. Even as far away as it was, they could all see the bright flash in the distance, and as Sly strained hard to see it, he could just barely see an orange tower rising into the dark night sky, turning to black smoke and blotting out some of the stars. He slowly turned around and sank into his seat, exhaling a long sigh of relief.
To be continued…