With nothing more than a look Elisa motioned for John to follow her. Just outside the tunnels was an SUV that she unlocked with her key fob and then both silently got in. There was no talking or discussion of any kind as they drove to her veterinary clinic. She parked in the back then led him in through the same back door he had broken in through only a short while back. He followed her through several rooms until they reached her office.
John looked around what appeared to be a typical doctor's office. His sharp dark eyes noted every detail including a drawing hanging on Elisa's wall drawn in crayon that showed a house in the woods along with a stick figure version of her dressed as a doctor and a small stick figure boy next to her. The words 'me and momma' were scrawled underneath in a child's handwriting. He then looked at her desk and noticed a photograph on it that showed Elisa holding what he could only assume was the young artist outside of a house in a wooded area. Going by the kid's look he would hazard a guess that he was maybe four or five, possibly six at the most. What struck John most about the photo was that he had seen the kids face before, or at least one resembling it. The jaw line and the eyes looked like The Elder's. He turned back to his old friend and looked at her left hand but there was no ring.
For a moment John wanted to ask her about the boy, but he didn't. If she had wanted him to know then she would have told him. In all honesty, Elisa was the last person he would ever have guessed as mother material. How did things change so much in ten years? The people they had been then were far different from the people they were now. There had been a time when it was not uncommon for them to meet at the Continental in between jobs and test the limits of their hotel room bed. Now the woman before him seemed a complete stranger. Life was strange.
Elisa unlocked one of her desk drawers then carefully removed the tray of basic office supplies from it and set it aside. She then lifted up a false bottom from the drawer and removed a key from it. Motioning for John to follow her again, she led him to the store room and rolled away a metal shelf revealing a small panel on one end. She put the key in and when it opened a retinal scanner appeared. She looked into it and then with a beep the wall went down revealing several types of guns with draws below them that held untold clips loaded with ammunition. Along with those weapons were her crossbow and hunting bow along with many arrows, gold coins and a variety of knives.
"You only get one, along with one clip," she instructed, opening one of the drawers. "No bows, no arrows and no knives. I suggest you don't fire them all at once." without hesitation he reached over and took his favorite of choice from the rack. "Heckler and Koch P3oL, nice choice. Gives you a lot of bang for your buck and a nice big hole on the other side of your mark."
John to a clip and slipped it easily into the gun with a click then pulled back his jacket and put the weapon into the empty holster on his right side. He was about to close his coat when he felt two feminine arms slip around his waist. Immediately he tensed up at the touch. No one had done that since Helen and he wasn't ready to feel such an embrace right now, maybe not ever. His discomfort quickly faded though when he realized that he was not being held at all, but rather, Elisa was sliding a second Heckler and Koch P3oL into his other empty holster. "Call it charity."
"Thank you."
"Now all you need is a car," she was right, but as he glanced up at her she immediately rebuffed him. "Nope. I'm not that charitable."
"I recall a time when we helped each other. No blood oaths, but friendship . . . loyalty," he responded, his face was as stoic as ever, but his frustration showed in the tone of his voice.
"That woman doesn't exist anymore, John. I'm a healer not a killer."
"No matter how hard you try it never leaves our blood. I found that out"
"True, but circumstances can thin its potency." The two locked eyes almost daring each other to do something . . . anything.
"Then I am on my own," John Wick finally answered, turning away from his one time childhood friend.
"I believe," Elisa suddenly said, stopping him in his tracks. "One of the Tarasov chop shops is about two miles north of here. I doubt they'll try to stop you. In fact they will probably gift wrap it for you."
"Thank you," he answered. "uvidimsya, azhdaya [See you around, Azhdaya]."
"uvidimsya, baba yaga [See you around, Baba yaga]," she answered.
They looked at each other for a few moments. How could a close friendship since childhood just vanish for ten years and then turn into nothing but polite conversation over stitches and weaponry? Perhaps if he survived the storm ahead then he could come back. That was a big 'if' though. Leaving her office he began to carefully make his way over to the chop shop Elisa had mentioned. Being cautious and mindful of the price on his head, he chose side streets and alleys where he wouldn't be noticed quite so easily. Unfortunately a tall man in a black expensive suit has a way of standing out in such neighborhoods as this.
It took all of a matter of seconds to realize he was being stalked on all sides. The first to strike was a man working at a small inconsequential newsstand. He came up behind John and attempted to sink his knife into his chest. Baba Yaga was faster and swung around, catching his arm and twisting it backward till it broke and he dropped the blade. He then took his gun and fired a shot point blank into his head stopping his pursuit permanently.
He continued to walk, but a bullet silently struck him in the arm. His sharp eyes turned in the direction it had come from and fell upon a pretty restaurant hostess ready to fire again. Before she could an arrow entered one side of her neck at the carotid artery and exited the other side. Approaching the body, he recognized the damascus tip and knew Elisa was out there watching and helping him. He looked around but couldn't tell where she was hiding. No matter, she was there and that was what mattered. He pushed the arrow the rest of the way through then, emboldened by his old friend's help, he continued to move forward towards the chop shop. Once he had a car he could make a better getaway.
He barely made it halfway down the block and a man carrying a briefcase and dressed in a business suit bumped into him then swung around and flipped open the case, pulling a gun. John caught his arm and turned the weapon back on him, but before he could firea twin of his attacker jumped on his back. He managed to flip him over his shoulder and as he landed on the ground with a thud, another arrow flew through the air embedding itself in the temple of the first man. Taking up the gun from the dead twin, he emptied the magazine into his brother and dropped the weapon at his feet.
Once again he ripped the arrow out of his attacker then continued on. His dark sharp eyes looked at each and every face as he continued up the block while simultaneously checking their hands to determine who was a threat and who was not. As he passed a small corner grocery store a man leapt out, a bowie knife poised to strike. John caught the man and shoved one of the arrows he was holding into the attacker's eyes. Then using his body, he slammed him to the ground. Reaching for anything he managed to grab a carrot from a produce display out front of the store then full force slammed it into the man's ear. Raising his arm again and summoning every ounce of strength he had, he connected with the vegetable and sent it deep into the man's brain. This was intolerable, he was making no progress at all towards his goal. He retrieved the arrow and started to walk again.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a woman pushing a baby carriage and wearing an infant wrap across her body crossing the street. This should have been the most innocuous person he could pass, but in John's world there was no such thing. While there did appear to be something in the wrap, he couldn't make out a head ro any limbs. Indeed, as she reached the corner she pulled a gun from inside the wrap and was about to fire, when another arrow suddenly popped out of her chest right through her heart. John went over to her body and clasping the shaft just below the damascus tip, he yanked it the rest of the way through the woman. With a sigh he once more started on his way to the chop shop.
Turning a corner he approached a small church, its gray stone exterior, tall steeple with ancient bells and the elegant stained glass were testimony to its age. Everything about it screamed that it was a place of holiness, peace and sanctuary. Standing in the walkway near the sidewalk was a priest waving to a line of small children being led to a bus by a young teacher who's soft red hair was carefully bound up and plain face and figure looked the very picture of modesty and puritanical style. The children had just given their first confessions to the priest and were eager to go back to the private school. The cleric was himself a serene figure, with gentle eyes and demeanor. As he looked up from the children his eyes locked with John wicks and they became dark. In the flash of a second he pulled a gun from his jacket and began to fire, hitting John in the leg and arm. Dropping to the ground in pain, John pulled his own gun and started firing until the magazine was empty and each bullet found its mark in the priest.
As John released the magazine from the gun and reached for the second one, a knife whizzed through the planting itself deep into his stomach. The bus loaded with children was just driving away but the seemingly prudish teacher was still there. She slowly approached him while simultaneously pulling another knife from another strap hidden beneath her skirt. She threw it and in the flash of a second it was firmly lodged in the left side of his abdomen. As she started to pull a gun from a holster hidden in her waist band beneath her blazer, John quickly pulled them free, not caring about how bad he was bleeding. He leapt to his feet, catching her by the arms he held them above her head, squeezing her wrist until she dropped the gun. She retaliated with a hit to the head with her own followed by a kick to his groin. This forced him down, but only momentarily. He came back punching her first in the stomach then across the face. When she hit the ground, he caught her by her red hair and lifted her head up then using her own knife he sliced her throat open from one ear to the next.
Picking up the three arrows where he had dropped them, he sighed and placed his free hand over the worse of the two knife wounds. At this point he knew he would never make it to the chop shop and would have to fall back to the veterinary clinic. He needed more stitches and soon. He also needed to return the arrows. There were others of their circle that used bows and arrows of one kind or another, but only Elisa used Damascus tips. They were her calling card and he would make sure they were back in her care, safe and sound.