Title: Beloved Target
Author: Barbayat
Summary: If you have seen Hard Target, and liked Van Cleaf and Fouchon, I recommend to read this story.
Disclaimers: The characters and the story of "Hard Target" do not belong to me. I just directed the movie to a different ending - an ending I (and others, too) appreciate more.
I like to thank Arnold Vosloo and Lance Hendriksen for playing those fantastic and inspiring villains. I also should tank Jean-Claude van Damme and Yancy Butler as well for playing those annoying and boring heroes (so far no one complained about me killing or not mentioning their characters.)
Furthermore I like to thank the 2nd-System-Meister, whom I tortured in endless hours on the phone asking him for advice on various scenes. Not to forget my beta-readers - Margit and Marcel - who put up with my terrible English correcting the whole story.
Comments, Critic and suggestions are welcomed - send them to barbayat@malevillain.com
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
1. Hunting Season in New Orleans
Sandrine Mosley slept so deep she has not realised that it was already night. Her father drove the car through illuminated streets. A few people were still out and walking around between the open bars and casinos.
"We arrived?"
"Almost - you slept long. Didn't you go to bed early, Sandy?"
"Well, we had a party for Mrs. Grady, our biology-teacher. It was her last year and I had so much fun - I forgot the time."
"I am very disappointed in you -I just hope you behave, when you are with your cousin."
"Sure, dad, it was just an exception. It won't happen again," she tried to assure him.
The girl turned to her window and smiled. Her cousin and she shall have much longer parties - and with boys. Suddenly someone knocked on their window. It was a black man and he was banging with bloody hands onto their windscreen. Her father stopped the car and jumped out. She expected him to start a quarrel, but he did not.
"What happened?" He demanded instead.
"They are close behind me," the black man yelled.
The sound of other closing vehicles called for a quick solution. Agent Mosley opened the backdoor and helped the man in. Sandrine saw that he was bleeding out of several wounds. With help of the man's jacket she found out that his name was Roper.
"Sandy try to stop the bleeding, you have to press onto the wounds. - Can you tell me who is following you?"
He looked in the rear mirror. Two cars and three bikes were following them. He opened the window and turned his light on. The cars were dropping back. He could not see any licence plates, but he was sure, they were good for trouble. He informed the local police, but they just replied that they did not have enough cars out on the street to take care of the matter. They notified the hospital, but more they could not do.
A few minutes later they reached the hospital undisturbed. An emergency team immediately took care of Roper. Her father told her to get in with them and parked the car. Shortly afterwards Roper was under surgery and Agent Mosley was talking to a policewoman who had arrived in the meantime. Luckily he noticed his daughter long enough to hand her his jacket. Her white dress was cover with blood and even after she closed the jacket some of the blood was still visible.
Her father went to the observation room with the woman and told her to stay behind. Sleeping in the car had not really been relaxing and there for the girl was still tired. Sandrine could not imagine anything more boring than having to sit somewhere and waiting.
A few moments later the black police woman came out and made a phone call. Then she sighed and came towards the girl. Sandrine saw that she wore a detective badge.
"Was a tough night for you, wasn't it?" the woman asked her.
"Not yet," came the dry reply.
"This probably won't take that long and then you can spend the rest of your holiday with your father."
"Actually the idea of this holiday was to get away from him. I wanted to visit my cousin - it was his idea to get me there personally."
"That almost sounds like you don't like spending time with him," said the female detective.
"Why should I? I have to were those dresses, I can't say what I think or want without causing him to go crazy. I can't even do what I want unless it is something suitable for a young girl," Sandrine uttered with a bitter tone.
The woman looked at her as if she can not believe what she had just heard. The detective always thought her mother had been too strict and that this was the reason why she was still single. Hearing this, she wondered how anybody could be so old-fashioned nowadays.
"Maybe you just have to convince him that you are a reasonable girl - I mean he should be proud that a girl remains so calm in a situation like this, maybe if you talked to him," the woman suggested.
"Talking with him is like talking to a wall, it tried it for the past 17 years, believe me it's no use," replied the girl.
"You are seventeen? I ..." the cellular of the policewoman rang and she broke up.
Sandrine could see her face brightening up and she replied that they should send the guys right over to the hospital. Then the detective put her hand on the phone and wished her good luck, before she walked down the corridor.
Sandrine waited about over an hour before her father returned. Almost everyone looked at her. Then her father showed up, followed by an annoyed looking nurse.
"They think he will make it, but of course he won't be able to talk for a couple of hours. I will wait here, but Nurse Foster here, will bring you down to a taxi that will bring you to our hotel."
He gave his daughter 70 Dollars.
"Get something to eat - this will take time ..."
"So we are going to stay here for a while?"
"Do you expect me to look away? I've got a responsibility towards the public and right now something very fishy is going on here. I'm the only one to take care of it."
Then he turned around leaving his daughter behind. She sighed. The outlook of spending another day or perhaps more with her father was not exactly that what she would have called a holiday. Punishment fit much better. She looked at Nurse Foster who seemed to be more relaxed, now that Agent Mosley had left.
"Ok, I bring you down, but please hurry, I am very busy."
"I'm 17, I can make it to the taxi myself."
"Really? You look much younger."
"I am 17 - My father just knew what he did, when he picked out this dress."
The nurse smiled and gave Sandrine a closer look.
"Ok, then I can go back to work."
Sandrine watched her walking down the floor and disappearing into another room. She got up. It was late and she was tired. Slowly she walked towards the elevator and pressed the button. After a short time the doors opened and a group of doctors and nurses emerged from it. Nobody else took the elevator and she got down without another stop.
Only two taxis were standing in line. She went straight to the first one. The guy looked really bored. As she came closer he looked at her. He seemed to be very unhappy about getting a new fare. Then the driver looked at her more closely and saw the blood stains.
"It is almost dry - I'm tired I just want to go to my hotel. O.K.?"
He smiled. "No problem, Miss."
If she had not been that tired she would probably have realised that her driver was dressed better than any ordinary taxi driver could afford. She thought that there was something strange about him, but she gave it no second thought. She handed the address to him and got in.
He started the car and Sandrine leaned back.
"Is it far away?"
"You will see, you reach the destination much sooner than you would have liked to."
After this statement Sandrine not only had the feeling that something was wrong. She noticed the guy did not speak any slang. He talked more like her teacher at school. Even more precise. As she took a look to the licence she saw that this cup belonged to a blond long haired male and her driver had short, black hair. His face had also no similarity with the picture.
'He is obviously not a driver,' she thought.
"Could you stop at a gas station I need some chewing gum - won't take long."
"Sure," he told her. Sandrine was relieved. Maybe the guy just stole the car and was not after his fare, but as they passed the next station, he drove on.
"What was wrong with this one?" she demanded to know.
"Nothing." The car reach a drive-way and the needle moved up to 80 miles. "Actually we are not stopping anywhere - consider your self as kidnapped."
So she was trapped and had a moment to think about what exactly was going on. She came to the conclusion - that this must have to do with the man her father saved today. Maybe she could find out what was behind this.
"What are you planning to do with me now - I guess you know what my father's occupation is?"
"That's why we kidnapped you."
"You kidnapped me, because you wanted trouble with the FBI? Don't you have any real hobbies?"
"I do have."
"Probably fishing." Sandrine realised that she had picked the wrong strategy.
"Not quite - it's hunting."
'Hunting?' She instantly understood what he meant. "You were hunting that old man?"
He chuckled. "Well you might as well know, we organised the hunt and this old man killed the guy who was hunting him. We just were about to clean up the mess, when your father interfered."
"And what exactly has this to do with me?"
"To ensure your father does not make any unpleasant phone calls."
The question was, would her father give in to this deal. Sandrine doubted it. She did not like her father, and although she would not call him a complete idiot, she knew very well that he acted concerning all non-job-related matters - as if they were one. And for his job, he was not the guy who liked to negotiate. She suddenly felt uncomfortable and opened the jacket to get some chewing gum.
"How long you want my father not to make unpleasant calls?"
"Until we are out of his reach - then your presence won't be required any longer."
"So if I'm kidnapped shouldn't you blindfold me?"
"No need."
She swallowed and sunk back into her seat. She remained in silence for the rest of the ride. Finally they reached a large estate out of the city near the bayou. The car was parked in front of the entrance. A wide staircase led to large mahogany doors. It was quite a lovely spot to live in. A little smaller than her current private school, but it was not overcrowded and the whole ground had something peaceful over it. A tall, dark man waited for them.
"There we are."
Her driver said and got out of the car. She took his last words for a demand to get out and since she did not want to complicate the situation, she did so. Her father did not talk much about his work, but she was clever enough to know by herself that as a hostage the only thing she could do, was to be cooperative and hope that the demands were fulfilled.
"Good work."
"Easy like walking through a park."
Although both make an impressive figure, the older man, was obviously the one in charge. Not only because he wore a really expensive suit. The way he spoke and moved as he talked to her kidnapper, made that clear. Her driver did not really act like he was a subordinate. It seemed more that he was an associate.
The other one paid her not much attention, until she had come close enough for him to recognise her ruined dress. She was not sure what shocked him more, the dress itself or the blood on it. 'Probably the dress', she thought.
"What a nice decorated ensemble."
"And I guess you are the one responsible for this decoration."
He looked at her for a short moment with surprise in his eyes, then he turned to his associate.
"Pick, lock her in."
Fouchon was not in a good mood and walked back into the house. In spite of this Pick was amused.
"Shall we?"
Her kidnapper pointed to the doors and they followed his boss through the main door. The house was from the inside almost as impressive as from the outside. The interior was huge and everything looked expensive. Definitely not like her school. Although the architecture was similar, the whole interior in her school was made either of plastic or robust wood. This was simply elegant.
"Hey, Van Cleaf - I always thought you could pull something better at shore."
A man in a cheap leather outfit walked down a hallway. He was on his way out and stared at her. Then he looked at her kidnapper and his face turned white. She also turned her attention to Pick and the way he looked at this guy gave her goose bumps. Then he turned his look at her and as she met his eyes, she felt like frozen. Sandrine did not even realise that the other guy hurried outside.
She could not move until his eyes set her free. He took her arm and lead her up a large staircase. The second floor also looked huge, many doors led away from a long hallway. He guided her into a room with a small fireplace. For a prison cell it was really comfortable. It even had a balcony. The curtains had hidden it, but Van Cleaf walked over and locked the doors.
Then he turned and looked at her once again. She had the feeling that he wanted to say something, but then he left her alone and locked the door from the outside. She was not sure if he was still there, because the thick tapestry in the hallway made it impossible to hear any noise. Sandrine inspected the room. The third door lead to a bathroom. Besides a large bed, an empty wardrobe, an old, bulky chair and a footstool her room was empty.
She walked around for some time, but nothing happened and since she did not wanted to call for anyone, she decided to go to bed. Maybe tomorrow she would learn more and hopefully good news.
Author: Barbayat
Summary: If you have seen Hard Target, and liked Van Cleaf and Fouchon, I recommend to read this story.
Disclaimers: The characters and the story of "Hard Target" do not belong to me. I just directed the movie to a different ending - an ending I (and others, too) appreciate more.
I like to thank Arnold Vosloo and Lance Hendriksen for playing those fantastic and inspiring villains. I also should tank Jean-Claude van Damme and Yancy Butler as well for playing those annoying and boring heroes (so far no one complained about me killing or not mentioning their characters.)
Furthermore I like to thank the 2nd-System-Meister, whom I tortured in endless hours on the phone asking him for advice on various scenes. Not to forget my beta-readers - Margit and Marcel - who put up with my terrible English correcting the whole story.
Comments, Critic and suggestions are welcomed - send them to barbayat@malevillain.com
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
1. Hunting Season in New Orleans
Sandrine Mosley slept so deep she has not realised that it was already night. Her father drove the car through illuminated streets. A few people were still out and walking around between the open bars and casinos.
"We arrived?"
"Almost - you slept long. Didn't you go to bed early, Sandy?"
"Well, we had a party for Mrs. Grady, our biology-teacher. It was her last year and I had so much fun - I forgot the time."
"I am very disappointed in you -I just hope you behave, when you are with your cousin."
"Sure, dad, it was just an exception. It won't happen again," she tried to assure him.
The girl turned to her window and smiled. Her cousin and she shall have much longer parties - and with boys. Suddenly someone knocked on their window. It was a black man and he was banging with bloody hands onto their windscreen. Her father stopped the car and jumped out. She expected him to start a quarrel, but he did not.
"What happened?" He demanded instead.
"They are close behind me," the black man yelled.
The sound of other closing vehicles called for a quick solution. Agent Mosley opened the backdoor and helped the man in. Sandrine saw that he was bleeding out of several wounds. With help of the man's jacket she found out that his name was Roper.
"Sandy try to stop the bleeding, you have to press onto the wounds. - Can you tell me who is following you?"
He looked in the rear mirror. Two cars and three bikes were following them. He opened the window and turned his light on. The cars were dropping back. He could not see any licence plates, but he was sure, they were good for trouble. He informed the local police, but they just replied that they did not have enough cars out on the street to take care of the matter. They notified the hospital, but more they could not do.
A few minutes later they reached the hospital undisturbed. An emergency team immediately took care of Roper. Her father told her to get in with them and parked the car. Shortly afterwards Roper was under surgery and Agent Mosley was talking to a policewoman who had arrived in the meantime. Luckily he noticed his daughter long enough to hand her his jacket. Her white dress was cover with blood and even after she closed the jacket some of the blood was still visible.
Her father went to the observation room with the woman and told her to stay behind. Sleeping in the car had not really been relaxing and there for the girl was still tired. Sandrine could not imagine anything more boring than having to sit somewhere and waiting.
A few moments later the black police woman came out and made a phone call. Then she sighed and came towards the girl. Sandrine saw that she wore a detective badge.
"Was a tough night for you, wasn't it?" the woman asked her.
"Not yet," came the dry reply.
"This probably won't take that long and then you can spend the rest of your holiday with your father."
"Actually the idea of this holiday was to get away from him. I wanted to visit my cousin - it was his idea to get me there personally."
"That almost sounds like you don't like spending time with him," said the female detective.
"Why should I? I have to were those dresses, I can't say what I think or want without causing him to go crazy. I can't even do what I want unless it is something suitable for a young girl," Sandrine uttered with a bitter tone.
The woman looked at her as if she can not believe what she had just heard. The detective always thought her mother had been too strict and that this was the reason why she was still single. Hearing this, she wondered how anybody could be so old-fashioned nowadays.
"Maybe you just have to convince him that you are a reasonable girl - I mean he should be proud that a girl remains so calm in a situation like this, maybe if you talked to him," the woman suggested.
"Talking with him is like talking to a wall, it tried it for the past 17 years, believe me it's no use," replied the girl.
"You are seventeen? I ..." the cellular of the policewoman rang and she broke up.
Sandrine could see her face brightening up and she replied that they should send the guys right over to the hospital. Then the detective put her hand on the phone and wished her good luck, before she walked down the corridor.
Sandrine waited about over an hour before her father returned. Almost everyone looked at her. Then her father showed up, followed by an annoyed looking nurse.
"They think he will make it, but of course he won't be able to talk for a couple of hours. I will wait here, but Nurse Foster here, will bring you down to a taxi that will bring you to our hotel."
He gave his daughter 70 Dollars.
"Get something to eat - this will take time ..."
"So we are going to stay here for a while?"
"Do you expect me to look away? I've got a responsibility towards the public and right now something very fishy is going on here. I'm the only one to take care of it."
Then he turned around leaving his daughter behind. She sighed. The outlook of spending another day or perhaps more with her father was not exactly that what she would have called a holiday. Punishment fit much better. She looked at Nurse Foster who seemed to be more relaxed, now that Agent Mosley had left.
"Ok, I bring you down, but please hurry, I am very busy."
"I'm 17, I can make it to the taxi myself."
"Really? You look much younger."
"I am 17 - My father just knew what he did, when he picked out this dress."
The nurse smiled and gave Sandrine a closer look.
"Ok, then I can go back to work."
Sandrine watched her walking down the floor and disappearing into another room. She got up. It was late and she was tired. Slowly she walked towards the elevator and pressed the button. After a short time the doors opened and a group of doctors and nurses emerged from it. Nobody else took the elevator and she got down without another stop.
Only two taxis were standing in line. She went straight to the first one. The guy looked really bored. As she came closer he looked at her. He seemed to be very unhappy about getting a new fare. Then the driver looked at her more closely and saw the blood stains.
"It is almost dry - I'm tired I just want to go to my hotel. O.K.?"
He smiled. "No problem, Miss."
If she had not been that tired she would probably have realised that her driver was dressed better than any ordinary taxi driver could afford. She thought that there was something strange about him, but she gave it no second thought. She handed the address to him and got in.
He started the car and Sandrine leaned back.
"Is it far away?"
"You will see, you reach the destination much sooner than you would have liked to."
After this statement Sandrine not only had the feeling that something was wrong. She noticed the guy did not speak any slang. He talked more like her teacher at school. Even more precise. As she took a look to the licence she saw that this cup belonged to a blond long haired male and her driver had short, black hair. His face had also no similarity with the picture.
'He is obviously not a driver,' she thought.
"Could you stop at a gas station I need some chewing gum - won't take long."
"Sure," he told her. Sandrine was relieved. Maybe the guy just stole the car and was not after his fare, but as they passed the next station, he drove on.
"What was wrong with this one?" she demanded to know.
"Nothing." The car reach a drive-way and the needle moved up to 80 miles. "Actually we are not stopping anywhere - consider your self as kidnapped."
So she was trapped and had a moment to think about what exactly was going on. She came to the conclusion - that this must have to do with the man her father saved today. Maybe she could find out what was behind this.
"What are you planning to do with me now - I guess you know what my father's occupation is?"
"That's why we kidnapped you."
"You kidnapped me, because you wanted trouble with the FBI? Don't you have any real hobbies?"
"I do have."
"Probably fishing." Sandrine realised that she had picked the wrong strategy.
"Not quite - it's hunting."
'Hunting?' She instantly understood what he meant. "You were hunting that old man?"
He chuckled. "Well you might as well know, we organised the hunt and this old man killed the guy who was hunting him. We just were about to clean up the mess, when your father interfered."
"And what exactly has this to do with me?"
"To ensure your father does not make any unpleasant phone calls."
The question was, would her father give in to this deal. Sandrine doubted it. She did not like her father, and although she would not call him a complete idiot, she knew very well that he acted concerning all non-job-related matters - as if they were one. And for his job, he was not the guy who liked to negotiate. She suddenly felt uncomfortable and opened the jacket to get some chewing gum.
"How long you want my father not to make unpleasant calls?"
"Until we are out of his reach - then your presence won't be required any longer."
"So if I'm kidnapped shouldn't you blindfold me?"
"No need."
She swallowed and sunk back into her seat. She remained in silence for the rest of the ride. Finally they reached a large estate out of the city near the bayou. The car was parked in front of the entrance. A wide staircase led to large mahogany doors. It was quite a lovely spot to live in. A little smaller than her current private school, but it was not overcrowded and the whole ground had something peaceful over it. A tall, dark man waited for them.
"There we are."
Her driver said and got out of the car. She took his last words for a demand to get out and since she did not want to complicate the situation, she did so. Her father did not talk much about his work, but she was clever enough to know by herself that as a hostage the only thing she could do, was to be cooperative and hope that the demands were fulfilled.
"Good work."
"Easy like walking through a park."
Although both make an impressive figure, the older man, was obviously the one in charge. Not only because he wore a really expensive suit. The way he spoke and moved as he talked to her kidnapper, made that clear. Her driver did not really act like he was a subordinate. It seemed more that he was an associate.
The other one paid her not much attention, until she had come close enough for him to recognise her ruined dress. She was not sure what shocked him more, the dress itself or the blood on it. 'Probably the dress', she thought.
"What a nice decorated ensemble."
"And I guess you are the one responsible for this decoration."
He looked at her for a short moment with surprise in his eyes, then he turned to his associate.
"Pick, lock her in."
Fouchon was not in a good mood and walked back into the house. In spite of this Pick was amused.
"Shall we?"
Her kidnapper pointed to the doors and they followed his boss through the main door. The house was from the inside almost as impressive as from the outside. The interior was huge and everything looked expensive. Definitely not like her school. Although the architecture was similar, the whole interior in her school was made either of plastic or robust wood. This was simply elegant.
"Hey, Van Cleaf - I always thought you could pull something better at shore."
A man in a cheap leather outfit walked down a hallway. He was on his way out and stared at her. Then he looked at her kidnapper and his face turned white. She also turned her attention to Pick and the way he looked at this guy gave her goose bumps. Then he turned his look at her and as she met his eyes, she felt like frozen. Sandrine did not even realise that the other guy hurried outside.
She could not move until his eyes set her free. He took her arm and lead her up a large staircase. The second floor also looked huge, many doors led away from a long hallway. He guided her into a room with a small fireplace. For a prison cell it was really comfortable. It even had a balcony. The curtains had hidden it, but Van Cleaf walked over and locked the doors.
Then he turned and looked at her once again. She had the feeling that he wanted to say something, but then he left her alone and locked the door from the outside. She was not sure if he was still there, because the thick tapestry in the hallway made it impossible to hear any noise. Sandrine inspected the room. The third door lead to a bathroom. Besides a large bed, an empty wardrobe, an old, bulky chair and a footstool her room was empty.
She walked around for some time, but nothing happened and since she did not wanted to call for anyone, she decided to go to bed. Maybe tomorrow she would learn more and hopefully good news.
