Time seemed to slow down for Daniel Richter as they flew through the air. He looked to his right and saw Liz, her eyes wide in terror as she gripped the dashboard until her knuckles were white. He turned his head left and saw the blue expanse of water under them, sparkling blue-green in the afternoon sun. Directly underneath them was a long line of boats and barges waiting to pass beneath the raised bridge. Dan was jolted back into reality by the sudden, huge crash of the truck onto the other half of the bridge. The rear bumper had dislodged and fell clattering to the asphalt. The truck bounced violently up and down repeatedly as it finally settled on all four wheels and screeched to a halt on the level street. A huge cloud of white dust surrounded the truck, cocaine that had exploded from the cargo area. Inside the truck, Liz's hair, which was normally in a neatly brushed ponytail, was now in twisted knots, frazzled by the jump. For a few seconds, only their hyperventilated breathing was audible inside the truck. Liz was the first to move.
"We're alive...we're alive!" She cried, finally relieving the dashboard of her tight grip.
Dan was still gripping the wheel tightly, a stunned look on his face from having survived the daredevil maneuver.
"Can you believe it? Oh, my God!" She said as she wrapped her arms around him, enveloping him in an embrace.
Dan's eyes widened at the unexpected hug, but before he could react, Liz came to her senses and followed up the hug with a sharp slap to his face. The contact between her palm and his cheek left a painful red hand shaped mark.
"What in the hell was that for?" He said incredulously.
"Don't you ever do anything that fucking stupid again! You almost got us killed, you idiot!"
Dan only stared with his jaw open, surprised at her abrupt change in mood. "I can't believe this...just can't fuckin' believe this. First, I save both of us from getting sent to prison, then I save your life, and what's the thanks I get? I get slapped!" He shouted, fuming. "Well fuck you! If you were any normal woman, I'd be getting' laid right now for saving your sorry ass!"
Liz snarled and angrily shouted, "My sorry ass! If it wasn't for me, you'd be lying on Main Street right now, full of bullet holes! You—"She said, pointing to him, then herself, "Should be thanking me!"
A small crowd had gathered around them on the sidewalk, staring curiosly at them. Some were staring in shock, a few were edging slowly towards the truck and some tourists were apparently taking snapshots of the truck that had just flown over the gap in the bridge. Inside the vehicle, the two people were still screaming their heads off.
"Okay, you know what? Shut the fuck up! I don't care! Zip it and let's get this over with!" Liz shouted one last time as she plugged her ears for greater emphasis.
Dan took a shuddering breath and squeezed his fists, making his knuckles pop. "Fine." Dan said rudely as he put the truck into gear and continued down the road.
They passed numerous cars, each filled with people gawking at them for jumping over the bridge. They drove in silence for the next few miles, the muffler scraping on the asphalt providing the only noise. Liz stared out the window, engrossed in her thoughts. Her anger at her temporary partner was slowly being bled off.
A few more minutes passed before Dan finally spoke up quietly. "You've got to admit...that was a pretty ballsy move."
Liz gave him a sideways glance before a very small smile tugged at her lips.
"No...that was a pretty stupid move." Liz said finally, as she pulled back her hair and fixed it back into a ponytail.
"Yeah, well, I'm sorry if I scared you." Dan replied, adjusting the mirror.
"I wasn't scared. You were scared."
"Okay, sure," Dan said before slowly adding, "You know, if you want, we can stop so you can change into some fresh underwear."
"Oh, shut up. I happen to not hate you as much when your mouth is shut." Liz said immediately as she reached for the radio. She grasped the hard plastic of the tuner knob and switched it on, desperate for the noise to cover his infuriating comments.
"—Thanks for tuning in to Public Radio WRKP. In this half-hour, we have a very special guest. He has written a number of books and articles that investigates the relationship between young people and violence in the media, especially electronic video ga —"
The radio emitted static as she changed the station from one of the many boring public radio stations to a random frequency. A full symphony blared through the trucks tiny stereos filling the space with an excerpt from a Mozart symphony. She changed the station again.
"—For those of you just tuning in, five police fatalities in a—"
Liz turned the knob.
"Whoa, go back!" Dan said quickly.
Liz complied and put it back on Chatterbox FM.
"—unidentified individuals driving a delivery truck reportedly attacked and killed five officers today. After being pursued by the LCPD, the truck ran through a police roadblock, and then...wait'll you hear this...and then jumped over the Callahan Bridge."
"You're kidding." A woman's voice said, most likely a co-host.
"No...I swear. The truck JUMPED over the gap."
"Wow. That must've been one helluva sight. So what's happening now?"
"Well, now the LCPD is using up a lot of their resources to find whoever did it. They are out in force. "
"They don't have any idea who it was?"
"Well, this is what Stu, the sound effects guy, told me. He said that the truck was one of the laundry vans that the Triads use for running drugs, but it's just pure speculation." The man said, "By the way, folks, I'm obligated to say that if anyone at all has any information in regards to the event, please contact your local police station. Okay, stay tuned for the weather and the traffic reports coming up next. You're listening to Chatterbox FM."
"Great...," Dan said silently, "Now Conway is gonna be swamped with cops. They think its the Triads that killed those cops."
"Now what?" Liz asked,clicking the radio off and leaning heavily back into the ripped leather seat of the truck.
"I don't know, but we've got one hell of a problem."
Jimmy Conway paced nervously back and forth inside a large back room of the fish factory. The factory, which actually did produce a large amount of gutted and cleaned fish, was just a front for his large drug operation. He had purchased the factory from its original owner, paying the man with a bullet to the head. His expensive Italian leather shoes tapped loudly against the hardwood floor of the room he was in.
In the corner, several large bags of money were currently being counted by some of Conway's henchmen. Inhabiting the middle of the room were boxes of packaged cocaine, ready to be shipped. Through the open door, the putrid smell of rotted fish floated in. Even after two years, he still had not gotten used to the smell. He ran his hand through his neatly combed black hair and examined his hands. His nails, once healthy and round, were know jagged, the product of hours worth of nervous chewing.
"Lu!" Conway shouted loudly.
Immediately, a small Asian man came trotting through the open door and stopped in front of Conway. Conway walked past him towards the door and peered out, looking at the actual factory. The factory was a maze of conveyor belts, hooks and large sinks. Dozens of workers scrambled around the factory, doing their daily tasks of gutting, cleaning and packaging fish. Satisfied that no one was looking, he slammed the door shut, causing Lu to jump slightly.
"Sir?"
"Where the fuck is my delivery truck? It's one, fucking hour late!" Conway shouted at the top of his lungs, directly into the man's face.
"I-I'm not sure, sir. I've had men out looking for it." Lu said confidently.
"You don't know? You don't fucking know? I'm going to be a dead man if I don't deliver that shit on time to the Triads!" He screamed.
All the men in the room had stopped their counting and watched the debacle. Each of the men was thinking of what Conway was going to do to the poor bastard. They all knew how easily excitable Conway could be.
"Now, I'm going to ask you one more time. Where is my goddamned truck?" He bellowed.
"I...I-I don't know, sir." Lu said meekly.
Conway growled in anger and rammed his fist inside his suit coat. His hand came out holding a rather large handgun. Lu took a step back as he stared down the barrel of the pistol.
"I'm sorry sir. I'll—"He said before the butt of the pistol slammed into his face, just above his left eye. The impact left a large gash in his head. He grunted in pain as crimson blood ran down his face. Conway jacked the action on the semi-automatic pistol, chambering a round. He placed the cold steel of the gun against the man's head and coldly pulled the trigger. The bullet flew out and immediately pierced the skull, tearing Lu's brain to pieces. The lifeless body slumped to the floor; it's head a bloody, ragged mess.
"Get this piece of shit out of here." Conway commanded, "Now, Damnit! And somebody mop this floor!"
All of his cronies had turned away from the mess and went back to counting money, except four that dragged the corpse out of the room, leaving a dark-red stain on the floor.
"Shit...It got all over my shoes." He mumbled to himself.
He walked over to the closed door, making sure not to step in the puddle of blood, and opened it. Most of the workers were standing around, trying to make sense of the gunshot they heard. Then someone shouted something in Chinese. Immediately, a large flock of employees had gathered by the dirty, innards-stained windows of the factory.
"What'd he say?" Conway asked one of the men beside him.
"I, uh, think he said police." The man said.
"What?" Conway asked again, more from disbelief than not hearing it.
"Police, sir."
Suddenly a voice was heard over a bullhorn.
"James Ryan Conway, this is the LCPD. We have a warrant for your arrest. Please come out peacefully and no one will get hurt." The policeman said.
"Oh, fuck!" Conway said as he covered his face in frustration.
"What do you want us to do?" One of his henchmen asked.
Conway thought for a second before responding, "Get all the men assembled and hand out weapons. And don't let those people leave!"
With that said, the men left to gather the others. Conway pulled out his gun once more and fired repeatedly upwards, catching the attention of the confused workers.
"Nobody leaves! If you try to leave, I'll fucking kill you! " He shouted as he fired his gun once more for emphasis.
Apparently, either through a lack of English skills or lack of self-preservation, a few of the workers tried to make a break for it. Conway sighed and emptied the rest of his clip on the fleeing workers. He immediately downed two and injured another. One lucky woman was able to scurry through the gunfire and out into the street, where the police were waiting.
A few minutes later, all of the men had taken positions by a window, making sure they had an open shot on the police. Conway had also taken up arms, as he tightened his grip on his AK-47 assault rifle. He looked through a grimy window and saw the large gathering of policemen. A large amount of patrol cars were parked in the street, each with some officers behind them, aiming their guns at the building.
"They think this is a donut shop or something?" Someone said, eliciting a small laugh from the rest of the men.
"Hey, shut up and keep your eye on the cops!" Conway reprimanded the man.
"This is your last chance, Conway! Surrender yourself and your men and we will not come in and get you forcefully!" The officer warned again.
"Are the hostages locked up in the back?" Conway asked one of his aides.
The man nodded, when suddenly Conway's cell phone rang. The sound was muted until he opened his jacket and took it out.
"Yeah?" He asked roughly.
"Is this James Conway?" The rough voice on the other end asked.
Conway cautiously looked out of the nearest window and searched the crowd, looking for the one talking to him over the phone. He couldn't find him.
"Yeah, this is Conway."
"This is Special Agent Campbell of the FBI. I'm asking you nicely. Please surrender the hostages and yourself, while there's still a chance. If you don't, then we will be forced to enter. And that won't end well for you. I guarantee it." Campbell advised.
Conway gazed out of the window once more. Five carloads of FBI agents had just arrived on the scene, each agent's jacket emblazoned with three gold letters: FBI.
"Are all the weapons handed out?" Conway asked the man next to him.
"Yes, sir." He replied in his distinctive, rumbling voice, "The men are waiting for your orders."
Jimmy Conway nodded and turned back to his phone. "Agent Campbell?"
"Yes?"
Conway took a deep breath. "Come and fucking get me!"