A/N: Hello! I've been up all night writing this chapter; making it perfect, you know the drill. Sorry it took so long to get out, but nothing seemed worth writing until now. I hope you can relate to a writer's peril. Warning: This chapter has it's fair share of profanity, so don't say I didn't warn you. It's not all sunshine and rainbows, you see. Eh? Oh yeah, and please review if you've got something to say. Just- no flames. I've had my bad experiences. Oh, and this own's got two different perspectives too. Rowe first, Duke second. Blah, blah, blah. Here's the story...
"Careful, Greenhorn," my instructor warned. "These broadband hotel commuters are a fowl mistress."
Duke had uttered these cautious words as we waited for the elevator and prayed saints it was an empty transport. In our hands, we held everything we could carry including the leftover watermelon, various unmanhandled condiment packages, and of course, the small containers of high explosives I had yet to mention in this retelling.
Suddenly, there was a deafening sound like a 'ding!' that sent my mentor and I flying backwards towards our room in terror, yelping and ricocheting off the walls as we did. We didn't realize it'd been the elevator itself, but there was really no time to worry about that kind of thing anyway.
On the second abandonment of our kind hostel, I popped the notion of disguises, regretting my words immediately. I had no idea at the time of the implications of this sorry decision; neither of how it would affect Duke, nor of how fucking long this antic would set us back in our escape. Christ, I half expected the Feds to be waiting for us in the hallway when we came back out of our room.
But, I was sorely mistaken. For! When the good Doctor and I emerged from our place of mayhem decked out in a hybrid breed of cowboy, Indian, burglar, firefighter, cop, angel, and ballerina costumes (may I note now that I, Josie Rowe mundane journalist, was not wearing the too-too), the hallway was as clear as a day in Hawaii.
The lobby, in conflict, was a full-flung gale. A baker's dozen worth of Las Vegas law enforcement agents were scattered about the place, all looking like rabid dogs hungry for human flesh. Little did I know at the time that the police had gathered only for their annual raffle, and that life was just cruel in that manner. But as I said, I couldn't piece this together at the time.
"No," I whimpered to my associate, and clung to his too-too. "Do you realize what we're up against? We'll be mauled!"
Duke seemed shocked and hurt for a long moment before saying, "You were digging around in the case! You rat bastard!"
"No! I haven't!"
Granted, I had...
But our gentle conversation was interrupted. Something had brought the hoard of policemen to our attention, and if our wild yelling hadn't, the disguises sure as hell did.
Before I knew it, my plastic tomahawk and mini-halo had fallen dramatically to the floor, and my wrists were cuffed painfully behind me. Worse still, a cop had been talking to me and I'd missed the first part. And worst of all, not six feet away, the good Doctor was being arrested in the same way… while another cop held the typewriter and case.
I sobered up in an instant, for an instant. Twenty years of memories-to-be flashed before my eyes; memories of bars, untrustworthy criminals all locked up together in a concrete box.
Sadly, though, I realized after that moment that I was a real chickenshit around a dozen armed cops (who still looked an awful lot like rabid canine beasts), and that Duke was weak with substance abuse. He was probably too frail to help us out of this mess. And a mess it was
We were in a tight spot, to say the least, and it didn't look like that great boxing match would ever see us in its ranks.
15 minutes later
I looked sideways at my apprentice. The woman didn't look good, that's for goddamn sure. … 'Terrified' and 'stricken with nausea' was the way to put it. But I knew for a fact that this girl was a blessed American and was one of the few with true grit. I could only hope that she had a hard stomach for what was about to happen next.
Any minute now, I said to myself.
The two fucking bastards sitting in the front seats looked about ready to kill us right there and then, as if we'd been raving and jabbering like goddamn animals this whole time. I could only imagine what horrors these cops would inflict on us if we got where we were headed.
If only, I thought, we could break through this fence-like barrier… then Rowe would take the driver by the throat while I go to work on this fat pansy…
And then it happened. A massive and terrific 'boom' could be heard, then a scream, and a great impact force that could only be a collision.
I opened my eyes to check the damage.
Well, I thought, that fucking fence is gone.
The scrap had been blown clear off its hinges from the blast, but that wasn't the half of it. The front of the car had been ripped open, the crushed hood billowed black steam and the window shield was completely opaque with chinks. I looked down…
I murmured disbelief. The cuffs were perfectly snapped in two and I didn't have a scrap on me. It was a fucking miracle. "Sweet fucking Jesus!" I yelped and kicked my flimsy door open and jumped from my seat. "It worked! Jesus Christ!"
It was then that it occurred to me to check on the girl. I ducked my head back under the hood to find her still sitting there, completely petrified.
"Greenhorn?"
A voice inside my head said to leave her. That she was a rat bastard anyway, and a useless apprentice, never to amount to anything like all the other cocksuckers I could've taken in.
But no. We've come this far. I thought.
I didn't drive all this fucking way for her to stroke out on me now. Gas mileage couldn't be made up! And goddamn it, I liked her.
"Greenhorn!" I said again. No movement. I noticed a pool of blood on her forehead, but her eyes were still wide open in terror. "GREENHORN!" I shouted. "GET OUT! THE WEASELS ARE CLOSING IN! I CAN SMELL THE UGLY BRUTES! FLEE!"
She turned and looked at me with sorry eyes after that. I groaned and pulled her out myself.
Then came the matter of the case, which I hoped to God the mindless lizards hadn't gotten their sweaty hands on yet.
We found it under the feet of one of our escorts. I used the hacksaw to cut Rowe free, and then gave her a band-aid and a bag of grass to wipe that fucking gawk off her face. After a few minutes of sitting on the curb under a cloud, my head cleared up enough for us to get the hell out of there. It was a surprise the cops hadn't already found this massacre. But hell, they were probably all still back at the Flamingo getting drunk enough to care.
We were five blocks from the scene when Rowe spoke up for the first time.
"Why didn't you tell me about the fucking C-4?" She asked.
"What? Uh... oh yeah… uh… I didn't?"
"No, you shithead! We could've died! Those cops are probably dead! Those canine bastards are after us now!" She screamed.
"Huh?" I said. "Fuck, Greenhorn! You've got all sideways, man!"
"What? Don't be a prick, Duke."
"Now listen here, goddamn it. You don't have to go and castrate me like that—"
Rowe stopped walking beside a drain pipe and glowered hate at me. The white bandage around her head was stained with blood, but she didn't seem to care.
"Sweet Jesus," I said quietly. "You look pissed, man." I took a long drag and blew.
"You crazy Nazi…" she said.
And then, before I had a real hold on things, she was coming at me! Jesus no! Why should I die by the hand of this flap-crazy loon? Is this really how it ends! But... I was mistaken. Instead, she rushed past me,grabbed the case and had it open on the floor and dug through it like some kind of wild animal.
"Uh… hey!" I yelled after I'd recovered from my near death experience, and jumped to the floor to stop her.
But it was too late. By the time I'd shoved her away from my precious treasures, she'd already thrown the whole shaker of cocaine down the sewer drain. Beautiful, snow white cocaine, all gone. A powdery white national treasure, down the gutter like last night's spaghetti. I felt a tear in my eye as a looked down into that endless abyss, wondering if the shaker could have survived the fall. Doubtful. Shit.
"You!" I snarled and turned back to Rowe. I had blood-spattered murder on my mind. I'd strangle her, call the bats, rip her head off and leave her in an alley…
She was hovering over the case again like some filthy coyote. I tried to sneak around her arm to reach the hacksaw…
"Woah," I heard her murmur as I lied in wait for the moment of action. I looked up.
"Mother of God," I whispered.
She's found it all! A voice screamed in my skull.
From the looks of the debris on the ground, she'd eaten two mescaline and some laughers and was now washing it all down with a beer.
"Sweet Jesus!" I screamed. "What the fuck are you doing? You're going to die, you beast!"
As only a good citizen would do, she ignored me, wiped her nose, and handed me the closed case. "Here," she said. "All right, let's get there before this stuff takes hold, as it were. Tell me what the fuck we're doing again?"
I was speechless, but cracked open a laugher anyway so she wouldn't get lonely on the trip.