Wow, it's been even longer this time. And the next one isn't gonna be anytime soon either…I've got exams at the minute, Yuck.
But I promise, as soon as they're over, I'll have loads for you guys.
Hope this much is okay anyway. Any feedback is welcome!
There was debris everywhere. Random hunks of metal and burning plaster littered the area that had just moments ago been full of hopeful gamblers.
But that didn't matter. There was a job to do, and the heat was up too high to sit reminiscing about the good ol' times spent at the racetrack.
But first she had to be gone. If Faye saw this it would just turn messy.
He wasn't sure why, but then there didn't need to be a reason for everything. In fact, it was often better when there wasn't. Made things a lot simpler.
Luckily, Faye had been pretty much carried off the scene draped over the shoulder of some huge trucker that had been ogling her for the half hour previous to the blast.
His hopes of gratitude sex may not be as easily realised as the poor guy had previously thought. Oh well, what's another failure right?
Enjoying the reassuring weight of the Jericho held up by his shoulder, Spike Spiegel stepped out of the shadows, and darted across the courtyard to what remained of the spectators' stands. Glancing in the glass panel adorning the lowest line of stands, Spike did a double take. Covering his face with his free hand, he swung around.
There had been no need to turn around so quickly, it would take the purple huffing biomass waddling in his direction a good 5 minutes to get there. Spike surveyed his palpitating counterpart with an odd mixture of disdain and slow boiling fury.
"I told you not to come Howards," he growled though gritted teeth.
The elder man, puce and breathing alarmingly heavily, took out an immaculate handkerchief and mopped his brow all the while holding up his free hand, as if it alone could stem the flow of Spike's rage.
Upon composing himself, Howards lifted his third chin parallel to the ground below him and haughtily looking down on a man 6 inches taller said
"The director wished me to accompany you."
Spike reset his face into its usual irreverent veneer. "Sam said that huh?"
Howards' horror was palpable. "How dare you," he spluttered, mopping his forehead again, "Such disrespect to the Director, to be so familiar, such insolence, ill regard-"
"Hey now Pops, calm down, I can't afford to be the one who gives you that stroke," which was entirely true, Spike had placed a rather large wager on it's being the well endowed receptionist Veronica.
"If you haven't noticed, you're slowing me down. I've already lost ten minutes and if you don't get the hell out of here, this job isn't going to get done at all."
Remembering himself, Howards drew himself up to his inconsiderable height and looked Spike haughtily in the eye.
"You appear to have forgotten how our company deals with these sorts of threats Mr. Speigel. The Collective is a gentlemanly organisation, and you have already today sullied its reputation no end with your clumsy manner of doing business."
Spike looked up momentarily from the cigarette he was lighting.
"What?" he asked in mock wide-eyed surprise, "You mean this?" He gestured with his tobacco laden hand to the rubble that surrounded them, slipping his lighter into his pocket.
Howards' eye twitched slightly. "Yes, that is precisely what I mean."
Blowing smoke directly in the little man's face Spike shrugged, turning the corners of his mouth down. "Well then maybe you should take it up with Sam, he gave me the explosives."
Not waiting to see how long it would take Howards to recover from the apopleptic state this comment left him in, Spike walked through the door behind him and resumed his mission.
Well, if you want to call a freelance bounty hit a mission.
Holding the handgun down at his hip Spike scaled the stairs silently, left shoulder first. In the eerie calm that was left following the blast, the sounds of a scuffle at the top of the stairwell was clearly audible.
Spike's features relaxed a little. It never mattered how long he was out of the game, the players never changed.
Coming to a stop outside a heavy wooden door labelled 'Private' Spike leaned his head back onto the doorjamb, looking in at the scene with one eye.
There were three men scrambling around frantically in the office within. Two were tall lean pale men, with angular haircuts, black suits and over large sunglasses, the third a shorter, younger man with blond hair falling into his eyes. As a result he seemed to need to toss his head every 5 seconds or so in order to see where he was going. Judging by the stains adorning the legs of his greying white suit, he wasn't doing too well.
The three of them were grabbing random papers out of various open drawers around the room and stuffing them into a shredder in the middle of the floor.
"Don't forget the Freewheel papers," chided a voice from a different room.
Spike's eyes lit up with the promise of two birds for his one stone.
A fourth man strolled into the office through a separate doorway behind the large desk at the far end of the room. He was as tall as the dark suited guys, but was broader and commanded more of a presence. His white blond hair hung to his waist and was tied with a thin black ribbon at the nape of his neck. Drying his hands on a paper towel he continued speaking to the men without looking at them.
"If those papers are found there's no point even trying to set up elsewhere, if-"
He stopped short as his eyes came to rest on Spike's exposed eye.
Spike grinned behind the door and held the man's gaze for a split second before he threw the door open.
Enjoying the nanosecond of complete stillness before the men around him sprang into action Spike took aim and fired two quick shots. One connected with the thigh of a black suiter delving into a drawer in the corner of the room.
One down.
Ducking and rolling over one shoulder Spike had a second tiny break with his back against the desk before Bleacher Mr. Blond threw himself headfirst over the desk after him.
It's easy to hit targets when you know where they're gonna be.
Deciding that this was getting a little easy, Spike holstered his faithful Jericho in case of a real emergency (the strip on the back of his pack of matches was running a little ragged) and jumped to his feet.
As he'd expected the one remaining black suit was hurtling towards him. Spike easily grabbed the man's wrist halfway through side-stepping him, swung him round and mid spin slammed black suit's forearm into Spike's waiting palm.
There were few sounds as rewarding as that snap. That was the sound of payroll on it's way.
But unfortunately, this particular guy had no real resale value, so Spike used the fact that 'black suit' was standing on a stray leaf of paper. One good push and he was safely through the window.
Mr. Leader Man looked up from examining his nails. His unruffled air remained intact, and perhaps coincidentally, he didn't have a hair out of place.
"So now you think you're just going to kill me?"
Spike let out a snort of laughter. Mr. Leader looked visibly upset at such a crass form of expression being used in his presence.
"Why would I do that? You're worth good money to me Diego."
Diego pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. Spike was beginning to seriously question the man's sexual orientation, but stopped as soon as he remembered he didn't care.
"You can't expect to take me alive."
Spike shrugged, and pointed his gun directly at the other man's chest.
"More or less."
Diego narrowed his eyes.
"You wouldn't dare."
That was all the incentive Spike needed.