Chapter III: Road Rage

A lone phone rang in the freshly-opened police station. The secretary picked it up and asked, "May I help you?"

"Yes," the man on the other side replied, a bit too angrily and hastily. "Could you connect me to the main chief of police?"

"Of course." She buzzed the head office and redirected the line.

There, the still-sleepy police chief picked up the phone and placed the receiver to his ear. "Hello?"

"Yes, hello, chief. An attempt has been made on my life. The assassin has murdered two of my personal bodyguards and my best hound. Also, I have reason to believe that he has murdered my son and his little friend who came to visit me over the weekend. He escaped to the road and is probably heading east."

"Okay, I'll have my men inspect your place and the grounds around your house. I'll even send a car or two down the road. We'll be sure not to miss anything. Oh, by the way."

"Yes, chief?"

"This better not be a false alarm like last time."

Cachuma and I had been driving on the road for some time now, and both of us were getting sleepy. Apparently the past night's events were too much for my partner, for he was napping in his seat. My eyelids hung heavy as well. We had to find a safe place to rest, or at least refuel.

A gas station loomed on the side of the street in this brash wilderness, an oasis in this desert. No other cars were parked there. I pulled up alongside one of the fuel dispensers and tuned down the motor. I took off my helmet and put it on the handlebars of the silenced motorcycle. I then hurdled off of the bike and walked towards the gas station's main building, sliding off my driving goggles. I made sure to take Cachuma's book with me.

A bell sounded as I walked into the store, standard alert of a customer. I looked around. It was a fairly average shop, the usual candy and snack aisles, and the beverages in the freezer in the back, even the fuel-of-the-damned cigarettes were behind the main counter. The lack of a person working the cash register unnerved me a little bit, though. I walked to the other end of the store, picked up a soda out of the freezer, and strolled into the candy aisle.

As I stooped down to pick up a snack, I heard the faint wail of sirens. They were barely audible, but they were still unmistakable.

I reached into my belt and took out a pistol. I reloaded a fresh magazine into it, depositing the old set back into the gun's pouch. I didn't know how long ago the last firing of this thing was, but I wasn't concerned; I was just erring on the side of caution. I cocked the gun as I pocketed my snacks in my belt pouch. I stashed the book behind a shelf loaded with different cereals for safekeeping. From there, I made my way around the back ends of the aisles towards the door.

If those cops were after me, I wanted to be ready.

The police car drove down the narrow street, barely two lanes the whole width. One was driving, the other munching on a donut. "Say, Earl," the one cop said through his donut. "Did anybody back at the base bother to give us any hard details pertaining to the identity of the hooligan we're tracking?"

"No, they didn't, Stan," the driver replied. "All we know is that he's fairly short but heavily armed and dangerous. His getaway vehicle should be large and fast as well."

"Standard chopper or customized do you think?"

"Customized, definitely. That thing would have to have monster wheels in order to leave as big a skid mark on the road as it did."

"What makes you so sure he's short, then?"

"The wreckage of a house by a fallen tree in the forest looked like it wouldn't have been big enough for a normal-sized person."

"Midget playing in the big leagues?"

"Yep." They both let out a cruel laugh.

Soon, they came up to a gas station on their right. Only one vehicle was parked there, a motorcycle with a single super-sized wheel in the back. The cops looked at each other and nodded. This was definitely the perpetrator's mode of transportation. "Chief, we've got a suspicious vehicle down by the old gas station, specifically Freddy's Fuel and Food on route forty-two. Pulling up to inspect; over."

They pulled into the parking lot, drew their guns, and slowly approached the motorcycle. They cocked their guns and shoved the barrels of them into the passenger's seat. The metal poked soft tissue. The cops looked into the passenger's seat and saw a little kid bundled up in a blanket, sound asleep.

The guards looked at each other and back to the kid. "Do you think this is the murderer we've been looking for?" asked Stan.

The kid in the passenger seat groaned and rolled onto his side, away from the two cops. The sheath of a blade was fastened on his back. Earl smiled and replied, "Stan, I think we have ourselves a little murderer."

An earsplitting gunshot roared from the other side of the motorcycle. Stan and Earl immediately ducked, the bullet taking off one of their hats. They shakily peeked over the bike to find the window of the gas station shattered. Earl took out the walkie-talkie again and said into it, "Hostile character discovered at old gas station. Character is armed and dangerous. Hostage situation nil. Permission to engage perpetrator? Over."

"Permission declined," the chief replied on the other end. "If the perpetrator is dangerous, he may have set a trap for you. Who knows how long he was there before you? Over and out."

"I don't give a damn what the chief said," Stan said to his partner. "This has been one of the most entertaining cases I've ever been on in this boring section of the state. I've never actually shot my gun to defend myself before, and you know that I'm the best shot on the force."

"Yes, that's why we usually have you on recon, as backup for a really tough case, when you're actually allowed to shoot. We were given a direct order not to engage."

"Screw the chief, and screw the orders!" Stan vaulted the bike and bolted for the broken window.

Earl looked after him and disappointedly shook his head. "This is the true reason he's on recon. He's too darn pigheaded."

I heard a pair of feet hit the floor of the gas station. One of the cops had come in after me. I had heard them stop and draw their guns, and now one of them was trying to engage me. I had no idea what they had been talking about before from my position, but it must have been something about setting a trap for me. I eased myself to the top of the metal shelf and looked between two boxes of cereal. Sure enough, a guard was standing there, his gun drawn and his gaze sweeping the shelves. He was clueless as to his true opponent.

I slid the barrel of my gun in between the two cereal boxes I was peeping through and took aim at the cop. I quickly pulled the trigger. The gunshot broke the guard's grip on his gun, and it clattered to the ground. The cop's face was dumbstruck, looking around as he tried to deal with his bleeding hand.

"Where is that bastard?" he screamed. "Where's that punk that shot my good trigger hand?"

I smiled to myself and decided to play on the guard's confusion. I drew one of the shuriken from my pocket. I looked around for a good launching spot, the perfect spot to entice more confusion.

However, the guard's gun went off. "All right, you jackass, show yourself. I still have one decent hand left to shoot your head off! Don't make me find you!"

I instinctively but prematurely launched my shuriken as the shot rang out. It spun through the air, striking the tiles to my left but bouncing off of them. It also bounced off of the counter and headed straight for the guard. The officer caught sight of the shuriken, but he was too late. It slashed his head and stuck in his eye. The officer ran screaming out of the gas station, clutching his severely wounded eye. I shot another round from my pistol, and the shuriken came out - along with the guard's eye. The guard stopped dead in his tracks, slumped to his knees, and fell face-first into the dust.

The second officer caught where that final shot came from. "Code red: man down," he yelled into the radio. "Attempting to apprehend the criminal." He drew his gun and cocked it. He raised his eyes above the bike and took aim, shooting it through the shelves with obvious effectiveness. He heard a thump and saw a red liquid trail from behind the final counter. The officer smiled to himself and walked into the store quietly.

I heard the gunshot and saw its effects. The bullet had pierced several items along the shelves, including a large tomato soup can right next to me. The can spilled its contents onto the floor next to me and fell off the shelf, rolling towards the open isle.

I also heard the sound of another guard step into the shop. His shoes cracked the glass of the window still littered across the floor. I heard more footsteps as more of the glass crunched. My heart beat faster as the guard continued to walk along the shelves. I took the book from its hiding place and backtracked along the shelf, rounding the bend as the guard stuck his face around the corner along the opposite end of the shelf. As he looked down, his face grew horrified. He immediately turned around and ran for the door.

As he passed the shelf I was hiding behind, I took a quick shot at him with the Jackal .357. I managed to nail the officer in the leg, crippling him. The guard continued to make for the door, desperately clambering over the glass bits despite the cutting pain that they caused him in his hands.

He took out his walkie-talkie and said into it, "Perpetrator is armed and has taken out Stan. Second bullet lodged in my leg. Send backup immediately. Repeat: send backup-" he never finished his statement, for a gun went off. His grip on the walkie-talkie slackened, sending it falling to the ground. He fell right beside it, his face bloodied by the glass bits slashing his face and the bleeding hole right between his eyes. Another shot rang out, and the walkie-talkie exploded into thousands of plastic and mechanical parts.

I stowed the Jackal .357 in my pocket and hurriedly stepped over the two lifeless corpses. I also stepped out of the gas station window and ran towards my motorcycle. About halfway down my path, I picked up the shuriken I had used and cleaned it off with my gloved hand. I pocketed the shuriken and continued onward towards the bike in full sprint.

"They're going to have back up here any second!" I angrily muttered to myself. I straddled the driver's seat, fitting my body into its driving positions as I landed. I gave the motor a rev and floored the gas pedal. The engine roared to life, and the bike's tire screeched as it sped against the pavement for a second. The next thing I knew, I was speeding down the road again, this time in a faster flight with a fresh tank of gas. I gave a fresh sigh of relief. Those cops couldn't catch up to me now, not at this speed.

Cachuma groaned groggily in the passenger's seat next to me when we were well away from the gas station, about a mile or two down the highway. He sat up, looking sleepily at me. "Did I miss anything?" he asked exhaustedly.

"No," I assured him, "you didn't miss anything at all." I busted up into a merry chuckle as we continued on down the road.