27: The Underground
The Kelownan capital managed to be even more of a dour place during the night hours. It was late for this part of Langara, and generally John might have preferred to have waited until dawn before conducting this latest venture. However, the situation was somewhat urgent and Jonas had suggested that the people he intended to find were the sort who preferred to work under cover of night,
John had listened carefully to Jonas' plan to find some of his old resistance friends. During the days of the Ori occupation of Langara, Jonas had been one of the main organizers of a resistance against the occupying forces. As a means to get hold of items that had become difficult to get under Ori rule, Jonas had inevitably found himself in the kind of company he would have otherwise avoided during peacetime. Mercenaries, separatists, terrorists; all the many unsavoury kinds of people Jonas did not much like to deal with, yet desperate times had called for much seedier company. And now times were desperate once again, so it made a strange sort of sense to seek out those underworld types in response.
John accompanied Jonas for this outing, with Elsie joining them. Aithris, Daniel and Natalia remained at the embassy, assisting the makalvari wherever they might require it but otherwise taking the opportunity to relax despite the circumstances. The risk of an attack upon not only the city, but the embassy as a whole, was all too real.
The entire city was on edge, with the insurgent forces encroaching ever closer upon the northern outskirts. A populace already beleaguered with a dreadful plague drew nearer to open revolt, and the police and local military were stretched far too thin. It was no wonder, then, that Gorum's forces had been able to slip into the city undetected and plant the bombs that had gone off earlier that day. Hundreds lay dead and many more were wounded, all while several important government buildings lay in ruins. The House of Assembly had remained undamaged, if only because security there was much tighter than it was anywhere else. Even Gorum and his followers would have a difficult time infiltrating the Kelownan centre of government.
For this outing, John, Jonas and Elsie had dressed in unassuming civilian clothes. For John, this included a plain grey jacket to help ward off the chill of the night air, and he complemented it with a pair of plain dark blue trousers and heavy-duty boots. Jonas wore a similar brown jacket and grey pants, whilst Elsie had opted for a maroon vest over a black long-sleeved top and slim-fitting blue trousers. All these items had been provided by the makalvari embassy, the sorts of things that had been put away on the off-chance any human guests might need some fresh clothes. As a result, the trio blended into the human population well enough. And because of this, they were forced to avoid the police patrols that roamed the mostly deserted streets. They were out past curfew, and such a violation could lead to arrest, a heavy fine and even a brief stint in a Kelownan jail.
John allowed Jonas to lead them through the darkened streets. It was a fair walk to their intended destination, and it put them through the poorer neighbourhoods that took up much of the city's outlying areas. They passed through small, tightly packed houses with overgrown yards and ramshackle exteriors. It seemed wealth disparity was as common here on Langara as it was on Earth. John figured that some things were universal.
Lights were on in some windows, but few were out on the streets. The occasional passer-by watched the trio with suspicious eyes, only to continue on their way. It was best to mind one's own business, especially if both parties were breaking the same laws. At one corner where a row of low, brick tenements was located, a group of four young men in dirty, patched-up clothing loitered. They seemed to take interest in the trio, so much so that they started to cross the street to get closer to them. However, John reached into his jacket and pulled the makalvari sidearm he had been supplied with prior to leaving the embassy, a sleek silver pistol that fired white bolts of energy. He held it up, and even in the darkness it was not hard to mistake the shape. Almost immediately the thugs dispersed, heading back the way they had come. The wandering trio in their fresh clothes seemed hardly worth the trouble then.
They came upon a large industrial estate that took up several blocks. Most of the factories and the like were dormant during the night, smokestacks still blazing out otherwise all was quiet. Jonas led them down a narrow lane, one with broken blacktop and errant weeds that sprouted from the cracks. He was headed for one particular warehouse towards the end, and although this one appeared as inactive as the others around it, John got the impression that the outside appearance was a misleading one.
"An old contact of mine used to run a speakeasy out here," Jonas said, as they approached the wire fence that wrapped about the warehouse grounds. The building itself was a stark grey rectangle, broad and marked with patches of rust, peeling paint and some broken windows on its upper levels. They stopped at the main gate, which was locked closed with a padlock on a chain.
"Last I heard of him, he was still running the place. And with everything else closed because of the plague, it seems likely he's been getting good business."
"Likely?" Elsie asked this, doubt on her face. There was the chance they had come all this way for nothing.
"I kept tabs on some of my old resistance contacts after the occupation ended," Jonas explained. "It was more of a means to make sure they weren't causing any real trouble. When I was last on Langara, I knew from a reputable source that Kelman was still operating out here. An illegal but very popular drinking establishment. He was a reliable source of information, and he kept the place open during the occupation. No reason he wouldn't keep it open now."
It made sense, yet there was no indication that anyone was even inside the building. None were certainly visible outside. Jonas, however, went past the gate some distance and stopped where a set of broken wooden pallets had been left leaning against the fence. He pulled them down, revealing a sizable hole that had been cut through the fence behind them. He motioned for the others to follow, before he crouched down and crept his way through the opening. John followed suit, with Elsie taking up the rear. She remained wary, more so than John even was. Passing through a narrow stretch of overgrown and weed-infested grass, the three of them came out onto the open parking lot situated at the warehouse's flank. Roller doors remained closed at this side, forming a loading area of some kind where trucks would have previously parked themselves in order to either receive or unload their goods.
Jonas directed them to the warehouse's rear, where a narrow lane existed between the perimeter fence and the main building itself. Wooden boards were attached to the inside of the fence, blocking out any view of this side of the ground floor from the street. A door was here, situated at the base of a short flight of stairs that appeared to lead into some form of basement. As they entered the short, dingy hallway before the door, a light switched on and immediately cast the three of them in a fading, yellow-tinted glow.
The door ahead was a solid metal one. John, alert with the activation of the light, looked about for any sign of trouble. Someone had turned that light on, or perhaps some form of motion sensor had set it off. Regardless, whoever was inside now knew they were here. With that thought, John was taken aback for a moment when the small, rectangular hatch set in the door slid open. At about head-height, the little opening provided just enough space for the man on the other side to peer through at those who had stumbled onto the illicit drinking establishment.
"This is private property, leave." The voice was short, sharp and offered little hope of persuading its owner to a different stance on the three intruders.
"I'm here to see Kelman," Jonas announced. He stepped forwards, and the balding man whose face was close up against the opening frowned when he saw the third member of the party. John stepped aside, allowing Jonas to get up close to the door. There was some obvious recognition on the balding stranger's features. "Is that you, Rorke? I'd know that ugly mug anywhere."
"Jonas Quinn, they said you were a traitor. They even said you were dead."
"I'm not dead yet." He leaned forwards, so that his face was only inches from the opening. "I need to speak to Kelman. It's important. Lives are at stake."
"They always are with you, Quinn." The bald man sighed, before he nodded. "Fine. Come in. But you'll all be checked for weapons."
"Thank you." The hatch slid closed then, and there sounded the noise of metal sliding on metal as the lock was disengaged and the door itself was pulled open. The portly, bald man who had been standing guard stepped aside, holding the door open for the three of them. John offered the man a small smile as he followed Jonas in.
The room beyond was a small lobby of sorts, having once formed part of the warehouse's basement. The walls were a burgundy in colour, and a few vacant armchairs were off to the left. A burly man in a black suit stood behind a counter that was just to the left of a set of double doors. It was to here that the bald, middle-aged doorman, Rorke, motioned the newest visitors to go. As they were tended to by this well-dressed bouncer, Rorke went on through the double doors and into the establishment proper, no doubt to inform the proprietor that an old friend had made an unexpected reappearance.
John frowned as the bouncer put his hands on his sides. Taking a step back, John instead reached into his jacket and pulled out the pistol he had been carrying. Its unusual design caused the bouncer to frown.
"Where'd you get this?" He asked John.
"From a bunch of aliens," John answered. The bouncer put the gun into a case under the counter, before he moved on to Jonas and Elsie. Whereas Jonas had come unarmed, Elsie had a pistol on her, specifically another of the makalvari guns that caused the bouncer further pause. Nonetheless, he seemed satisfied that they were now unarmed. Rorke returned a minute later, his face set with a grim look.
"All right, Kelman will see you." His eyes fell upon Jonas' own. "The boss always has time for you, Quinn."
"Glad to hear it."
The group were motioned on through the double doors and into the speakeasy itself. The place was long, taking up much of the warehouse basement. The warehouse itself was little more than a shell within which the illicit drinking establishment had been constructed, and John found himself walking down a lengthy central aisle. At either side were scattered tables and chairs, with red-tinted light fittings spaced evenly along the flanks. A more natural white illumination came in through the ducts overhead, within which industrial fans spun steadily, the audible whoosh-whoosh of their spinning blades underlying the quaint, easy-listening music that filled the space. Cigarette smoke wafted about, and the bar counter itself lay to the left-hand side.
It was towards the table at the far end the group were directed, at which a rectangular table was situated. That table was vacant save for one man, a fifty-something individual with dark hair and a slim frame who was dressed in a sleek white suit.
The outfit spoke of wealth, and the man's fingers were adorned with gold rings, some of which carried jewels of varying shades, from red to green and to blue. A gold chain hung about his neck, and within one hand he toyed with a set of triangular-shaped cards that John had to assume formed the basis of some Langaran card game. There were a dozen or so actual patrons scattered within the establishment, with several bouncers standing guard along the flanks. These hired thugs, all dressed in black suits and all well-built, watched the trio carefully as they were escorted inside, the suspicion in the air almost palpable.
Kelman was the man in the white suit. He even wore a silken white, wide-brimmed hat that adorned his head. As the trio stopped before the table, he lifted the hat up enough so that his light brown eyes became visible. Those eyes narrowed noticeably when he set them upon Jonas.
"Jonas Quinn, as I live and breathe," Kelman stated.
"Kelman, it's been a long time."
"Years, Jonas, years." Kelman motioned for the vacant chairs before them. "You and your friends should sit down. Have a drink, even."
Elsie's face lit up at the notion of free drink, but John caught her eye and shook his head slowly. They could not trust anything that was served to them in this place, not only because of the plague but for the simple fact that the people in here were hardly the trustworthy types.
"We'll sit, but we'll pass on the drinks," Jonas replied. He took a seat directly across from Kelman, with John taking the spot at his right and Elsie at his left. Kelman regarded the three of them with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. Behind them, Rorke lingered, keeping them well within reach if any trouble were to start.
"The government wants you locked up," Kelman said. "They're even offering a reward."
"A reward?" Jonas smirked. "I'm flattered, but unfortunately any ideas you have about easy money will have to be put on hold. I'm under the official protection of the makalvari embassy."
"Yes, I know. I get my share of politicians in here, and only earlier today a representative from the House of Assembly came in looking for a drink. He told me Jonas Quinn was back, and when I heard that I just knew it was a matter of time before you came my way." Kelman was somewhat portly around the waist, a giveaway sign that he had grown comfortable in his position here.
"You look like you're doing well," Jonas remarked.
"The plague has only improved business," Kelman explained. "And the cops are as corrupt as ever. Bribe the right ones and keeping this place opens becomes almost too easy as to be insulting. What's the fun in breaking the law when there's no risk of getting arrested?" He turned to John then. "You, you're one of the delegation from Earth, aren't you?"
John did not reply. He was not sure if giving this obvious criminal information would be wise. Kelman only smiled at the lack of response.
"Your lot thrown in with the birds, then?" Kelman asked him. "Hardly the kind of people I'd want to get involved with. Word on the street is they might intervene, help stop this disease. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that?" He directed this question to Jonas, who simply shook his head.
"The makalvari keep their real plans to themselves."
"And so they should. I don't much care who runs Kelowna, as long as they don't try and close my business." Kelman looked to Elsie then, who in turn shot him a mean scowl. "You don't look like the usual girls we get in here. If anything, you look like the kind of woman who'd beat people up for fun."
"Yeah, well, that just about sums me up," Elsie replied, her face taking on a smile that was almost malicious. "I find that I enjoy beating criminals the most."
Kelman let out a short chuckle, before he set his attention back upon Jonas.
"You want information, don't you?" He asked him. "You want me to tell you all I know about this plague, about the insurgents, about everything. After all, that was all I was to you during the occupation, a source of information."
"If it wasn't for me, Kelman, you'd still be waiting tables in some second-rate establishment." Jonas' voice adopted a firmer tone. "And if it wasn't for me, you'd probably have been burnt at the stake by some Prior back during the occupation. I protected you, Kelman. You helped me and I helped you. And now because of that help, you're able to expand your business and wear fancy, expensive suits." He spoke with a certainty that clearly pained Kelman. This was a man, a crime boss even, who did not much like being reminded of what he owed and to whom.
"You hear all sorts of things; you get all kinds of people in here. Politicians, like you said. Soldiers, police officers. Maybe even some of Gorum Kavul's followers." Jonas may have said this last name a little too loud, as some of the other patrons and nearby guards all turned to him then. The name held weight around here, it seemed, and it was not of the positive kind.
"You want to know about Kavul?" Kelman asked. "Because there isn't much more I can tell you about that man that you don't already know."
"What about the plague?" Jonas lowered his voice, aware that just about everyone inside the speakeasy was now looking their way. None in here could be trusted, for any one of those present may have been spies for Kavul, or even for the government authorities. Kelman had proven himself reliable in the past, but that had been a long time ago.
John sensed the uneasiness in the air and the tension it brought with it. He had no gun on him, not since he had handed it to the man in the lobby. Even so, he was not defenceless, and he gave his immediate surroundings a quick survey. There was a small glass, just to Kelman's left. It was nearly empty, but to John it was something. Better than nothing, after all, and it was within reach.
"I'm no scientist, Jonas." Kelman sounded dismissive.
"I'm well aware of that," Jonas countered. "Surely, you've heard something? This disease didn't just come out of nowhere."
"Rumours and conspiracy theories abound," Kelman said. "Some might have a grain of truth to them, who knows for sure? All I know is that by some miracle, Kavul's followers aren't getting sick. Even among everyone else, this disease is sporadic. It will skip three out of four family members in a household before crippling the fourth with painful mutations, killing them slowly. It is almost as if some Langarans are genetically predisposed to getting infected more so than others. Same could be said for most diseases, but this one makes these inconsistencies all the more apparent."
"And you, Kelman?" It was John who asked this. Kelman turned his head, locking eyes with the Colonel. "Have you been exposed?"
"Thankfully no, I haven't. I've gone on operating this business of mine and I'm yet to get even the sniffles. Like I said, sporadic. It's really the luck of the draw that dictates who gets it and who doesn't."
Jonas' face had adopted a much grimmer countenance then. He seemed to be thinking over what had been said, troubled to the core.
"Some say that this disease was the result of some government experiment gone wrong," Kelman continued. "Like all that trouble with the naquadria back when you were working on it. Just another example of our corrupt government officials trying to play God. Why mess with the natural order?" This seemed to be meant as a rhetorical question, so it went unanswered. "I think the most intriguing theory of all, and it's one I've heard from the more fringe types, is that somehow Kavul and his people found the cure for it. That maybe this thing got loose from a laboratory, that it was created there and that a cure was made as would be the sane thing to do. Why create a disease you yourself cannot cure?"
Another rhetorical question, or so John assumed. Kelman tapped the fingers of one hand upon the table, before he spread out the deck of triangular cards. He did so with a deft hand, his experience with them apparent in the smooth, fluid-like manner he splayed all forty of them across the table before him. John noticed that aside from the Kelownan numerical values on each, there were illustrations.
"An old game, Pyramid. No one's quite sure where it came from, but most think the Goa'uld brought it here when they were the ones in charge."
"I'm not interested in your games, Kelman." Jonas' increasingly annoyed voice made it clear that his patience was running thin.
"Humour me, Jonas. Please, it's the least you could do after all this time apart." Kelman gave the younger man a smirk. "Did I ever tell you my mother was something of a diviner? She could read the cards, you see." He looked to John. "You wouldn't know it, not being from this planet and all, but I'll give you a summary: Pyramid is a straightforward game where a player must get as close to twenty-three as possible without going above, requesting further cards from the dealer if they wish to get a higher value. The cards themselves are a mix of positive and negative values, with a few in the mix that can be either one or the other."
"Like Blackjack," Elsie blurted. Kelman glanced at her, quirking an eyebrow. "It's an Earth game. It's kind of similar."
"You see, Jonas. Even your friends appreciate games." Kelman gave Jonas another smirk, before he picked up one card. "Thing is, each value has its own illustration and that illustration has its own meaning, going back centuries in Kelownan folklore. It's more than just a numbers game, it's a means to see one's future." The card he held up showed what looked to be a cluster of trees set ablaze, embers and smoke trailing off of them. "Such as this one, the 'Wildfire'. It means grand, sweeping changes are going to come upon you suddenly. My mother, you see, she was a card reader. She taught me all this."
"You're wasting time, Kelman." Jonas was no longer in the mood to play around. "The least you could do is tell me what you know. I've helped you enough in the past."
"And I'm helping you now, Jonas. A free reading, that should be help enough." He put the card down, sliding it back amongst the others. He then locked eyes with Jonas. "Pick a card. Go on, Quinn. I know you want to."
Jonas, with some noticeable reluctance, reached over and slid one of the cards out from the spread. He looked at it, frowned slightly, before he turned it around and placed it upon the table. That card showed what looked be several skulls, piled atop one another. It was a simple black-and-white illustration, made upon an embossed copper-coloured card, yet the macabre nature of the imagery was unmistakable.
"Interesting," Kelman noted, once he saw the image. "Great loss is in your near future, Jonas."
"I don't hold much stock in your card tricks, Kelman."
Kelman shrugged. He slid the card back amongst the others, before he shuffled the lot of them.
"Believe what you want." He looked to Elsie then, inviting her to do the same. "Go on, pick one."
Elsie, with some obvious curiosity, slid one of the triangle-shaped cards from the spread. She seemed perplexed by what she saw on it and turned it around so that the others could see. Kelman nodded, and John looked over at the illustration upon it: there was the dark shadow of a male figure, its face concealed by some sort of mist.
"The Deceiver," Kelman stated. "Someone you trust, perhaps someone close, is either intent on betraying you or may not actually be who they say they are."
Elsie gave a short snort in derision. She had never been one for superstition, and she was even less enthused by Kelownan superstition.
"Yeah, I don't buy it."
Kelman returned the card and shuffled the deck once more. He then turned to John, having saved the more severe looking of the trio for last.
"Your turn," he told the Colonel.
John sighed in resignation, before he reached over and pulled one of the cards. He held it up, the illustration upon it that of a man with a crown upon his head and dressed in lavish, and no doubt royal, robes. He slid it across the table towards Kelman.
"The King, or the Monarch. An interesting choice. It suggests authority, or even tyranny. In many cases it indicates fatherhood, or a desire for it or power in general." Kelman gave John a curious look. "You're the one in charge of this little band, aren't you?"
"More or less," John replied. The card's apparent meanings were vague enough, so he was hardly worried that it was an indicator of some future event. Any number of things could fall under the umbrella that Kelman had mentioned. It did not make for the most convincing fortune telling experience.
"So, you hold a position of authority?"
"In a way…"
"Enough of this," Jonas interrupted, and Kelman turned to him again. "If you've got nothing to offer, then we're leaving. This has been a waste of time." He went to rise to his feet, but Rorke was suddenly behind him. One strong hand found itself on Jonas' shoulder, and the bouncer's grip was firm enough to indicate that he wanted Jonas to remain seated. Immediately, an ominous, sinking feeling took hold within John. He went to rise from the chair, but another of the nearby bouncers approached him, crossing the short distance within seconds such that he was suddenly looming at John's back.
"So, we can't leave, Kelman?" Jonas asked the underworld boss. Kelman gave Jonas an innocent smile, and he complemented it with a relaxed shrug of his shoulders.
"Not yet, Jonas. You see, the authorities may not be able to touch you, but an old friend of yours has no such restrictions. He's offering an ample sum to bring you to him and I intend to collect."
Jonas' expression soured, and John found the furious look hardly suited the normally upbeat scientist. Then again, his own mood had gone from suspicious to downright furious, and his eyes flitted from Kelman and to the one thing within reach that he knew he could grab quickly.
"You can't trust Kavul," Jonas stated.
"Maybe, but he can't trust me either. And as Kavul and I don't trust each other, it kind of balances the books, doesn't it?"
John could see that the other thugs about the interior of the speakeasy were moving forwards then. None had drawn their weapons, figuring that the trio was at a disadvantage. Indeed, they certainly were caught in a compromising position, but John was not one to go down without a fight. He glanced at Elsie, who seemed to be looking for a way out as keenly as he was. No bouncer had moved onto her, presumably because she seemed the least threatening of the three of them. It would be a presumption that these Kelownan goons would soon regret having made.
"Some of his men are on their way even now," Kelman added. "Along with a case full of trinium bullion."
"They likely stole that, you know," Jonas said, scowling at the man.
"So what? It's not like the authorities who owned it previously were making good use of it. In these changing times, one should be investing in solid metals instead of paper money. Gold, silver, trinium; I'm amassing quite the stockpile." Kelman sounded almost proud of this fact. Jonas simply continued scowling at him, even as Rorke began to coax him out of his chair.
"I understand that Kavul is even crazier than he used to be," Kelman said. "I'm sure you and your friends will have all manner of fun in his custody."
"After everything I did for you back in the occupation—" Jonas began, but Kelman was quick to interrupt.
"Times have changed, so have the people. I have no wish to get involved in your personal crusade for the truth. I simply wish to survive, be it the plague or the revolution. By handing you over to Kavul, I'll guarantee my survival in the latter. And if these rumours are true, about Kavul having some kind of cure or vaccine for the plague, then I'll be saving myself from the former. A sound investment, surely even you can see that?" Another rhetorical question. Jonas' contempt-filled gaze only deepened. Kelman, unperturbed, motioned for his goons to take him away. That went for the man standing behind John, and it was at this moment that the Colonel decided to act.
He was fast, if lacking finesse. Maybe it was his ever-increasing age, or maybe it was more to do with the fact that he had never been a particularly fancy fighter. When it came to a brawl, he knew how to fight but in terms of simple, straightforward moves that were practical more so than anything else. To an outside observer, John often appeared clumsy, lacking technique. And yet, despite such observations, John himself could hold his own with his conventional, if unpredictable style of hand-to-hand fighting. And in terms of unpredictability, utilising any items on hand as improvised weapons fell well within that category.
The small glass was in his grasp almost immediately. He spun around on the chair and smashed it hard against the side of the bouncer's face. It shattered, shards cutting into the bouncer's cheek and temple. John felt a few scrapes on the inside of his hand but he simply ignored the stinging pain they brought on, and he instead let fly with a sharp kick that caught the stunned, stumbling bouncing between the legs. The man let out a pained shout as he went down, hands going for his crotch and the sensitive parts contained within his trousers.
Elsie lunged for Rorke, tackling him to the floor. John sighted the other goons drawing weapons, and so he threw himself onto the one he had just kicked. The man's pistol was clad inside a holster under his jacket, and John pulled the garment aside and fumbled for the gun. He headbutted the bouncer square in the face, and John heard the quiet crunch of cartilage under the blow as the man's nose broke. This sent him falling backwards, face bloodied by the broken glass that has slashed one cheek and now further rendered so by the blood that spilled from both nostrils. He was hardly in any state to fight off John, and during the seconds breaking his opponent's nose afforded him, John pulled the bouncer's gun free and opened fire.
Two of the other thugs went down. The handful of patrons present within the speakeasy scattered, running for the exits. The pistol was a clunky, grey metal thing, yet it hit hard and the noise it made was loud within the confines of the speakeasy. The noise was more akin to some kind of powerful machine punching a hole through sheet metal, and it rang within John's ears with greater and greater intensity as he continued shooting.
Elsie was on top of Rorke, and she punched the man square in the face. Blood and spittle erupted from his mouth, and his hands scrambled in front of him in an effort to push her off. Elsie hit him again, and then once more across the jaw for good measure. Her knuckles throbbed, having become noticeably reddened, but otherwise Rorke now lay half-conscious before her with his nose bleeding and further blood trickling from his mouth. She quickly searched his jacket for his gun, finding it, before she turned her attention to the other goons scattered about them.
Kelman was on his feet as soon as the trouble started. Jonas threw himself over the table, but Kelman slipped away almost as quickly as he crossed the obstacle. He ran for a door at the wall ahead, one marked with the Kelownan words for 'Staff Only'. Jonas gave chase, intent on hunting his old contact down. Kelman barged on through the door, stumbling into a dimly lit corridor that ran down the length of the rundown warehouse within which the speakeasy had been built. Jonas was hot on his heels, and when John saw him rush through the door after Kelman, it seemed a good idea to follow.
John ducked as a weapon thundered from somewhere behind the bar counter. The top of the table behind him exploded, sending up a shower of timber splinters and broken glass. Looking for the shooter, he sighted the bartender wielding some form of triple-barrelled shotgun. One barrel was smoking, and before the scowling bartender could fire another, John returned the favour by shooting him twice in the chest.
The bartender fell backwards, the weapon's barrel swinging upwards as he fell. His finger hit the trigger as he went down, the shot slamming into a light fitting above him. Sparks and glass shards showered over him and the bar counter, the brilliant pinpoints of light shining even more so within the many glasses and bottles lined up on the shelves at his rear. Several of those bottles went down with the bartender when his body slammed into the shelves, some shattering upon the hardwood floor and spilling their beverages into a foul mix of spirits and the like.
"Elsie, come on!" John launched himself to his feet and raced for the door. Gunshots rang out behind him from the remaining bouncers. Elsie was at his back a few seconds later, and she ducked as part of the wall by the doorway erupted with a puff of dust upon one of those shots landing a little too close for comfort.
The darkened corridor beyond was dusty, where cartons of drinks were piled up against the walls. Shouts sounded from the bar room as the guards gave chase. John sighted Jonas further ahead, and he heard a door swing open somewhere out of sight that he had to assume that Kelman had found an alternative exit. Jonas did not even look back, so determined was he to get hold of the man. John followed close behind, offering Elsie the occasional glance to make sure that she was not too far off from him.
They emerged into the cold night air, this time into a mostly asphalt parking lot at the other end of the warehouse. Kelman began running for a parked car ahead, a typical four-door sedan-type. John figured it looked like something one might see at a vintage car show. Kelman was going to make his getaway, and John quickly realised that he had the means to prevent just that.
"Jonas, get down!" John called, and Jonas threw himself to the ground upon hearing the words. John crouched, raised the bulky Kelownan-made pistol and started shooting. One round clipped Kelman in the lower left leg, causing him to yelp before he fell into a heap upon the asphalt. Another shattered a window on the car, before John ceased fire. He realised then that his pistol felt a little lighter now, and it became apparent then that he had little left in the way of ammunition.
Elsie stopped just after the exit door before she turned her attention back to the corridor behind her. A trio of Kelman's thugs were running down the hall, and so Elsie leaned about the doorway and opened fire. The gunshots echoed loud across the open lot, and the first of the pursuing thugs collapsed in the middle of the corridor with blood spilling forth across the dusty floorboards. The other two scattered, seeking cover behind crates of drinks or in nearby doorways. Elsie fired off what few bullets were left in her magazine, before she tossed the now empty gun aside and slammed the exit door shut. A few holes were quickly shot through it, and she turned to John with a worried expression replacing the grim determination she had worn only seconds before.
"Colonel, I'm out of ammo!" She called, and John did a quick check of his gun. He found the magazine release and slid it out of the hilt, making his predicament immediately apparent: he was in the same boat, it seemed, and without spare magazines around he would have to think fast. He approached the fallen Kelman, whom Jonas had already grabbed hold of by one forearm. Jonas forced the man onto his knees, causing him to wince when further weight was pushed onto his ruined leg.
"Where can I find Gorum Kavul?" Jonas said, his voice firm. He stared into Kelman's eyes, daring him to refuse to answer.
"I don't know where," Kelman said, his own voice strained. The rumble of a distant engine became audible then, and it quickly rose in volume as the vehicle carrying it neared the premises. There was more than one of them, John realised, and judging from the worried way in which Jonas' eyes searched for the source of the noise, he had realised much the same thing.
"But rest assured, Kavul will find you," Kelman replied. He sounded smug, much too smug for John's liking. The Colonel stepped forwards and, using the empty pistol, struck him across the face with the hilt. Kelman's head snapped back and a pained yelp escaped his throat. John contemplated taking Kelman with them, a captive who might be able to share pertinent information. He motioned for the car, and Jonas was quick to search Kelman's pockets, finding the keys in short order.
A truck had stopped at the warehouse's main gate. Its headlights cut through the dark with a brilliance more befitting for a lighthouse than a vehicle, and John could just make out the figures of multiple men filing out of the vehicle. Even in the gloom, he could see that they carried automatic weapons, rifles of some variety. These people were most certainly the ones Kelman had said were on their way. He had been intent on handing them over to the insurgents right from the beginning, in the event Jonas Quinn came to see him. And he had been right to expect a visit.
Jonas unlocked the car and John promptly stuffed Kelman into the rear seat. He joined him there, pressing the empty gun into his side. Blood had stained Kelman's left trouser leg, providing a deep red against the stark white of the man's expensive trousers. Ahead, the newly arrived insurgents had cut away the chain keeping the main gate closed. Now they spilled into the warehouse compound, and one of them must have seen the car since John heard them start shouting.
Jonas took the wheel, with Elsie climbing into the passenger's seat. Starting the engine, Jonas did not waste any time in sending them lurching forwards. The car had been aimed for one of the side gates, and it was to this one that they went, yet the noise of the engine was enough to draw the attention of the crew of armed terrorists. Automatic rifles began barking in the night, and even with Jonas outright flooring the accelerator, barrelling the car towards the gate, some of the rounds connected with the vehicle. One of the windows at John's left shattered, showering him with glass. Bullets clunked into the rear of the car, and John felt the impulse to shoot back only to remember that the gun he held was actually empty.
Jonas sent the car face-first into the gate. The gate, despite being locked, took the impact as well as expected. The entire vehicle lurched, but the force of the collision was enough to shear the gate off of its hinges. It fell over the car, metal scraping upon metal, deep scratches finding themselves scored within the black paintwork. And suddenly they were free, racing out onto the previously quiet backstreet. More weapons fire sounded in the night, and the rear windows shattered behind John and the captive Kelman.
Suddenly, blood spurted across the rear of the driver's seat. Kelman slumped forwards in his seat, part of his head reduced to a ragged, pulpy mess. Elsie saw this and a flash of horror crossed her face, and John winced slightly as some of the bloody spray landed across his cheek and jacket. Reaching over the corpse, he opened the far door and shoved the underworld figure's body out onto the road. It tumbled, rolled a few times and smeared blood in its wake. Finally, it came to a stop lying in the gutter, a strangely fitting place for such a man to be laid to rest.
"They're behind us," Elsie said, and she had her eyes fixed on the mirror at her side. John looked back through the empty space in which the rear window had been situated until a moment ago. Indeed, at least one vehicle was tailing them, headlight beams slicing through the dark.
Jonas was their best bet to get out of this one, seeing as how he knew these streets better than either of them did. He leaned forwards, noticing that the Langaran's concentration was appropriately fixed upon the road ahead. The warehouse and industrial sector began to fall further behind them, and now rows of somewhat ramshackle houses became apparent.
"Jonas, you've got to lose them." John looked back again, and now he could see the car was closing the distance. It had to have been more of Kavul's people, and they were pushing their four-door car hard to catch up. Jonas swerved sharp around a bend in the road, no doubt taking them in the direction of the makalvari embassy. However, that particular compound was well on the other side of the city, amongst the outskirts. They had some way to go and getting pursued by ruthless terrorists hardly simplified matters. And then there were the police patrols they had to avoid to compound matters further.
Their pursuers followed them around the bend, doing so with somewhat more care than Jonas' own sharp turn had presented. A mostly straight main road lay ahead, flanked by tightly packed townhouses and boarded-up shopfronts. The streetlights on both sides cast the mostly empty street under a dry, yellow-tinted illumination. However, it became apparent very quickly that lights of a different sort awaited them at the far end of the main road. Flashing blue lights stood out starkly against the dark, and John realised that they were headed for some kind of police checkpoint.
Jonas saw it too and so turned suddenly, this time plunging them into a narrow, refuse-strewn lane that ran between rows of brick townhouses. The car of insurgents followed, and this time one of those within leaned out of the passenger side window and opened fire with an automatic rifle. The weapon cracked rapidly, the noise of each shot sharp and loud within the close quarters of the alleyway. They were closing in, and John looked around for anything that might prove useful as a weapon.
A wire fence awaited them at the end of the alley. Jonas simply sent the car straight through it, finally shattering the already cracked windshield with the collision. And then they were blazing out onto a gravel backroad that swept along the rear of the townhouse rows. A wooden paling fence was just ahead, and beyond that some form of concrete canal that reminded John of those he had seen within Los Angeles, back on Earth. Before he could comment, Jonas drove the car straight through the rotting wooden fence and down the concrete slope, plunging them onto the puddled, rain-slicked canal floor.
Their pursuers continued the chase. A bridge lay ahead, and the canal cut underneath it in a wide, arch-shaped opening. Wooden crates and other junk were scattered about inside, and John had to assume that the place had served as a haven for vagrants and squatters. As John looked back at their pursuers, he realised that the insurgent car was gradually coming alongside them now. There it was, matching speed on their left, all while the tunnel under the bridge quickly neared.
The man leaning out of the passenger window wore a rugged red jacket and a black balaclava. He held a clunky, grey-metal automatic rifle of some sort, and he aimed it at the trio within the neighbouring car with clear intent. Jonas looked over, pondering their options, seeing that they had perhaps seconds before the gunman opened fire. At this range, he was unlikely to miss.
Jonas hit the brakes hard then, and as the opposing car shot ahead he spun the wheel to the left in a sharp, near full-turn that sent the front left corner of their vehicle slamming into the back-right corner of the other one. Suddenly, the car ahead spun about in front of them and Jonas, reacting automatically, turned the car such that it almost became parallel with the other one. His manoeuvres shocked John in their audacity, but also by the way he pulled them off with such finesse. It seemed Jonas was a man of many talents, and defensive driving was apparently one of them.
The driver of the other car struggled to correct course, only for gravity and velocity to get the better of him. The car tipped, glass shattering as it began to roll. As it rolled, it skidded against the concrete floor of the canal, sparks flying and metal grinding with a piercing, grating noise. They slammed into the side of the tunnel entrance, still halfway overturned that it was the roof that hit the wall first. Every remaining window on that car shattered then, and a hub cap came flying off before it went bouncing along towards the far side of the canal.
Jonas slammed on the brakes but was unable to catch their own vehicle in time. They had gone up the slope on the inside of the canal, and at their current speed it was enough to grant them some brief airtime. They slammed through another section of the wooden fence, before landing hard on the dirt road beyond. Momentum carried them through another fence, this one at the rear of a small residential property, before the car slammed hard into the single storey's rear entrance. The entire landing jostled the three occupants within violently, and John bounced such in his seat that he hit his head hard upon the ceiling. Pain lanced through his skull and neck before he ended up sprawled across the backseats.
Jonas was out of the car first. Shouts could be heard nearby, and it became apparent that the police on patrol in the area was coming their way, fast. With this lingering threat in mind, Jonas rushed about the car and pulled open the driver's side door. Elsie tumbled out, a little bruised but otherwise alive. A weapon fired from somewhere by the house, and suddenly a noxious, stinging white smoke began to fill the air around the car.
John was still a little dazed when he stumbled out of the vehicle. The Kelownan gas stung his nose and throat, and he fell onto the lawn that had been churned up into mud by the car's wheels. Glass and broken bricks had been scattered all around by the crash, and most of the house's rear had collapsed around the vehicle. Kelownan cops in black and blue uniforms, adorned with respirators and tinted visors that concealed their faces, swooped in on the house with startling speed. John crawled through the white cloud of gas, vision blurry, and as he emerged from the edge of it he suddenly found himself prone before four men in full riot gear, all of whom had guns pointed down at him.
He had to wonder if Jonas and Elsie were in the same boat he was. John, eyes streaming from the gas, simply rose to his knees and held up his empty hands. As far as he could tell, he had little other choice right here and now.