Post by Dante "Vagabond" Coles on Jul 5, 2007 16:03:37 GMT -5
Several months passed by. Jonas had ditched the hospital gown and picked up his more traditional outfit; a black t-shirt, a pair of jeans, a duster and a wide-brimmed hat. His had been lost or ruined in his encounter with Johnny and Roger. All his stuff –the clothing, inventory, et cetera- he had obtained through his own means. Namely, he stole them. The 9mm pistol he’d lifted off the cop was secure in his waistband and hidden by the duster. He had fired one shot from the 15-shot clip so far, that had been to kill a rabbit for food as he fled St. John’s during those first weeks.
Now he was trekking along the 416 highway between Toronto and Ottawa. He was coming from Toronto, having tracked down a lead there and found out Johnny and Roger were in Ottawa for the next three weeks. Apparently they a political hold they wished to strengthen while there. He’d even gotten an address from the lead after a little persuasion.
A police car passed by along the highway. As it went by, Jonas tensed up. It continued on, and he relaxed a little. There had been surprisingly little fuss with the police, despite being wanted for murder. He just figured Johnny and Roger had no reason to make a huge ordeal out of it, perhaps even saw more benefit in keeping it under wraps. He didn’t really care why, as long as there was as little trouble as possible.
It was late at night by the time he arrived before Johnny and Roger’s temporary abode. He was certain it was theirs; they didn’t bother hiding their luxury or connections. It was a fair sized house for two people, on a hill just outside of the city. He saw a few servants in one of the lit windows, but they didn’t bother him.
The place had a ten foot wall surrounding it, but that was no problem for Jonas. He lived as a thief, and many considered him almost world class. Despite his profession, he rarely stole from those who didn’t deserve it, unless he was in need of what he stole, such as the clothing and supplies he had stolen while he was still in Newfoundland.
There was a large garden, which supplied Jonas with an abundance of cover as he made his way closer to the house. He scouted around, and found three entrances to the place excluding windows. There was the front door, the side door, and one from the elevated patio. As far as he could see, he hadn’t set off any security, nor alerted anyone of his presence.
Once he had the area scouted, he knelt in a bush nearby a window, through which he could see Johnny and Roger. The two were sitting in a lounge, each with a martini. Johnny said something, they clinked glasses and laughed. Roger put down his glass and pulled out a comb, checking himself in one of the many mirrors.
Jonas reached under his duster and pulled out the 9mm. He still had fourteen shots. If he got up to the window, he could probably take one of them out through the glass, but then there was the matter of stopping the one he didn’t shoot. The man would probably go for the side exit, as Jonas would be standing next to the front door in order to shoot through the window.
“Don’t bother, glass is bulletproof,” came a raspy voice from behind him. This made him jump and whirl around, gun pointed up. He saw a balding man standing nearby, one hand in his pocket and the other one holding a cigarette.
“Who are you?” Jonas hissed as he levelled the gun with the man’s head. The man didn’t even seem shaken.
“Name’s Roy, I’m the driver,” the raspy voice said again, almost a mumble, and the man named Roy took another draw from his cigarette. “Don’t bother shooting. They don’t pay me enough to work security. I won’t report ya.” With a laugh, followed by a terrible cough, Roy walked off, disappearing into the darkness of night.
Jonas kept the gun level, unsure of how to approach this. He was sure he had been alone a moment ago; it was like the man had teleported next to him. He shrugged this thought off, for the man was gone now, it was too late to take any action against him. Jonas turned and focused on Johnny and Roger again.
He had to get into the house. The patio door would put him right in the room with the men, while the front door would mean a small hallway. He wasn’t sure where the side door went in, but it was probably not worth the risk. He decided to take the direct approach. Security might come as soon as he opened the door, but it would not arrive before he could fire the two shots needed to exterminate those monsters.
The patio was an easy climb. He leaned against the wall beside the sliding patio door. The handle was beside him, hidden behind the window frame. If it was locked, he would not be detected.
With a quick push, Jonas pushed the door open and rushed into the lounge. It was a long room, but his gun was out and pointed at Johnny. The two mobsters cocked a brow at him, then in unison took a sip from their martinis.
“Why Mr. Farren, how nice of you to join us. Can we get you...” Johnny went on
“A drink?” Roger finished the question.
“Cut the talk, you know why I’m here and I’m going to make it short,” Jonas said, the gun set on Johnny, who was sitting closest to the door.
“You are wanted for murder already. We’ve kept the police off you, for we don’t want anything leading back to us, but if you kill us then there will be nothing to stop them,” Johnny said coyly, leaning back on the sofa.
“I don’t care. I’m here to kill you, that’s it,” Scowled Jonas, and his finger tightened on the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Both Johnny and Roger acted with incredible reflexes, drawing their own 9mm pistols and aiming them both at Jonas. They were smirking now.
“You see, Mr. Farren, with your lifestyle on the road, your things tend to get dirty. Never a problem for you, I’m guessing, but when a gun gets dirty it increases the chance of it jamming. Unfortunately, we keep our guns very clean and now we must return the favour. Good bye, Mr. Farren, you certainly have been a fun little toy.” Johnny said.
Jonas dove blindly, a millisecond before hearing the two gunshots. He heard the bullets hit and ricochet, and when he opened his eyes he realized he had dove behind the bar. He sighed, but then a second realization struck. He was trapped and had dropped his gun.
“Ah, it seems you’ve kept your reflexes in check. Congratulations, Mr. Farren, you have survived,” Johnny chuckled.
“We’ll be leaving now, some business to tend to,” picked up Roger.
“Why... you have me cornered!” Jonas asked, curiosity taking over.
“Mr. Farren, we’ve had you cornered since the day we saw you. It’s a shame we didn’t see your uprising, it might have saved poor Annabelle’s life. But then again, wasn’t it you who killed her?” Roger scoffed.
Jonas felt the deep rage inside of him build up and he jumped up. “You bastards!” He should have seen the trap, and only reflex took his feet out from under him and planted himself on the floor, just as two more bullets smack into the bar.
“Good bye, Mr. Farren, and should you wish to supply us with another oh so enjoyable visit, look us up in Fort McMurray.
Jonas stayed down, for he wouldn’t put it past those two to stay there in silence until he thought it was safe, just to take another shot at him. He heard a car start somewhere outside and drive off. This was enough for him, and he slowly stood up. There was no trap waiting, it was clear.
On the table, next to two martini glasses, sat a familiar pendant. Jonas walked over carefully to check it out. A silver chain wound around to a small locket. Jonas opened it up gently and looked inside. A stream of curses and vows flowed from him, for in the locket was a picture of Annabelle and her mother.
Dante Coles now sat in a restaurant in Fort McMurray. He stared out the window, a cup of coffee in front of him. It was early in the morning and he was watching the early-risers heading about. This had been his routine for the past two weeks he’d been in Fort McMurray, searching for the pair. The trail went dead instantly, and he’d been searching and searching ever since. In fact, he had just been considering leaving now and starting his search anew. He’d taken their bait and they could be anywhere once more.
It had been at least three months since the encounter. At first he’d searched around Ottawa, not trusting the two to give him their true location. But it seemed that all his leads up to that point had been planted, and he should have suspected that. The information had come along far too easily, but he had been blinded by his thoughts of avenging Annabelle.
Shortly after realizing this, he had changed his name again. He had picked it carefully, as he felt it was necessary. He was no longer just a wanderer as his name had suggested. After careful consideration, he chose Dante. The idea came from a book he recalled, The Count of Monte Cristo. Edmond Dantes had been out for revenge, and so was he. Coles had been Annabelle’s surname, and it was common enough, so he had picked it up.
“Excuse me, Mr. Coles?” a feminine voice snapped Dante out of his thoughts.
“Yes?” He asked, turning to face the source of the voice, a female waitress at the restaurant.
“I was told to give you this today,” she said, placing a piece of paper on the table. Dante picked it up and looked at it. After a moment of reading, he looked up. The waitress was still there.
“Who gave this to you?”
“I don’t really recall... I do remember there were two of them. Oh, and they were wearing suits. One was black, the other was white.”
“Johnny and Roger...” Dante mumbled. “Alright, thanks. Can I get my bill?”
“Just a moment, sir.” The waitress said and walked off. Dante looked down at the paper again.
Outlaw Wrestling Federation. OWF... is this a joke? Either way, Johnny, Roger, I’ll be there. I’ll make you two pay. You’ll be sorry that you left your trail for me to follow, because your entertainment is about to end...
Now he was trekking along the 416 highway between Toronto and Ottawa. He was coming from Toronto, having tracked down a lead there and found out Johnny and Roger were in Ottawa for the next three weeks. Apparently they a political hold they wished to strengthen while there. He’d even gotten an address from the lead after a little persuasion.
A police car passed by along the highway. As it went by, Jonas tensed up. It continued on, and he relaxed a little. There had been surprisingly little fuss with the police, despite being wanted for murder. He just figured Johnny and Roger had no reason to make a huge ordeal out of it, perhaps even saw more benefit in keeping it under wraps. He didn’t really care why, as long as there was as little trouble as possible.
***
It was late at night by the time he arrived before Johnny and Roger’s temporary abode. He was certain it was theirs; they didn’t bother hiding their luxury or connections. It was a fair sized house for two people, on a hill just outside of the city. He saw a few servants in one of the lit windows, but they didn’t bother him.
The place had a ten foot wall surrounding it, but that was no problem for Jonas. He lived as a thief, and many considered him almost world class. Despite his profession, he rarely stole from those who didn’t deserve it, unless he was in need of what he stole, such as the clothing and supplies he had stolen while he was still in Newfoundland.
There was a large garden, which supplied Jonas with an abundance of cover as he made his way closer to the house. He scouted around, and found three entrances to the place excluding windows. There was the front door, the side door, and one from the elevated patio. As far as he could see, he hadn’t set off any security, nor alerted anyone of his presence.
Once he had the area scouted, he knelt in a bush nearby a window, through which he could see Johnny and Roger. The two were sitting in a lounge, each with a martini. Johnny said something, they clinked glasses and laughed. Roger put down his glass and pulled out a comb, checking himself in one of the many mirrors.
Jonas reached under his duster and pulled out the 9mm. He still had fourteen shots. If he got up to the window, he could probably take one of them out through the glass, but then there was the matter of stopping the one he didn’t shoot. The man would probably go for the side exit, as Jonas would be standing next to the front door in order to shoot through the window.
“Don’t bother, glass is bulletproof,” came a raspy voice from behind him. This made him jump and whirl around, gun pointed up. He saw a balding man standing nearby, one hand in his pocket and the other one holding a cigarette.
“Who are you?” Jonas hissed as he levelled the gun with the man’s head. The man didn’t even seem shaken.
“Name’s Roy, I’m the driver,” the raspy voice said again, almost a mumble, and the man named Roy took another draw from his cigarette. “Don’t bother shooting. They don’t pay me enough to work security. I won’t report ya.” With a laugh, followed by a terrible cough, Roy walked off, disappearing into the darkness of night.
Jonas kept the gun level, unsure of how to approach this. He was sure he had been alone a moment ago; it was like the man had teleported next to him. He shrugged this thought off, for the man was gone now, it was too late to take any action against him. Jonas turned and focused on Johnny and Roger again.
He had to get into the house. The patio door would put him right in the room with the men, while the front door would mean a small hallway. He wasn’t sure where the side door went in, but it was probably not worth the risk. He decided to take the direct approach. Security might come as soon as he opened the door, but it would not arrive before he could fire the two shots needed to exterminate those monsters.
The patio was an easy climb. He leaned against the wall beside the sliding patio door. The handle was beside him, hidden behind the window frame. If it was locked, he would not be detected.
With a quick push, Jonas pushed the door open and rushed into the lounge. It was a long room, but his gun was out and pointed at Johnny. The two mobsters cocked a brow at him, then in unison took a sip from their martinis.
“Why Mr. Farren, how nice of you to join us. Can we get you...” Johnny went on
“A drink?” Roger finished the question.
“Cut the talk, you know why I’m here and I’m going to make it short,” Jonas said, the gun set on Johnny, who was sitting closest to the door.
“You are wanted for murder already. We’ve kept the police off you, for we don’t want anything leading back to us, but if you kill us then there will be nothing to stop them,” Johnny said coyly, leaning back on the sofa.
“I don’t care. I’m here to kill you, that’s it,” Scowled Jonas, and his finger tightened on the trigger.
Nothing happened.
Both Johnny and Roger acted with incredible reflexes, drawing their own 9mm pistols and aiming them both at Jonas. They were smirking now.
“You see, Mr. Farren, with your lifestyle on the road, your things tend to get dirty. Never a problem for you, I’m guessing, but when a gun gets dirty it increases the chance of it jamming. Unfortunately, we keep our guns very clean and now we must return the favour. Good bye, Mr. Farren, you certainly have been a fun little toy.” Johnny said.
Jonas dove blindly, a millisecond before hearing the two gunshots. He heard the bullets hit and ricochet, and when he opened his eyes he realized he had dove behind the bar. He sighed, but then a second realization struck. He was trapped and had dropped his gun.
“Ah, it seems you’ve kept your reflexes in check. Congratulations, Mr. Farren, you have survived,” Johnny chuckled.
“We’ll be leaving now, some business to tend to,” picked up Roger.
“Why... you have me cornered!” Jonas asked, curiosity taking over.
“Mr. Farren, we’ve had you cornered since the day we saw you. It’s a shame we didn’t see your uprising, it might have saved poor Annabelle’s life. But then again, wasn’t it you who killed her?” Roger scoffed.
Jonas felt the deep rage inside of him build up and he jumped up. “You bastards!” He should have seen the trap, and only reflex took his feet out from under him and planted himself on the floor, just as two more bullets smack into the bar.
“Good bye, Mr. Farren, and should you wish to supply us with another oh so enjoyable visit, look us up in Fort McMurray.
Jonas stayed down, for he wouldn’t put it past those two to stay there in silence until he thought it was safe, just to take another shot at him. He heard a car start somewhere outside and drive off. This was enough for him, and he slowly stood up. There was no trap waiting, it was clear.
On the table, next to two martini glasses, sat a familiar pendant. Jonas walked over carefully to check it out. A silver chain wound around to a small locket. Jonas opened it up gently and looked inside. A stream of curses and vows flowed from him, for in the locket was a picture of Annabelle and her mother.
***
Dante Coles now sat in a restaurant in Fort McMurray. He stared out the window, a cup of coffee in front of him. It was early in the morning and he was watching the early-risers heading about. This had been his routine for the past two weeks he’d been in Fort McMurray, searching for the pair. The trail went dead instantly, and he’d been searching and searching ever since. In fact, he had just been considering leaving now and starting his search anew. He’d taken their bait and they could be anywhere once more.
It had been at least three months since the encounter. At first he’d searched around Ottawa, not trusting the two to give him their true location. But it seemed that all his leads up to that point had been planted, and he should have suspected that. The information had come along far too easily, but he had been blinded by his thoughts of avenging Annabelle.
Shortly after realizing this, he had changed his name again. He had picked it carefully, as he felt it was necessary. He was no longer just a wanderer as his name had suggested. After careful consideration, he chose Dante. The idea came from a book he recalled, The Count of Monte Cristo. Edmond Dantes had been out for revenge, and so was he. Coles had been Annabelle’s surname, and it was common enough, so he had picked it up.
“Excuse me, Mr. Coles?” a feminine voice snapped Dante out of his thoughts.
“Yes?” He asked, turning to face the source of the voice, a female waitress at the restaurant.
“I was told to give you this today,” she said, placing a piece of paper on the table. Dante picked it up and looked at it. After a moment of reading, he looked up. The waitress was still there.
“Who gave this to you?”
“I don’t really recall... I do remember there were two of them. Oh, and they were wearing suits. One was black, the other was white.”
“Johnny and Roger...” Dante mumbled. “Alright, thanks. Can I get my bill?”
“Just a moment, sir.” The waitress said and walked off. Dante looked down at the paper again.
Outlaw Wrestling Federation. OWF... is this a joke? Either way, Johnny, Roger, I’ll be there. I’ll make you two pay. You’ll be sorry that you left your trail for me to follow, because your entertainment is about to end...
