Post by Alistair "Stainless" Steele on Jul 5, 2007 19:49:00 GMT -5
“So where’s the plane?” Steele asked cynically, staring at the very empty runway as they approached the airport.
Roger chuckled slightly and winked. “Don’t you worry your pretty grey head about it. We have something special in store.”
Steele glared at him, but kept his mouth shut.
Grey head, huh? I oughtta smack you in the mouth, you cocky son of a bitch.
The limo pulled into the parking lot of Gander International Airport, right on schedule. They in fact had a little time to spare. Frank drove past the front entrance to the airport and went right onto the runway. He parked the limo, and after about five minutes trying to get himself out of the car, walked around to open the back door, revealing himself to be a very short and robust man who walked with a limp, as if his left leg was slightly shorter than his right.
He opened the limo door with what sounded to Steele like a grunt of exertion. He stared at Frank nervously, as if he thought that the fat man would collapse any second. Beads of sweat dripped down Franks red face and neck–actually, he didn’t really even have a neck–as he wiped himself off with a handkerchief.
“Here you are, gentlemen,” he wheezed. He breathed was rather labored and he had to lean against the limo to catch his breath. Frank reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small walkie-talkie. “We’re here. Bring it out.”
A voice on the other end chimed in, “Copy that. I’m on my way.”
Johnny and Roger hurried out of the car and tipped their hats to Frank.
“Cheers, mate,” Roger said, reaching for his gun. He checked to make sure it was loaded. “Unfortunately, you are of no further use to us.” He pointed the gun to Frank’s forehead, which immediately caused the fat man to start crying like a babbling baby, sweat and tears pouring down his face.
“W-w-wait!” Frank stammered. “Please, don’t kill me! I swear I won’t tell anyone about you! No, please—“ he was cut short by a bullet piercing his skull. His fat dead body slumped to the ground, leaving a smear of blood running down the side of the limousine.
Roger wiped the gun off with Frank’s jacket and replaced it in its holster. He glanced at Johnny, who stared back at him with a confused, slightly patronizing look.
Johnny raised an eyebrow at Roger, “Why’d you do that?” he asked.
Roger shrugged, smirking. “Because I can.”
Steele got out of the limo, careful to step over Frank’s body. He checked himself for blood spatter. “You could’ve at least waited until I got out of the car,” he said sarcastically.
“Ah don’t worry, mate,” Roger replied reassuringly as he put a hand on Steele’s shoulder. “A clean-up crew is already on the way.”
“Besides,” Johnny added, “we’ll be long gone before anyone knows he’s missing.”
Alistair sighed. “And how exactly will we be long gone if we don’t have a plane?”
Johnny laughed and slapped him on the back. “Ah, ye of little faith,” he chortled. He pointed past Steele toward the airport hangar and added, “our transport is on its way here now.”
Steele turned toward where Johnny was pointing, and his eyes widened. Charging down the runway in their direction was a jet. It was very small and slender, completely black with white wings and a white tail. The jet slowed to a stop beside the three men, and the door opened, sending a set of stairs down to the ground which landed right before Steele’s feet.
Johnny clapped his hands delightfully as he began to walk up the stairs. “Well gentlemen, let’s go to Fort Mac!”
Roger followed suit, leaving Steele still on the ground. He stared at the jet, and then glanced back toward the limo and where Frank’s carcass rested. Did he really want to go through with this?
Roger turned around and shouted above the roaring engine of the jet, “C’mon, Steele! Get on the bloody jet!”
Without thinking, Steele’s legs began to walk up the stairs and inside the jet. It was as if Steele was outside his own body, because there was nothing he could do to stop himself from getting on that plane. He walked sullenly down the aisle and took a seat at the rear of the plane, away from the two murderers who laughed and clinked their martini glasses together.
Throughout the entire flight, although he didn’t show it, Steele was amazed–and slightly disturbed–by Johnny’s and Roger’s brazen actions. They had just killed a man in broad daylight–even though there was no one else around at the time–and didn’t think twice about it. They didn’t even bother to silence the gunshot. This brought Steele to one of two possible conclusions:
Either they were extremely cocky and stupid...
...Or they had connections that Steele never knew were possible.
...Or, God forbid, both.
Either way, he was beginning to regret bargaining with them.
###
It had been a month since he had arrived in Fort MacMurray. He set out to find the Vagabond immediately, and it wasn’t hard to track him down. Steele first spotted him at a local middle-class restaurant early one morning, sitting next to the window with coffee in hand and quietly watching the early risers coming and going. Even with the duster and the wide-brim hat pulled low over his eyes, Steele knew it was the Vagabond. He could never forget a fellow wrestler easily.
For the next three weeks Steele watched him intently. He learned his daily routine like the back of his hand, and all without being spotted himself. Johnny and Roger apparently had something big planned for the Vagabond, and they required perfect precision and timing. They were very patient with this man.
Steele, however, was not as patient. He had spent a month in Fort MacMurray with the two criminals and hadn’t been told a single thing about the location of Marcus Ash. He hardly had contact with Johnny and Roger since his arrival; they called him perhaps twice a week on a cell-phone they had given him, and even then he had to wait for them to call, for they hadn’t given him their numbers.
This time though, it had been over a week without a single call from the Two. Steele watched the Vagabond from across the street at a small café. The Vagabond sat at his usual spot, with his usual cup of coffee, staring at all the people through the usual window. Steele was beginning to get fed up with doing the Two’s dirty work and receiving nothing in return.
He almost jumped out of his chair when he heard his phone ring. Quickly composing himself, Steele flicked open the phone and answered, “It’s about fucking time you called.”
“Sorry, mate, we’ve been busy. You know how it is,” Johnny replied. “Meet us behind the restaurant across the street. We have a little something for you.”
*click*
Steele put the phone back in his pocket and got up from the table. It’s about God damn time, he thought as he made his way across the busy intersection toward the restaurant. He had to duck behind a parked car to keep the Vagabond from spotting him. Slipping in an alley and behind the restaurant, he saw that Johnny and Roger were waiting for them. Johnny shared a cigarette with a pretty young woman in a waitress uniform. They smiled as he stepped into view.
“Ah, Mr. Steele, so glad you could...” Johnny said wittily as he took a puff of his cigarette.
“...Make it,” finished Roger, who was fixing his hair in the side view mirror of the new car Steele suspected they had probably stolen.
“Cut the crap,” said Steele, who was visibly annoyed. “Why the hell am I here?”
Johnny took two folded pieces of paper out of his jacket pocket. He gave one to Steele and one to the waitress, to whom he instructed, “Give this to the man in the wide-brimmed hat over there in the corner. If he asks who gave it to you, be very vague in your description of us, and say nothing of this man,” he pointed at Steele. The waitress nodded and snuffed out her cigarette. She turned and walked back inside the restaurant, her heels clicking against the stone steps. Steele dared a glance at her fine figure; her long, smooth legs enticed him dearly. He shook his head and quickly subdued the thoughts that crept into his head, reminding himself of where such thoughts had gotten him.
Instead he focused on the piece of paper Johnny had given him. He unfolded it and as he read the words, a wide smile spread across his face, his eyes burning with the pride that he once knew. He couldn’t bring himself to read the letter aloud, but he managed to get the last few words out.
“...I’m offering you a spot on the roster here at OWF, and if you play your cards right, you just might get lucky enough to step into the ring for one last dance with the Reaper.
Marcus Ash”
Johnny chuckled and took another puff. “I figured you might be interested,” he said with a smirk. “Your first match is...”
“...Next Wednesday,” chirped Roger. “You better be ready, chap. It wasn’t easy for us to get you on that roster.”
Steele crumpled the paper in his hand as he took the lighter out of his pocket. He flicked it open and lit the corner of the letter, watching it burn as it floated to the ground.
“One last dance,” he whispered, smiling cruelly.
Johnny finished his cigarette and stepped toward Steele. “Don’t fuck this up,” he warned.
Roger chuckled slightly and winked. “Don’t you worry your pretty grey head about it. We have something special in store.”
Steele glared at him, but kept his mouth shut.
Grey head, huh? I oughtta smack you in the mouth, you cocky son of a bitch.
The limo pulled into the parking lot of Gander International Airport, right on schedule. They in fact had a little time to spare. Frank drove past the front entrance to the airport and went right onto the runway. He parked the limo, and after about five minutes trying to get himself out of the car, walked around to open the back door, revealing himself to be a very short and robust man who walked with a limp, as if his left leg was slightly shorter than his right.
He opened the limo door with what sounded to Steele like a grunt of exertion. He stared at Frank nervously, as if he thought that the fat man would collapse any second. Beads of sweat dripped down Franks red face and neck–actually, he didn’t really even have a neck–as he wiped himself off with a handkerchief.
“Here you are, gentlemen,” he wheezed. He breathed was rather labored and he had to lean against the limo to catch his breath. Frank reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small walkie-talkie. “We’re here. Bring it out.”
A voice on the other end chimed in, “Copy that. I’m on my way.”
Johnny and Roger hurried out of the car and tipped their hats to Frank.
“Cheers, mate,” Roger said, reaching for his gun. He checked to make sure it was loaded. “Unfortunately, you are of no further use to us.” He pointed the gun to Frank’s forehead, which immediately caused the fat man to start crying like a babbling baby, sweat and tears pouring down his face.
“W-w-wait!” Frank stammered. “Please, don’t kill me! I swear I won’t tell anyone about you! No, please—“ he was cut short by a bullet piercing his skull. His fat dead body slumped to the ground, leaving a smear of blood running down the side of the limousine.
Roger wiped the gun off with Frank’s jacket and replaced it in its holster. He glanced at Johnny, who stared back at him with a confused, slightly patronizing look.
Johnny raised an eyebrow at Roger, “Why’d you do that?” he asked.
Roger shrugged, smirking. “Because I can.”
Steele got out of the limo, careful to step over Frank’s body. He checked himself for blood spatter. “You could’ve at least waited until I got out of the car,” he said sarcastically.
“Ah don’t worry, mate,” Roger replied reassuringly as he put a hand on Steele’s shoulder. “A clean-up crew is already on the way.”
“Besides,” Johnny added, “we’ll be long gone before anyone knows he’s missing.”
Alistair sighed. “And how exactly will we be long gone if we don’t have a plane?”
Johnny laughed and slapped him on the back. “Ah, ye of little faith,” he chortled. He pointed past Steele toward the airport hangar and added, “our transport is on its way here now.”
Steele turned toward where Johnny was pointing, and his eyes widened. Charging down the runway in their direction was a jet. It was very small and slender, completely black with white wings and a white tail. The jet slowed to a stop beside the three men, and the door opened, sending a set of stairs down to the ground which landed right before Steele’s feet.
Johnny clapped his hands delightfully as he began to walk up the stairs. “Well gentlemen, let’s go to Fort Mac!”
Roger followed suit, leaving Steele still on the ground. He stared at the jet, and then glanced back toward the limo and where Frank’s carcass rested. Did he really want to go through with this?
Roger turned around and shouted above the roaring engine of the jet, “C’mon, Steele! Get on the bloody jet!”
Without thinking, Steele’s legs began to walk up the stairs and inside the jet. It was as if Steele was outside his own body, because there was nothing he could do to stop himself from getting on that plane. He walked sullenly down the aisle and took a seat at the rear of the plane, away from the two murderers who laughed and clinked their martini glasses together.
Throughout the entire flight, although he didn’t show it, Steele was amazed–and slightly disturbed–by Johnny’s and Roger’s brazen actions. They had just killed a man in broad daylight–even though there was no one else around at the time–and didn’t think twice about it. They didn’t even bother to silence the gunshot. This brought Steele to one of two possible conclusions:
Either they were extremely cocky and stupid...
...Or they had connections that Steele never knew were possible.
...Or, God forbid, both.
Either way, he was beginning to regret bargaining with them.
###
It had been a month since he had arrived in Fort MacMurray. He set out to find the Vagabond immediately, and it wasn’t hard to track him down. Steele first spotted him at a local middle-class restaurant early one morning, sitting next to the window with coffee in hand and quietly watching the early risers coming and going. Even with the duster and the wide-brim hat pulled low over his eyes, Steele knew it was the Vagabond. He could never forget a fellow wrestler easily.
For the next three weeks Steele watched him intently. He learned his daily routine like the back of his hand, and all without being spotted himself. Johnny and Roger apparently had something big planned for the Vagabond, and they required perfect precision and timing. They were very patient with this man.
Steele, however, was not as patient. He had spent a month in Fort MacMurray with the two criminals and hadn’t been told a single thing about the location of Marcus Ash. He hardly had contact with Johnny and Roger since his arrival; they called him perhaps twice a week on a cell-phone they had given him, and even then he had to wait for them to call, for they hadn’t given him their numbers.
This time though, it had been over a week without a single call from the Two. Steele watched the Vagabond from across the street at a small café. The Vagabond sat at his usual spot, with his usual cup of coffee, staring at all the people through the usual window. Steele was beginning to get fed up with doing the Two’s dirty work and receiving nothing in return.
He almost jumped out of his chair when he heard his phone ring. Quickly composing himself, Steele flicked open the phone and answered, “It’s about fucking time you called.”
“Sorry, mate, we’ve been busy. You know how it is,” Johnny replied. “Meet us behind the restaurant across the street. We have a little something for you.”
*click*
Steele put the phone back in his pocket and got up from the table. It’s about God damn time, he thought as he made his way across the busy intersection toward the restaurant. He had to duck behind a parked car to keep the Vagabond from spotting him. Slipping in an alley and behind the restaurant, he saw that Johnny and Roger were waiting for them. Johnny shared a cigarette with a pretty young woman in a waitress uniform. They smiled as he stepped into view.
“Ah, Mr. Steele, so glad you could...” Johnny said wittily as he took a puff of his cigarette.
“...Make it,” finished Roger, who was fixing his hair in the side view mirror of the new car Steele suspected they had probably stolen.
“Cut the crap,” said Steele, who was visibly annoyed. “Why the hell am I here?”
Johnny took two folded pieces of paper out of his jacket pocket. He gave one to Steele and one to the waitress, to whom he instructed, “Give this to the man in the wide-brimmed hat over there in the corner. If he asks who gave it to you, be very vague in your description of us, and say nothing of this man,” he pointed at Steele. The waitress nodded and snuffed out her cigarette. She turned and walked back inside the restaurant, her heels clicking against the stone steps. Steele dared a glance at her fine figure; her long, smooth legs enticed him dearly. He shook his head and quickly subdued the thoughts that crept into his head, reminding himself of where such thoughts had gotten him.
Instead he focused on the piece of paper Johnny had given him. He unfolded it and as he read the words, a wide smile spread across his face, his eyes burning with the pride that he once knew. He couldn’t bring himself to read the letter aloud, but he managed to get the last few words out.
“...I’m offering you a spot on the roster here at OWF, and if you play your cards right, you just might get lucky enough to step into the ring for one last dance with the Reaper.
Marcus Ash”
Johnny chuckled and took another puff. “I figured you might be interested,” he said with a smirk. “Your first match is...”
“...Next Wednesday,” chirped Roger. “You better be ready, chap. It wasn’t easy for us to get you on that roster.”
Steele crumpled the paper in his hand as he took the lighter out of his pocket. He flicked it open and lit the corner of the letter, watching it burn as it floated to the ground.
“One last dance,” he whispered, smiling cruelly.
Johnny finished his cigarette and stepped toward Steele. “Don’t fuck this up,” he warned.
