Lowthor
The street was foggy, but that only helped me. I crept along the pavement, keeping my head down. I could see three of them at the other end of the street. The yellow glow of a streetlight showed them up perfectly. One of them was carrying a weapon, a pistol by the looks of it, but I'd been wrong before. I decided to take him out first; the other two would be easier. I can see the case they're exchanging, and it looks like the one with the weapon is the cartel's representative. I know what’s in that case, and it makes me sick to think about it.
I grip the handle of the cricket bat tighter, and pull out the flash-bang from my pocket. They call me a vigilante, but I prefer to think of it more as pest control. I need to get my timing right, or I could end up bleeding in the gutter with half a dozen slugs in my chest. My teeth pull the pin from the flash-bang, and I creep forward. As I spring up from behind the car I launch the flash-bang, and cover my eyes. They notice it too late and the blinding burst of light followed by a loud bang disorients them enough for m e to lay out the armed one with a blow to the back of the head. He won’t be getting up from that any time soon.
The other two look at me as their eyes recover from the flash-bang. They can’t see my face; I’m wearing a ski-mask. I’m not the type to dress up in skin tight lycra and wear a cape, but those so called superheroes have the right idea where the masks are concerned. I grin under my mask as I look them each in the eye. The one holding the case drops it and runs at me. He doesn’t have a chance. I kick him in the gut when he gets close enough, and then smash him in the side of the head with the bat. He almost goes for six, I think as I turn to the last one.
I think he just wet himself. “On the groundâ€, I say as I pull a pair of handcuffs out of my back pocket. “You’re not getting out of this, but I’m not going to rough you up eitherâ€. He looks relieved. I think it might be his first big job, so I go easy on the kid. He’s still scum and I wouldn’t piss on him to put out a fire, but there’s no point in wasting my energy.
Five minutes later he’s handcuffed to the lamp post and I’m already driving away from the scene. The police are on the way thanks to an anonymous tip off, and I think I’ve earned a pint and something to eat.
The street was foggy, but that only helped me. I crept along the pavement, keeping my head down. I could see three of them at the other end of the street. The yellow glow of a streetlight showed them up perfectly. One of them was carrying a weapon, a pistol by the looks of it, but I'd been wrong before. I decided to take him out first; the other two would be easier. I can see the case they're exchanging, and it looks like the one with the weapon is the cartel's representative. I know what’s in that case, and it makes me sick to think about it.
I grip the handle of the cricket bat tighter, and pull out the flash-bang from my pocket. They call me a vigilante, but I prefer to think of it more as pest control. I need to get my timing right, or I could end up bleeding in the gutter with half a dozen slugs in my chest. My teeth pull the pin from the flash-bang, and I creep forward. As I spring up from behind the car I launch the flash-bang, and cover my eyes. They notice it too late and the blinding burst of light followed by a loud bang disorients them enough for m e to lay out the armed one with a blow to the back of the head. He won’t be getting up from that any time soon.
The other two look at me as their eyes recover from the flash-bang. They can’t see my face; I’m wearing a ski-mask. I’m not the type to dress up in skin tight lycra and wear a cape, but those so called superheroes have the right idea where the masks are concerned. I grin under my mask as I look them each in the eye. The one holding the case drops it and runs at me. He doesn’t have a chance. I kick him in the gut when he gets close enough, and then smash him in the side of the head with the bat. He almost goes for six, I think as I turn to the last one.
I think he just wet himself. “On the groundâ€, I say as I pull a pair of handcuffs out of my back pocket. “You’re not getting out of this, but I’m not going to rough you up eitherâ€. He looks relieved. I think it might be his first big job, so I go easy on the kid. He’s still scum and I wouldn’t piss on him to put out a fire, but there’s no point in wasting my energy.
Five minutes later he’s handcuffed to the lamp post and I’m already driving away from the scene. The police are on the way thanks to an anonymous tip off, and I think I’ve earned a pint and something to eat.