Collapse

Jesse grabbed his jacket off the peg next to the scarred door, threw it on, and checked his appearance in the mirror. Nothing showed, which was good. His eyes were alight with the eagerness which only came with a job. Life otherwise was infinitely dull. He bounced on the balls of his feet three times and stepped out of his apartment into the frigid December air, closing the locked door behind him.  Putting his hands quickly into his pocket, he began walking briskly to the bus stop on the main road.  He pondered his current job while he walked, his eyes darting to and fro; first to the darkness behind a shrub, wondering what the moonlight might not be revealing, now to a bum who appeared to be more engrossed in the burning barrel in front of him than the man walking quickly by. Anyone could be a threat.

Since the collapse of the economic system of the US, with California leading the way, danger on the streets had increased exponentially. Jesse didn’t have to worry about money. His occupation provided him with plenty of disposable income, though he tried not to be too flashy. An empty belly could provide more sinister motivation than fear, Jesse knew, and there was no sense in appearing to be as lucrative a mark as he, in reality, was.

Jesse arrived at the bus stop and looked each sullen and depressed human in the eyes before turning to look up the street for the bus. “An acknowledged thief is a discouraged thief”, came the words of his father, still surging to the forefront of his mind after all these years. He stood, waiting, and shrugged his shoulder to twist an errant strap. He still hadn’t gotten used to the feeling of wearing it.

As the bus materialized out of the thick fog, Jesse took another look around, feeling inexplicably that something was out of place. In the few months since he began accepting these jobs, he had learned to trust his gut, and right now, his gut was telling him that he was preparing to step into a box of danger.  He stepped out of line, and watched the nearly deserted street for telltale signs of a switch to “Plan B”. As a large woman shoved him out of the way to get onto the warm bus, he locked eyes with the driver of a van idling across the street. Had that van been there for long? Was it there when he arrived at the bus station? These questions quickly became moot as the driver opened the door, lept out of the van, and brought a small automatic rifle to bear on Jesse.

Jesse quickly stepped into the cover provided by the bus and drew one of his most valued possessions from the holster he wore under his bulky jacket, knowing full well that if he didn’t end this situation quickly, it would be ended for him, and not in a manner conducive to his health. The rapid staccato of automatic gunfire and answering call of metal and plastic being struck was the ticking of his own personal death clock, and Jesse wanted no part of the alarm that would ring when his time was up.

The bus began to move, and Jesse swore. The bus driver wanted to get his own rather large posterior out of harm’s way, and wasn’t about to stop to let Jesse get on.  The sound of large vehicle doors sliding open only heightened Jesse’s urgency, and he turned toward the vacant storefront that was his only safe mode of egress from this situation.  Multiple voices shouting orders chased him as he ran to the flimsy door and kicked it in, glancing sideways to see that his mobile cover was now far enough up the street so as to offer his four assailants full view of his retreating form.  He entered the building, and the gunfire stopped.  Jesse’s breath misted in front of his face, lit up by light from the ruined doorway, and he looked frantically for a way out.

His palms sweated, and he nearly dropped the subcompact Glock he held in his right hand. The room in which he stood was covered with debris, and there appeared to be no escape. After a quick prayer spoken quietly to a deity he was sure wasn’t listening, Jesse groped in his jacket pocket for his other equalizer, and held it up to the light.  The hand grenade seemed to draw all light from the room as he realized the magnitude of what he was about to do.  His enterprise was named Deadly Shadows.  His motto was, “A shadow makes no sound.” He was about to act in a very un-shadow-like manner, but felt he had no other option.

With the hand that held his pistol, he tugged on the pin, hard, until it came out. He held the spring down in the “death grip” with his thumb, and waited with his back to the sturdy doorframe until he heard voices.

In a matter of seconds that felt like years, he heard whispers coming from the newly dismantled doorway. He leaned out and chucked the grenade so it rolled just outside the doorway, and quickly leaned back to the safety of his cover. The silence was deafening.

When the 2 second fuse elapsed, the explosion shook the walls, and Jesse made his move.  Rolling out of cover and bursting through the doorway, he saw the mutilated bodies of two of his attackers lying on their faces. The other two on either side of the door were just getting up, and in a quick, 3-second maneuver, Jesse hit the assailant to his right with a controlled pair at center mass and spun to perform the same combination to the assailant on his left. After a quick look up and down the street to make sure there were no more, he holstered his weapon, adjusted his jacket, and strode purposefully up the street, away from his apartment, knowing that frantic running would only draw more attention. The underfunded, understaffed and fearful police would be a long time in coming, anyway.

“Minimal risk my ass”, said Jesse bitterly. This would cost his employers, to be sure.