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Friday, June 26, 2015

26 Born to Make the Kill

Tony knew they needed a new set of wheels. He hated to ditch the only thing he owned with a connection to Ma, but she was dead and although he wasn’t sentimental, a piece of her seemed to linger within the four doors. However, if at some point they were being tracked, a citation near Bridgeport left sure evidence they were heading north and about to cross the Nevada state line. He and Hank had made a quick survey around Bridgeport after they got fuel and filled the radiator, but no good opportunity to make a switch presented itself. He needed somewhere with more possibilities and had decided Reno would be it.

They pulled into the parking structure at the Circus Circus Hotel and Casino, found an empty parking space on the third level and backed in.

“What are we doing?” Rudy asked.

“Switching cars. Keep your eyes open for someone alone.”

Over the next hour, Tony scrutinized a number of people as they passed by. He needed the perfect mark. Most of them were either in parties, couples or, even worse—with children. 

Tony loathed children. Their laughter and selfish whining as they walked to their vehicles fueled the writhing beast in his head. Children served as an absurd reminder that no one had a voice in their conception. If life never started, no one would miss you; no one would care. A seed fertilizing an egg, even with its dire life-long consequences, required no brain power. With only two cells there were no brains. Impregnation was just the first thing people had no control over, and then everything else went to Hell. Those forced by their biological parents to take their first breath fight to survive a life they never chose, only to die a death they dread the thought of.

A sound to his right drew Tony’s eyes to a middle aged man with an unsightly band of fat wrapped around his middle. He walked up the ramp toward the Impala. As he got closer, he fumbled for his keys and they slipped through his fingers. He stooped to pick them up, lost his balance and fell to his hands and knees.

 “This may be our ride.” Tony watched the man rock and lurch back to his feet.

The man hit a button on his transponder, and the taillights flashed on a two door yellow coupe parked a few spaces away on the row opposite the Impala.

Hank, who had been slumped in the front passenger seat, sat up straight. Rudy drew the gray hood over his head.

As the man passed in front of them, Tony eased his door open without making any noise. He stepped out of the car and fell in behind the man.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said. “We seem to be having some car trouble. Can you help?”

The man turned around, faced Tony and asked, “What kind … a … trouble?”

The slur to his speech and the bourbon on his breath gave Tony confirmation enough that he had found his pawn. He had no business driving in this condition. Certainly he wouldn’t mind taking a long nap. “Me and my friends haven’t been too lucky in the casino and now our battery’s dead. We need a jump, can you help?”

“My car’s uh … rental …,” he said, his tongue thick and is eyes rolling in their sockets, “I don’t have … cables, sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, I have cables. It’ll only take a few moments, if you’d be so kind?”

“Oh …, suppose so,” the man said and walked on to his car.

After the coupe backed out of the space, coming inches from hitting the car parked next to it, the man guided and stopped it in front of the battered Chevy.

He stepped out and stumbled around the back of the coupe. He turned his eyes to Tony. “Where’re the … cables?”

Tony unbuttoned his jacket and opened it to show him the pistol tucked in his belt.

The man found sobriety for the moment, and threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I don’t want any trouble! Take the car, it’s a rental anyway.”

“Right back here, then” Tony said, and pushed the man toward the back of the car. He leaned in through the open driver’s side window and said, “Get his keys and get her in the trunk quick, before anyone comes.”


Rudy didn’t move from his seat but Hank grabbed the keys hanging from the ignition, opened his door, and ran around the Impala. He arrived at the trunk just as Tony and the panicked man, got there. He slid the keys into the lock.


Natalie was ready. She had been waiting for hours for this moment. She rested the light pole on her chest and slid her hand along the edge of the trunk lid to make sure the light fixture would clear the opening. She planned to jab at whoever opened the hatch, catch him off guard, and then, despite the soreness in her muscles, jump to her feet enough to hit them with the pole.

 She heard the key slide into the slot and tensed ready to strike the first blow.


From the level below, tires screeched against the concrete driveway. Hank froze in place and looked up at Tony.

“Shit, don’t open it!” Tony said, with an urgent edge in his voice.

Tony listened as the throb of the car’s engine and the pounding beat of “Born to be Wild” thundered from the vehicle as it continued up the ramp. The tires squealed again as they rounded the corner of the row in which the Impala was parked, and a convertible with its top down came into view. The sports car pulled into the open space vacated by the drunken man’s coupe and everything became quiet again when the engine shut down. Two doors opened at the same time and two men with military haircuts wearing camouflage uniforms stepped out.

“Everything okay over there?” the man who had been behind the wheel called as he walked around the back of the yellow coupe parked in the driving lane.

“Everything’s fine,” Tony answered, “just had a little car trouble and this kind gentlemen offered to give us a jump.”
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© Jearl Rugh 2012
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