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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic

Well, it's hitting all the fans. The two kingpins escape. The good guy pursue. Something big is in the wind.

Chapter 60 (v.1) - FAST BREAK

Submitted: May 17, 2017

Reads: 274

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Submitted: May 17, 2017




A Serial

Nicholas Cochran

Chapter Sixty


Fiona returned to check on Brett’s shoulder. Bill threw Tom his belt to use for securing the brothers Wales. Bill then removed Max’s belt to tie the heads of his sons together by their necks.

“There we go, boys,” menaced Bill, “If you move you’ll strangle each other. And, by the way, if I find out that either of you is withholding anything—has been withholding anything of importance here, I will personally shoot you in the crotch,” going over to them and putting the minigun into each brother’s left eye, “understand?”

Both could barely nod but they did.

Bart thought that telling Bill that he was the brother who pushed Bill into the water was not a good idea at the time. It would all come out. Like their father, the two sons were resigned to long hours, long days; and even longer years behind bars.  

“I need a phone that I can call on out of the bunker; right now,”yelled Fiona, “and the sooner the better." She jumped in Max’s face while she waited for an answer.

“Here.” Max handed her a peculiar-shaped object that, once Fiona dialed on its unique pad, proved to be capable of getting out a call from four levels underground.

She placed a call to Lieutenant Baker of the SWAT Teams. 

“Lieutenant? You heard my announcement?"

“Yes, Ma’am.”

”Good. Please oversee the next step here. This place can be searched anytime. What we need now is a pursuit and capture of the two main persons in this ring. They left by underground tunnel—yeah, that’s right; I’ll tell you all about it later. The word I have is that there is some kind of structure, bunker—something like that at the end of the underground railroad. The figure we have is up to six miles—maybe six and a half. Get your guys out to eight and come in from there.

“I have Bill Richardson here. He’s an honorary member of the Hells Angels Oakland MC. He called Axel Canady to gather members from fifty miles around to come to our aid. When they get close—well before that, I’ll call and ask them to meet you guys somewhere. Better yet here’s Bill with the number.”

“Hi Lieutenant.”

“Billy; you’re alive. Jesus man, you had us all to your funeral for Christ’s sake. I even went to your Memorial ServiceMan, you have some explaining to do after we finish off this gig.”

“Will do, Lieutenant; will do; I promise. In fact, I’m planning a revival—or better yet; a “Resurrection” Service. But this time you guys don’t get to talk. I couldn’t stand the heat. Even after I explain all this shit to you.” They both laughed.

“Anyway, my friend, here’s Axel’s number. I imagine they’re damn close to the edge of the search circumference by now. I’ll call and tell him what’s up. And here’s the number I’m calling on. You’ll notice that there’s no name or number. Cute piece of tech this thing. Anyway, that’s that; want to talk with Fiona again?”

“Nope. All set. I’ll call Axel right away.”


General Motombo, along with his First Lieutenant, crouched inside the hedge on the Eastern Front, near the door previously used by Electra and Tom to reach the grounds of the Wales Estate.

Upon hearing Fiona’s announcement, the immediately scuttled back to their APC.

*  *  *

Despite the high casualty count as well as the feeble pleas to just go home, Merle Zarcon rallied the remainder of his sullen Brotherhood. The Brotherhood were still minus one next-to-new used APC.

Despite the fact that they had the hundred grand rental fee, Merle decided that for all the funeral costs as well as the hospital bills, the hundred would probably not cover them; even in the Coeur d’Alene area. 

Then there was the principle of the thing, one that Merle used to inflame the remains of his white troops into mouth-foaming calls for death to the bunnies; and worse.

Cabs, Ubers, and Lyfts were called to take away the fallen as well as the dead. A few ambulances turned up but were waved away. Merle wanted to keep this entire contretemps out of the papers; and off TV as much as they could. Although the TV part intrigued Merle. There would have to be some confession to having their asses whipped by the other color. Nevertheless, Merle decided that any publicity was good publicity, a mantra that he had held to be true despite the rise of resistance to such outlier groups.

The cab, Uber, and Lyft drivers were paid large extra amounts off an immense roll of hundreds that Merle flourished until a price was agreed upon; at which time Merle would ceremoniously, slowly peel off a few Ben Franklins; then empathically slap them onto the  outstretched palms of the drivers; black, white, or Hispanic. Merle held it his duty to care for the health, as well as the burial, of his troops in these circumstances.

This required a relaxing of his vows, a situation that he found very hard to live with while flying back to Idaho.

Nevertheless, for now, it was the right and proper thing to do. Very quickly, Merle Zarcon felt a slight warmth in his heart, whether from doing all that he could to save his troops or the other; dealing with, and being thankful for, the assistance of those of other races.

There was no transportation for the troops. They had all heard Fiona’s announcement and realized that the entire moveable feast of wounded and those barely alive, was heading for the edge of an eight mile circumference measured from the main mansion as the center of the circle. Being totally unfamiliar with the entire area, Merle decided to take a chance and ask one of the taxi drivers.

Unfortunately, this one was also black. Nevertheless, Merle put circumstances before principle—again---and politely asked the driver where the spot would be to begin the closing in on the rendezvous location.

The driver, Allan Davis, a post-grad student in the MBA Program at Stanford, was a Physics and Aeronautical Engineer Major as an undergrad. He immediately stated the perfect spot and suggested that he lead the way for the flotilla of cabs, Ubers, and Lyfts bearing the walking but wounded, as well as the whole and unwilling, to the spot where Allan figured the search would begin.

During the ride, Allan and Merle got talking with Merle being very interested in all of Allan’s career choices. He particularly wanted to talk about the MBA program, something Merle had considered applying for from time to time; that is, after he completed high school and college.

**  *

Axel Canady led a group of fifty Hells Angels down 280 to the Atherton region. Once over the Bay Bridge and away from the maze of ramps, Axel and the boys let the speedometer go wherever it landed at any particular ‘time according to Axel’.

Of course, they slowed from a hundred and twenty-five to a hundred and ten while passing the scenic Crystal Springs Lake Reservoir.

After that, aside from the occasional horse farm, the needle stayed around a hundred and twenty.

Jimmy Cairns had rigged up a superlative gizmo to allow Axel to talk on a phone with minimum wind distortion at speeds up to a hundred and thirty.

 *  *  *

At the last second, The Voice barely managed to grab the voice-altering device before being summarily shoved into the elevator by Malcolm. The boss clutched the device while they leapt into the open car that sat upon rails, tracks which disappeared off to their left. Malcolm operated the controls. 

Within a minute, the two masterminds were ducking beneath the lowering ceiling of the tunnel at sixty miles an hour. Abruptly,Malcolm calmly pressed two buttons on the open dash panel.

The winds accompanying the roar of the explosion, followed by the collapse of the first part of the—their tunnel---pushed their speed higher. Dual searchlights mounted on the front of the vehicle jumped to their highest setting. The junction with the two other tracks loomed in seconds.

A creature of habit, Malcolm consulted the panel for the flashing light designating the track to be taken on this particular day. He pushed the button. The two tracks leading off to the right disappeared within five seconds. Their journey was almost a third completed.

Malcolm remained standing; staring while he reviewed all the necessary procedures to follow once the car reached the end of the rails. 

Another car would be waiting for them at the end of this track. That car, on a separate track, would bear them on a one-mile journey to safety. 

The Voice retained the sad black garment that now flapped relentlessly under the hot winds of the tunnel. Malcolm turned to look at:

‘The Voice’ is what that Barnes dame said. Hunh.

While he looked at the boss, Poe came to mind.


End of Chapter Sixty

© Copyright 2018 Nicholas Cochran. All rights reserved.


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