Their shoes clicked and clacked against the pavement as the antique-dealer and his partner passed from the parking lot to the sidewalk as they made their way back to the hotel next door, and all that they could think about was how great a story this would all be when it finally ended. Though that story was sounding more and more bleak since the death of Aristotle Jacobi.
"We should have a name," said Jenn.
"For what?" asked Vitus.
"For the team. We should have a team name like superheroes do."
"That's an interesting idea, I suppose."
"Something like the Avengers, but, you know, not trademarked."
"We aren't exactly superheroes."
"Why not?" asked Jenn. "We're about to track down some bad guys, aren't we? And from the sound of it, we're going to be doing a lot of property damage. Sounds like superheroics to me."
"Okay," said Vitus. "I think most of the good names are already taken, though."
"Yeah, you're probably right."
Vitus heard something that didn't quite sit right--footsteps that were not their own. He looked back and saw a man walking towards them wearing a dark suit, and his heart began to beat just a bit faster. He tried to remain rational. After all, it could just be someone on a business trip--someone staying at the same hotel they were who decided to have a drink at the same bar they did. But Vitus was never a completely rational man.
"There's someone behind us," he whispered to Jenn. "Let's keep walking."
Jenn fought the incredibly strong urge to take a look for herself and settled for simply nodding. They walked past the hotel, unwilling to lead someone directly to the place where the settee was hidden, but still the footsteps continued behind them. They walked faster, but the other footsteps still were there, harder and quicker as if someone was jogging to catch up with them.
The city was foreign to them. It was dark and mostly open, with street after street lined with shopping centers and parking lots. There were few places to hide. As Vitus passed every intersection, he memorized the street signs, hoping it would make it easier for them to find their way back, but at present, that hope seemed quite useless as long as the man in the dark suit was still behind them.
They approached an apparently older section of town that offered more protection with its rows of businesses pressed up against the streets and alleyways, so at the intersection of Spring and Washington, Vitus grabbed Jenn by the hand and ran to the left, hoping that the corner of the building beside them would screen their escape until they could find an alley or a nook or even a crevice in which they could hide. As luck would have it, an alleyway opened in front of them, separating a very large church from an equally large utility company. There were several entranceways along the length of the alley, some of which were down small sets of cement stairs. This time, Jenn did the pulling as she leaped down one such set, yanking Vitus with her. There was an overhang that provided them some additional cover, so they huddled in the dark as they listened for any sign of the man in the dark suit.
He was out of breath when he finally caught up. His loafers tapped against the alley above them like a homing beacon sending out constant signals of his searching and wavering, and his nose whistled like a siren as he struggled to regain his breath. But before the tapping and whistling died down, they heard the squawk of a radio and the voice of a man speaking Russian. Needless to say, they waited several more minutes before attempting to leave.
Jenn wished she had her rifle but realized that it wasn't the most practical thing to carry around in public. She thought of it often, though, as she stood in the shadows--the cold barrel, the wooden stock, the floral sheet in which she kept it wrapped. Even now, it sat atop the crate in their hotel room, and Jenn could only think about getting back to it and the tempting, yet horribly uncomfortable bed that awaited her. Vitus, on the other hand, pulled the handgun from his coat. He understood that it wasn't wise to carry it to the bar, but in this case, his paranoia won out--a paranoia which was now so very warranted.
When enough time had passed, Vitus peeked at the alley above them. It was empty. He and Jenn climbed the stairs and snuck down the alley, pressing themselves against the body of the building beside them to stay as hidden as possible. When they neared the end, they stopped and listened for any telltale sign of the man in the dark suit. There was only silence until they heard the sound of a car approaching and saw headlights projecting on the street in front of them. A long, black car passed by them, and Vitus and Jenn knew that the Russians hadn't given up on them so easily.
"The church," whispered Jenn. "Let's see if we can get in."
Vitus nodded and led the way, scrambling up a short brick retaining wall and treading across well-manicured grass until they reached the entrance to the church. Luckily, it was unlocked, and the antique-dealer and his partner stepped inside to find sanctuary. Their first thought was to find a phone to call Philip and Hayes in their hotel room, but they knew it wouldn't do any good. They guessed (rather correctly) that Philip and Hayes were still drowning their sorrows in musky whiskey.
"What now?" asked Vitus. "We can't stay here all night."
Jenn didn't seem to hear him.
"I haven't been in a church in years," she said. She wandered around inside the empty sanctuary, passing smooth wooden pews and studying the stained glass windows.
Vitus wandered toward the pulpit and began pacing up and down the center aisle, scratching his head as he pondered their next mood. If they could only find a car somehow, they'd be able to drive back to the hotel safe and sound, but Vitus was still uneasy about the prospect of stealing a car, and their usual tactic of renting transportation would do them no good in the middle of the night. Their best hope was to find a taxi, Vitus knew. He intended to snap his fingers dramatically at the realization but discovered the gun was still in his hand. He felt more than a little guilty at waving a weapon around inside a church as he tucked it back into his coat.
"God, I hope I don't have to use this tonight," he said aloud as he let the gun go. It sounded like more of a prayer than he'd intended, yet it was fitting and, more importantly, true.
Jenn emerged from what appeared to be an office.
"Anything back there?" Vitus asked.
Jenn shook her head. "Nothing," she said. "Not even a phone."
"There was a pay phone up the road," said Vitus. "I think we can make it. Then we'll call a taxi and head back to the hotel."
"Good plan," she said, and they both crept from the sanctuary of the sanctuary back onto the dark, dreary streets. They again tred across the grass and jumped down the small brick retaining wall to the alley below.
They were confident in their plan and in their ability to reach the end of the alley without being noticed. Unfortunately, that confidence shattered into a million tiny pieces when a man in a dark suit appeared at the opening ahead and behind them, a long, black car blocked their escape. The man ahead jogged toward them, yelling both into a radio and also at the antique-dealer. He had a gun in his hands, and he pointed it toward Jenn as he approached.
"Down on the ground!" he yelled in broken English.
Vitus and Jenn looked at each other, and it seemed to the antique-dealer that another opportunity for a slow motion moment presented itself. He embraced the woman that he loved, drawing her in close and kissing her with what might have been the last ounces of passion he would ever experience, and then he pulled the gun from his coat and shot the man in the dark suit, who dropped his own gun and crumpled to the ground. Tonight, Vitus Bethel's prayers had gone unanswered.
A door slammed behind them. The other man in the dark suit emerged from the long, black car and ran toward them, but it took Vitus several moments to notice. His eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open. Try as he might, Vitus couldn't quite comprehend what he had just done.
"I shot him," he said aloud.
"Vitus..." Jenn tried to interrupt, but Vitus was stunned by his own actions. She pulled on his arm until he finally turned around to face the other Russian, and he lifted his gun and fired again. The other man in the dark suit fell on hard pavement.
"Oh God," Vitus mumbled. Still Jenn tried to snap him out of his shaken state. "I'm a killer," he said.
"Vitus, you're not. They're still alive."
"What?"
Indeed, both of the men in dark suits lay clutching their wounds in the dark alleyway. The first was shot in the upper arm, causing him to lose his gun, which Jenn had since picked up. The second was shot in the leg, and though he still had the gun in his hands, the Russian was much more concerned about the newly drilled holes in his pants and thigh.
"What do we do?" Vitus asked. Though he still panicked, he was incredibly relieved that he had not actually taken a life.
Instead of answering with words or even an unsure facial expression, Jenn responded by running toward the Russian that still had a gun and kicking him hard in the face. He spilled over backward, and his gun slid across the pavement and fell down a nearby set of cement stairs. Without hesitation, Vitus responded to Jenn's action by kicking the other Russian similarly hard in the face. By the time the antique-dealer and his partner emerged at the other end of the alley, the men in their bloodied dark suits had barely moved. They instead remained crumpled over on the pavement, clutching wounds and moaning in pools of their own blood.
"We need to call an ambulance," said Vitus. He realized he'd feel less guilty about shooting and then beating up the men if he knew they would survive the night.
"They'll be fine," said Jenn. "Besides, they're the bad guys, remember?"
"I'm not a murderer. They could still bleed to death or something. I think. Right?"
"Okay," Jenn relented. "But call the cab first. We don't need to be hanging around here when the police come."
"Wouldn't that be a good thing, though?" Vitus asked. Somehow, going to the police with his story had never even occurred to him, and this realization suddenly made him feel quite stupid.
"Honestly, I don't know," said Jenn. "But I'm pretty sure you don't have a license for that gun, and I'm also pretty sure that your gun doesn't have a serial number. Let's just get out of here."
Vitus agreed, and after locating the number for the local taxi service from Information, Vitus placed an anonymous call to an emergency operator, who (Vitus noted) did not seem particularly concerned that a shooting had taken place. The cab that picked them up was old and checkered and driven by an old woman with an eyepatch. Vitus was at first apprehensive of her driving abilities, but as the checkered cab peeled away and sped down the street, he was relieved that they had left just as sirens started heading toward the alleyway.
Once back at the hotel, they prepared to leave immediately. After carefully checking the parking lot for any other long, black cars, they loaded their few belongings into the back of the moving truck. As they moved the crated settee from the room, they stopped at the room beside theirs and knocked loudly on the door. Eventually, they could hear cursing on the other side, and the door opened to reveal a disheveled Hayes standing in front of them. Philip appeared to be passed out on one of the beds.
"We have to go," said Vitus.
"Ah hell, is it morning already? We just got in," said Hayes.
"We have to go right now," said Jenn.
Hayes cursed more as he shuffled around his room, gathering up all their belongings before picking up Philip and carrying him out to the truck. The truck named Bess was soon packed, and they left the small town with its seedy bars and alleyways behind. For the moment, Vitus drove, and Jenn sat beside him, resting with her head against his shoulders. Hayes and Philip rode in the back. They curled up in tattered sleeping bags that slid across the floor as the truck rolled along the highway. It would do little to help their drunken stupor, but Jenn couldn't help but smile every time she heard a bump against the cab, followed by Hayes' faint cry of "Son of a bitch."
"You're not a bad person," she said to Vitus.
"What?"
"Just because you shot those guys, it doesn't make you a bad person."
"I know," said Vitus. "Thanks."
"It was seriously us or them, and I'm pretty sure they would have done a lot worse than shooting our limbs and calling an ambulance for us if the tables had been turned. If anything, Vitus, you're too good of a person, especially for a life like this."
"I still can't believe I did that. People like Philip and Hayes, they can kill people without batting an eye. I'm just an antique-dealer. We don't shoot people, and we're definitely not trained to deal with the psychological fallout."
"I don't know," said Jenn. "If everything we've heard about the world in the past couple days is true, I'm starting to think it should be a prerequisite."
As they sped down the road, the sun rose in front of them, welcoming them to a brand new day. This one, they hoped, would be much better than the last.
"We should have a name," said Jenn.
"For what?" asked Vitus.
"For the team. We should have a team name like superheroes do."
"That's an interesting idea, I suppose."
"Something like the Avengers, but, you know, not trademarked."
"We aren't exactly superheroes."
"Why not?" asked Jenn. "We're about to track down some bad guys, aren't we? And from the sound of it, we're going to be doing a lot of property damage. Sounds like superheroics to me."
"Okay," said Vitus. "I think most of the good names are already taken, though."
"Yeah, you're probably right."
Vitus heard something that didn't quite sit right--footsteps that were not their own. He looked back and saw a man walking towards them wearing a dark suit, and his heart began to beat just a bit faster. He tried to remain rational. After all, it could just be someone on a business trip--someone staying at the same hotel they were who decided to have a drink at the same bar they did. But Vitus was never a completely rational man.
"There's someone behind us," he whispered to Jenn. "Let's keep walking."
Jenn fought the incredibly strong urge to take a look for herself and settled for simply nodding. They walked past the hotel, unwilling to lead someone directly to the place where the settee was hidden, but still the footsteps continued behind them. They walked faster, but the other footsteps still were there, harder and quicker as if someone was jogging to catch up with them.
The city was foreign to them. It was dark and mostly open, with street after street lined with shopping centers and parking lots. There were few places to hide. As Vitus passed every intersection, he memorized the street signs, hoping it would make it easier for them to find their way back, but at present, that hope seemed quite useless as long as the man in the dark suit was still behind them.
They approached an apparently older section of town that offered more protection with its rows of businesses pressed up against the streets and alleyways, so at the intersection of Spring and Washington, Vitus grabbed Jenn by the hand and ran to the left, hoping that the corner of the building beside them would screen their escape until they could find an alley or a nook or even a crevice in which they could hide. As luck would have it, an alleyway opened in front of them, separating a very large church from an equally large utility company. There were several entranceways along the length of the alley, some of which were down small sets of cement stairs. This time, Jenn did the pulling as she leaped down one such set, yanking Vitus with her. There was an overhang that provided them some additional cover, so they huddled in the dark as they listened for any sign of the man in the dark suit.
He was out of breath when he finally caught up. His loafers tapped against the alley above them like a homing beacon sending out constant signals of his searching and wavering, and his nose whistled like a siren as he struggled to regain his breath. But before the tapping and whistling died down, they heard the squawk of a radio and the voice of a man speaking Russian. Needless to say, they waited several more minutes before attempting to leave.
Jenn wished she had her rifle but realized that it wasn't the most practical thing to carry around in public. She thought of it often, though, as she stood in the shadows--the cold barrel, the wooden stock, the floral sheet in which she kept it wrapped. Even now, it sat atop the crate in their hotel room, and Jenn could only think about getting back to it and the tempting, yet horribly uncomfortable bed that awaited her. Vitus, on the other hand, pulled the handgun from his coat. He understood that it wasn't wise to carry it to the bar, but in this case, his paranoia won out--a paranoia which was now so very warranted.
When enough time had passed, Vitus peeked at the alley above them. It was empty. He and Jenn climbed the stairs and snuck down the alley, pressing themselves against the body of the building beside them to stay as hidden as possible. When they neared the end, they stopped and listened for any telltale sign of the man in the dark suit. There was only silence until they heard the sound of a car approaching and saw headlights projecting on the street in front of them. A long, black car passed by them, and Vitus and Jenn knew that the Russians hadn't given up on them so easily.
"The church," whispered Jenn. "Let's see if we can get in."
Vitus nodded and led the way, scrambling up a short brick retaining wall and treading across well-manicured grass until they reached the entrance to the church. Luckily, it was unlocked, and the antique-dealer and his partner stepped inside to find sanctuary. Their first thought was to find a phone to call Philip and Hayes in their hotel room, but they knew it wouldn't do any good. They guessed (rather correctly) that Philip and Hayes were still drowning their sorrows in musky whiskey.
"What now?" asked Vitus. "We can't stay here all night."
Jenn didn't seem to hear him.
"I haven't been in a church in years," she said. She wandered around inside the empty sanctuary, passing smooth wooden pews and studying the stained glass windows.
Vitus wandered toward the pulpit and began pacing up and down the center aisle, scratching his head as he pondered their next mood. If they could only find a car somehow, they'd be able to drive back to the hotel safe and sound, but Vitus was still uneasy about the prospect of stealing a car, and their usual tactic of renting transportation would do them no good in the middle of the night. Their best hope was to find a taxi, Vitus knew. He intended to snap his fingers dramatically at the realization but discovered the gun was still in his hand. He felt more than a little guilty at waving a weapon around inside a church as he tucked it back into his coat.
"God, I hope I don't have to use this tonight," he said aloud as he let the gun go. It sounded like more of a prayer than he'd intended, yet it was fitting and, more importantly, true.
Jenn emerged from what appeared to be an office.
"Anything back there?" Vitus asked.
Jenn shook her head. "Nothing," she said. "Not even a phone."
"There was a pay phone up the road," said Vitus. "I think we can make it. Then we'll call a taxi and head back to the hotel."
"Good plan," she said, and they both crept from the sanctuary of the sanctuary back onto the dark, dreary streets. They again tred across the grass and jumped down the small brick retaining wall to the alley below.
They were confident in their plan and in their ability to reach the end of the alley without being noticed. Unfortunately, that confidence shattered into a million tiny pieces when a man in a dark suit appeared at the opening ahead and behind them, a long, black car blocked their escape. The man ahead jogged toward them, yelling both into a radio and also at the antique-dealer. He had a gun in his hands, and he pointed it toward Jenn as he approached.
"Down on the ground!" he yelled in broken English.
Vitus and Jenn looked at each other, and it seemed to the antique-dealer that another opportunity for a slow motion moment presented itself. He embraced the woman that he loved, drawing her in close and kissing her with what might have been the last ounces of passion he would ever experience, and then he pulled the gun from his coat and shot the man in the dark suit, who dropped his own gun and crumpled to the ground. Tonight, Vitus Bethel's prayers had gone unanswered.
A door slammed behind them. The other man in the dark suit emerged from the long, black car and ran toward them, but it took Vitus several moments to notice. His eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open. Try as he might, Vitus couldn't quite comprehend what he had just done.
"I shot him," he said aloud.
"Vitus..." Jenn tried to interrupt, but Vitus was stunned by his own actions. She pulled on his arm until he finally turned around to face the other Russian, and he lifted his gun and fired again. The other man in the dark suit fell on hard pavement.
"Oh God," Vitus mumbled. Still Jenn tried to snap him out of his shaken state. "I'm a killer," he said.
"Vitus, you're not. They're still alive."
"What?"
Indeed, both of the men in dark suits lay clutching their wounds in the dark alleyway. The first was shot in the upper arm, causing him to lose his gun, which Jenn had since picked up. The second was shot in the leg, and though he still had the gun in his hands, the Russian was much more concerned about the newly drilled holes in his pants and thigh.
"What do we do?" Vitus asked. Though he still panicked, he was incredibly relieved that he had not actually taken a life.
Instead of answering with words or even an unsure facial expression, Jenn responded by running toward the Russian that still had a gun and kicking him hard in the face. He spilled over backward, and his gun slid across the pavement and fell down a nearby set of cement stairs. Without hesitation, Vitus responded to Jenn's action by kicking the other Russian similarly hard in the face. By the time the antique-dealer and his partner emerged at the other end of the alley, the men in their bloodied dark suits had barely moved. They instead remained crumpled over on the pavement, clutching wounds and moaning in pools of their own blood.
"We need to call an ambulance," said Vitus. He realized he'd feel less guilty about shooting and then beating up the men if he knew they would survive the night.
"They'll be fine," said Jenn. "Besides, they're the bad guys, remember?"
"I'm not a murderer. They could still bleed to death or something. I think. Right?"
"Okay," Jenn relented. "But call the cab first. We don't need to be hanging around here when the police come."
"Wouldn't that be a good thing, though?" Vitus asked. Somehow, going to the police with his story had never even occurred to him, and this realization suddenly made him feel quite stupid.
"Honestly, I don't know," said Jenn. "But I'm pretty sure you don't have a license for that gun, and I'm also pretty sure that your gun doesn't have a serial number. Let's just get out of here."
Vitus agreed, and after locating the number for the local taxi service from Information, Vitus placed an anonymous call to an emergency operator, who (Vitus noted) did not seem particularly concerned that a shooting had taken place. The cab that picked them up was old and checkered and driven by an old woman with an eyepatch. Vitus was at first apprehensive of her driving abilities, but as the checkered cab peeled away and sped down the street, he was relieved that they had left just as sirens started heading toward the alleyway.
Once back at the hotel, they prepared to leave immediately. After carefully checking the parking lot for any other long, black cars, they loaded their few belongings into the back of the moving truck. As they moved the crated settee from the room, they stopped at the room beside theirs and knocked loudly on the door. Eventually, they could hear cursing on the other side, and the door opened to reveal a disheveled Hayes standing in front of them. Philip appeared to be passed out on one of the beds.
"We have to go," said Vitus.
"Ah hell, is it morning already? We just got in," said Hayes.
"We have to go right now," said Jenn.
Hayes cursed more as he shuffled around his room, gathering up all their belongings before picking up Philip and carrying him out to the truck. The truck named Bess was soon packed, and they left the small town with its seedy bars and alleyways behind. For the moment, Vitus drove, and Jenn sat beside him, resting with her head against his shoulders. Hayes and Philip rode in the back. They curled up in tattered sleeping bags that slid across the floor as the truck rolled along the highway. It would do little to help their drunken stupor, but Jenn couldn't help but smile every time she heard a bump against the cab, followed by Hayes' faint cry of "Son of a bitch."
"You're not a bad person," she said to Vitus.
"What?"
"Just because you shot those guys, it doesn't make you a bad person."
"I know," said Vitus. "Thanks."
"It was seriously us or them, and I'm pretty sure they would have done a lot worse than shooting our limbs and calling an ambulance for us if the tables had been turned. If anything, Vitus, you're too good of a person, especially for a life like this."
"I still can't believe I did that. People like Philip and Hayes, they can kill people without batting an eye. I'm just an antique-dealer. We don't shoot people, and we're definitely not trained to deal with the psychological fallout."
"I don't know," said Jenn. "If everything we've heard about the world in the past couple days is true, I'm starting to think it should be a prerequisite."
As they sped down the road, the sun rose in front of them, welcoming them to a brand new day. This one, they hoped, would be much better than the last.
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