Two Shots.Mature

Just a story I have been throwing together at the moment, feel free to have a look and let me know what you think :)

Chapter One: First Bullets.

I was sitting in the passenger seat of a van, staring absentmindedly out of the front window. The street was not particularly busy, but the people who were about all stared at me incriminatingly. They did not know why. It was around 4 o’clock in the afternoon. Dark clouds were passing overhead, promising rain. The world seemed just a little darker than usual. I, however, was not in such a bad mood. Just nervous. Anxious. Apprehensive.

            I looked to the left of me at a small house, semi-detached. A small, frail, old man had just stepped out of his front door, and I was expecting him to go down the street into the local pub, light up a cigarette and to come back home about nine. Instead he shuffled about his small front garden, going about his own business, not a care in the world. I was slightly intrigued by this old man. His clothes were quite old fashioned, which was expected, and he was dressed entirely in brown. He had large round glasses that made his eyes seem much bigger than they actually were. His eyes held sadness in them, as if he were about to cry. He bore all the features of an old man, but yet he moved with such grace and finesse around his garden that it made him seem much younger. He hopped about his garden tending to his immaculate, albeit very small, garden. He was in his element.

            Our van was parked on double yellow lines. We were about three minutes from the local police station. The driver was not back from the kebab shop yet. I tensed up as I heard the familiar sound of police sirens wailing in the distance, growing gradually closer. I put my hand in my coat pocket, casually. My knees were rigid as the sirens grew to an almost unbearable level.

            The world seemed to be going in slow motion. I realised I was having an adrenaline rush, fear racked my body. I looked to the right of me to see the police car go wailing past, shooting off into the distance. I relaxed. I turned on the radio. I wondered how much longer the driver would be. There must be a queue at the kebab shop. And so I settled into my seat and waited patiently.

            The street got progressively busier as time passed on. It was now approaching half four. There was a mobile phone beside me. I looked at it anxiously, willing it to ring. It didn’t. It was around this time that Dave, the driver, stepped out of the kebab shop. I looked in the mirror; he had quite a walk so I turned up the radio a little and waited patiently for him to arrive.

            However, I noticed something in the mirror which startled me. The van had two side doors, and the one behind me had begun to leak a thick, sticky liquid. This liquid was blood.

            “Oh shit!” I exclaimed and quickly opened the door and tumbled out. Dave was running towards me now, not noticing the severity of our situation. I didn’t dare open the door. Nobody appeared to have noticed that our van was apparently bleeding.

            Then things happened very quickly. I heard a rush of footsteps directly behind me. Then two gun shots, a short grunt, and a thud behind me. This obviously caused the street to go into widespread panic, and I turned around slowly. There was a small, frail, old man lying face down in front of me. This was not good.

            Dave skidded to a halt next to me, holstered his gun and whispered into my ear.

            “The van’s bleeding.” He said.

            “Yes Dave. I can see that.” I replied harshly. Dave was not the most intelligent of people. “Was there a reason that you killed the old man?”

            “Ummm yeah.” He mumbled. “He, erm, well he saw the blood didn’t he? He might have told the police.” He had a smug grin on his face, as if he felt he had justified his actions.

            “And you didn’t think that killing an old man might have alerted the police?” I asked him, swiftly getting back into the passenger seat. Dave ran round to the driver’s side and got in.

            “Oh.” Was all he said. He had a very perplexed look on his face as he started the ignition. “We gotta drive now don’t we?”

            “Yes Dave. Yes we do. Oh shit what about the old man?”

“Well, we could er, put him in the back of the van? Ya know? With the er…”

“Yes Dave, that’s quite enough of that, I’ll do it. You wait here.”

I got out of the van again. There was a small pool of blood forming underneath it. This was going to get messy. I opened the door and gagged at the stench, before dragging the old man over to it, before hastily shoving him inside. I wondered what the people around me were thinking before slamming shut the door and jumping back in the van.

            We sped off with the van clattering rather noisily, but neither of us spoke.

There were now three dead bodies in the back of this van, and one of them was worth 3.2 million pounds. All in all, a productive day.

 

 

 

The van was speeding along the motorway when the mobile phone next to me rang. This startled Dave quite a lot, and caused him to swerve around the road.

“Watch it.” I said before answering. There could only be one person at the other end of the line. The Boss. I had never met the boss. He was a very elusive person. In fact, I didn’t even know anybody who had met the boss. All I knew was that he was French. And not a particularly nice man.

“H-hello?” I stammered, my voice breaking at the last line. Not a good sign. He would surely notice it. He did not acknowledge my introduction, nor did he seem to care that I had stammered.

“Meet me at ze Old Tavern. With ze body. Be zere in half an hour. You understand ze consequences, no?” His voice was almost comical. I struggled not to laugh. But there was an intimidation in his voice that made me sit up and listen. I would not disobey. The line had gone dead before I could say anything more.

“You don’t happen to know where the Old Tavern is Dave, do you?” This was a rhetorical question. I knew he wouldn’t answer. He had probably stopped listening at “You.”

I nudged him and he grunted. He was practically asleep at the wheel. In fact he had to pull on the hard shoulder to even talk to me. There were several horns blaring and fingers stuck up as we swerved over the road. We ignored them. We were in enough trouble as it was.

“The Boss phoned.” I told him. His face showed a mixture of shock, apprehension and laziness. Nothing unusual for him, really. But, somehow, a thought arose in his small brain.

“I do know where the Old Tavern is!” he exclaimed excitedly. He had a huge smile plastered across his face as it dawned on him that he had done something good.

“Congratulations.” I replied. Dave did not understand sarcasm. But we set off regardless. I had a vague idea where the Old Tavern was, about four hours away actually. The Boss owned it, it was practically his headquarters. I had never been there before.

So I resigned myself to sleep, Dave would not mind. He was in a world of his own, and he couldn’t concentrate on the road when people were talking to him anyway. It had been a long day.

The End

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