3WW: CLEANUP

Friday, December 31, 2010

If you're looking for New Years resolutions on my last post of the year, you'll be completely disappointed.  I find them excercises in failure, and even if I succeed in a completion, it's because I had to force myself into them at the last possible moment and the effort was shoddy.  But the goal was accomplished.  Ugh.  Not this year.  I'll make short term goals I can achieve within a week - when the mood strikes me.

 However, if you're looking for a new excerpt from my 3 Word Wednesday serial, then you're totally in luck.  This weeks prompt words are: buckle, evade, wedge.  Oh so perfect for a clean-up effort after a shooting.  The final word count for the excerpt was 911 - how funny is that.  I should probably title it 911 due to the coincidence, but since no phone call was made to the police (and 911 may not have existed during this scene, I'd need to research) I opted for my original title CLEAN UP.

If you haven't been following and want to catch up, or need a refresher, you can find the prior installments on the Bait, Stamp, Shuffle links.  I know, I need to set up a pages tab . .

I'll get you started with the last few lines from where we left off:

“Good question,” Cal said as he looked from Sugar to Brandon. “What the fuck just happened?”

Sugar sighed heavily and wiped his bloodied hands on an equally blood soaked shirt front, reminding Cal that Treader still needed attention. Brandon shrugged, raising his empty hands to his face.

“And where the hell’s my gun?”
* * *
CLEAN UP

The wail of sirens punctuated Brandon’s stammering protests. “I don’t, don’t know. She swung a chair at me and -”

“Find it!”

Brandon stumbled back, nearly tripping over his feet as he hurried back to the toppled tables and chairs in the center of the room.

“What’cha gonna do Cal?” Sugar nodded towards the locked front door as one siren bloobed to a stop, two others gaining in volume. “Treader’s gonna die if we don’t let them in. And Daryl; is he hit?”

“Grazed,” Cal replied, tapping the side of his head as the door shook with a resounding thud. “He’ll be alright.”

“This is the police; open up.”

“Got it,” Brandon gushed breathlessly.

Sugar snatched the .38 from Brandon’s unsteady hands as the boy rushed up to them. He dropped the clip into his pocket, then cleared the receiver chamber before turning it around and handing it out to Cal.

“Lotta good an unloaded weapon does me.”

Banging on the door resumed with an order from a bull horn to open up. The blond body builder coldly stared at Cal. Cal returned the unblinking stare in like manner, completely sure now Sugar was a Fed. DEA, ATF; didn’t matter.

Damn; I really liked this guy.

“Give it back to Brandon,” Cal ordered. “And the clip.”

Sugar blew out his cheeks and looked as if he were about to argue.

“Go on; yours too Sugar. Don’t tell me you don’t have one.”

Cal crossed his arms over his bent knees and rubbed his aching shoulder. He’d about kill someone for some aspirin. He couldn’t think straight. Cal was afraid he might make a hasty move and force the agent to expose himself. No matter how deep his cover, Cal knew there were lines an honorable agent wouldn’t cross. This weapons purchase was the first opportunity Cal and Daryl had attained to push those limits with Sugar.

Nothing about this current situation screamed that Sugar needed to reveal himself. That would do more harm than good to both outfits in the long run. The rest of the undercover team would either evade detection for a while longer, or would pull out also with whatever intelligence they’d gathered.  Time would advantage either side.

Cal wasn’t sure about Brandon. The blubbering idiot persona could be a well trained act. Incompetence wasn’t unheard of in the Organization, and was less suspicious than expertise. Nobody asked when you learned to be inept. Brandon could be the brains of the team, Sugar the diversionary muscle.

“Give it up Dude. I don’t care that you broke my rules. We gotta focus on cleaning this up.”

Sugar hesitated a few seconds. Cal could read the conflict in Sugar as he turned his gaze towards Treader.

“Two minutes to save our own asses won’t make a difference whether he lives or dies.”

With a grunt of agreement, Sugar lifted his right leg and pulled a small caliber black beauty from an ankle holster. Cal disarmed his boot.

“All of it. They’ll search us, and I don’t want any trace of weapons on us.”

Sugar planted his foot on the wall and tugged at the velcro.

“Did you use it?”

Sugar shook his head. “No, it all happened to fast. Treader pulled his 9mm, but didn’t get a shot off before he got hit either.”

“You touch his weapon?”

Again Sugar shook his head.

“What’s the plan boss man,” Brandon asked as he juggled the weapons to accept the holster.

Cal held his good arm out to Sugar to help him up. They needed to hurry and let the cops in before things got too far out of hand. The back door was also rattling. He’d locked that himself while Daryl was putting the funds together, so he wasn’t worried there. The front windows showed silhouettes through the drawn shades, but the glass was tinted and bullet proof so the fuzz shouldn’t be able to see what they were hiding inside.

“Sugar, gag the bitch and lock her in the walk-in. Brandon, gather all the weapons - you better not miss a one - and put them in the top container in the walk-in. Look up and to your left as you step in.”

Sugar hefted the still unconscious girl over his shoulder and headed towards the kitchen.

“How many guns should I find?”

“Treader should have one, and there’s a loaded Baretta behind the juke box. Check Treader, he usually carries more than one.”

Cal jumped the bar again and reached for the gym bag of cash wedged between the dishwasher and mini fridge. He grabbed it by the locking buckle and slid it down the bar as Brandon headed towards to kitchen.

“Take that too.”

Brandon rearranged his haul and snagged the bag. “What about Daryl’s shot gun?”

Cal glanced over at it as another warning to open the door boomed out. “Leave it. Its registered to Daryl, and the police know its here. It‘ll give them a weapon to collect at least.”

Daryl groaned . Cal turned back to his cousin as Brandon ran off.

“You alright?”

Daryl opened his eyes and moaned again, his hands raising to his temples. “Feel like I got shot.”

Cal grinned and put a hand on Daryl’s shoulder. “Stay down Bro. I’ll handle this.”

Daryl’s eyes fluttered closed again and Cal was sure he’d passed out.

“I’m opening the door,” Sugar yelled as he threw the dead bolts.

“No problem,” Cal mumbled.

* * *
Hope you liked it.  Happy New Year everyone.

OH:  don't forget to polish up your NaNoWriMo scene for Hannah Kinkaid's (Musings Of A Palindrome) Power of Three blogfest on 1/3, and Summer Ross' New Beginnings blogfest on 1/5.