Can't Get Much Worse - Chapter 3

The Great Substack Story Challenge - II

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Can't Get Much Worse - Chapter 3

Drew doesn't know it, but my job is him.

"It's not complicated," they told me. "Keep him alive."

As a favor to his dad, Eric, I'm told. Who's Eric to us? Above my pay grade. Which, fine.

Anyway that's how I wind up on the kid's smash-and-grab team, along with Wills, Xena, and Huck. Wills waits outside with the car while the rest of us go in.

We make it all the way to the Chatterton Hotel vault entrance using the back doors that another team prepped beforehand. There's one guard outside the vault itself, who Huck and I hold down while Drew ties him up and Xena works on the locks.

Once Xena gets the vault open, Drew and I follow her in, and Huck takes the opportunity to do some kind of stupid twerk in the guard's face. Justifiably pissed, Drew taps his wrist and jerks his head. Huck shoots him a shit-eating grin and gives a final thrust. Moron.

Safety deposit boxes line the far wall. A quick sweep of black light reveals the six of them that are marked.

I shatter the locking mechanisms for each one using a tool designed for the purpose.

We pull the boxes out and empty paper files and hard drives into a black duffel bag. None of us know what's in them. It's not our job to know.

Just as we empty the final box, I turn to see Huck break one out that isn't marked.

"NO!" I yell, too loud and too late.

"Jackpot," Huck says, peering at a stack of cash and a Rolex.

Before he grabs any of it, an alarm starts screaming.

"Idiot!" Drew hisses while I grab the duffel bag.

But the building is in lockdown. The doors we used to get in have been triggered to stay shut tight without a code. Which we don't have.

"On me!" Drew growls, and we all follow as he slams through a set of double doors right into the lobby.

The alarms are comically loud. We don't stop to count the people staring at us sprint toward the big glass entrance, which is almost certainly locked.

Drew doesn't wait to find out.

Without breaking stride, he grabs a heavy coffee table with both hands and hurls it at the plate glass, which explodes outward, us spilling out into the street right after it.

From there, we have to run all the way around the building to the alley where Wills waits, leaned up against the getaway car and smoking a hand-rolled cigarette.

I have no idea how the security guard got untied, but obviously he had the code to that back door. The moment Wills spots us, he takes a bullet in the neck and crumples to the ground, smearing the window with blood on the way down.

"Cover me!" Drew screams as he dives for the car and yanks Wills' body out of the way.

Huck and Xena both fire on the security guard, who ducks behind the metal door.

I fling the duffel bag into the backseat and clamber in after it.

Drew starts pulling forward -- Huck and Xena scramble to get in before he guns it out of the alleyway.

There was a reason Wills was the driver. Drew overcorrects twice as he burns rubber, gets nicked by a Prius, and rounds the first corner way too tight. That sends us careening into the wrong lane, where he spins the wheel to avoid a delivery van, and finally smashes into a concrete median at just the right angle to flip the car.

Incredibly, we're all still alive. Well, except for Wills, who really did seem like a nice guy.

As we crawl out, I clock a car across the street that I think I can hotwire. I'll drive this time.

Huck helps Xena pull the duffel bag out, but Drew is distracted by something. It's his parents. I recognize them from the brief.

Before I can wonder too deeply about whether this is a coincidence or something else, I see the security guard running toward us, gun drawn. Fuckin John McClain, this guy.

Xena and I put our hands up, but Huck pulls and gets shot, twice in the chest, and falls like a puppet with cut strings.

I can see Mr. Die Hard's got the bloodlust on him, so it doesn't matter how high Xena and I raise our hands, he squeezes off two more rounds. His aim isn't fatal, but the right move is to go down anyway.

I hate getting shot. Way worse than being stabbed, if you're wondering. Bull in a china shop kinda thing.

I'm trying to assess the damage when I see Bargain Basement Bruce Willis catch a flying dog.

Right before his head explodes.

Drew tosses Huck's gun at his bewildered mother, shoulders the duffel, and runs away.

Best of luck, you little shit.

I gotta get outta here. I tap a pattern on my thigh to trigger an internal injection that gives me the boost I need to get up and stumble out of the busy street.

People are watching, but they won't follow me. I just have to get out of sight before the actual cops arrive.

The closest extraction point is more than six blocks away and I'm losing a lot of blood.

I stumble into a corner deli and slap a bloodied wad of bills on the counter. "Bathroom." One look at the cash silences any potential questions and five seconds later I've finally got some privacy.

I sit heavy on the stained toilet and yank off my jacket. I have to rip up my shirt to field dress the hole under my ribs. I want to vomit with the pain of each movement, but if it comes to that I'll black out, so I suppress the urge.

When I've got the wrap tight enough to keep me from bleeding to death in the next thirty minutes, I pull my jacket back on and zip it all the way up. Black clothes are really good at hiding fresh blood.

Somehow I make it the six blocks without collapsing. The extraction point is behind a dumpster in an alley. I shove it out of the way and put my palm next to the outline of an entrance I wouldn't be able to see without my augments.

A section of wall puckers outward, then slides out of the way. I crawl into what I'm praying won't become my coffin.

Once I'm in, the wall closes back up and reseals itself. The tight space lights up with a calming amber glow. I can smell the fresh scent of sedatives filling the air.

When I wake up, I'll debrief the powers that be on this early exit from a disappointing adventure. Probably in transit to my next job, whatever it is.

It'll be a long time before I'm back on Earth again. Frankly, good riddance. The food here is terrible.

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[To be continued next Thursday on Root and Branch]

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Text (c) 2023 by J.E. Petersen.

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