Tentatively Titled: "The Package" Part 3 (of the Journal-Story I'm writing backwards, more to come).

8:42 pm, June 2, 2004

"Now, you're sure we won't be needing these? Because, if they see us, you know we're both dead," Alec said, placing the guns back in the safe, with a steady stare at Shane before he closed the door.

"Dude, we'll be fine. We'll need to travel light anyway if we want to get away," Shane said.

They left the Homebase and drove down to the port. The building they were to infiltrate was an abandoned apartment building that had been turned into a secret drug-packing plant. Mr. Sanders had provided them with a map of the building in the briefcase he gave them, along with the most likely location for where the package could be found.

"OK, here's where we part. You remember what to do, right?" Shane said, standing underneath the fire escape, readying his climb.

"Yeah, wait till you make it inside, count to fifty, then go in for the deal."

"Right on. Remember, count slowly, I'll need all of those fifty seconds."

Shane started his climb and Alec stood there, looking from left to right like he was already guilty of theft, but no one was around to notice. He saw Shane break into the third floor apartment and began the count. Right about now, Shane would be in the hallway. Five seconds went by - Shane would be descending the stairs. Ten more seconds - he'd be on the cusp of the first floor. Fifteen seconds later - Shane would be at the opposite end of the hall. At the back room. Where he could work in silence, breaking in through the door where the package awaited. Alec counted twenty more seconds and walked over to the front of the building.

He knocked four times, slowly, as per their request.

"Who do you want?"

"Whitford/St. Holmes."


"Whitey on the moon."

A series of clicks and thwumps followed before the door lumbered to an open. In front of Alec stood a tall, lanky black man. About 6'5, 165, almost looking frail. Behind him, a short, balding 40-something white man approached. "Don't let his thin frame fool you. Gil's a master in Tae Kwon-Do. One wrong step, and he'll stick his foot so far up your ass--"

"I get the point. Now, where do we do this?"

In the back, Shane used the tools provided in the briefcase to pick the lock. He found what he was looking for located on a mattress in the back corner of the room, surrounded by pillows to ensure it wouldn't roll around. A minute went by, but Shane had no idea of time. He simply stared at the package, eyes unblinking. What brought him out of his daze was the gunfire he heard from the front end of the building. He snatched up the package and made a dash out the door.

It didn't take Whitford long to realize Alec was full of shit. No one in their right mind treats a drug deal like a ransom payment. You either come with the money, or you don't leave. There are no negotiations. Of course, what Gil couldn't have seen coming was Alec's speed and quick eye. Alec noticed, as soon as Gil locked them all in the front room, that there was a set of golf clubs in the corner. And, when Whitford called for Alec's swift and thorough beating, Alec sprung into action, with Gil not far behind. Luckily for Alec, he reached the clubs first, with enough time to pull out a nine iron and whack Gil with an uppercut to the chin. As soon as Gil fell, Whitford called for his associate, St. Holmes, and both had guns drawn and pointed at Alec within seconds.

Not wasting any time, Alec chucked the nine iron through the blackened out window on the side of the building and jumped out, landing on some shards of glass but suffering no major damage. Whitford ran to the window, with his arms locked, gun cocked. He had Alec in his sights, but a giant shard of the broken glass, still connected to the sill, fell onto his left arm, slicing a vein or two. The shot ran high and bounced off the warehouse next door.

Alec ran over to the fire escape, urgently pleading with God to see Shane pop out of the apartment soon. Inside, St. Holmes would be frantically unlocking the door. Finally, Shane appeared from an apartment on the second floor, looked out over the fire escape, and motioned to Alec to catch the package. Alec had his arms out and carefully cradled it when it fell, falling to his knees to help cushion the blow. Shane jumped down just as St. Holmes burst through the front door.

"Whitford! They have it! Get your ass out here!"

Shane started running in the direction of the warehouse next door and Alec followed, not knowing of any better ideas. Three more shots rang out, narrowly missing Shane and Alec as they opened the door and blocked it shut on the inside.

Whitford jogged out of the building, holding his left arm as blood ran down.

Current Mood: I have gas today.
Current Music: Gil Scott-Heron - Whitey On The Moon