Fallen Angels - Book 1: Welcome To Munich

by Gregory Austin McConnell

  She felt bad leaving Steven to do all of the work, but she couldn't risk losing her job at the day care. It might have paid less, but Harmony needed the extra money that it offered. Steven was a good friend though, and he didn't seem to put up too much of a complaint. She would pay him back later.

  Harmony's thought was cut short at the sound of grinding gears. Her bike's front pedal began to lock up, and she let out a yelp as the bike jerked to a halt, sending her forward. She put out a hand to catch herself, threw down the kickstand, and hopped off of the bike.

  Of course it would break, thought Harmony. Why on earth would anything go right for her today? Did she really, honestly believe that things could be looking up? She pushed the bike off the street and over to the alley.

  Harmony kneeled down onto her knees and surveyed her bike. Something was wrong with the brake cord. Harmony ran her hand across it lightly. Maybe if she could -

  Harmony screamed. She felt herself being lifted up off of her feet.

  “Shut up!” shouted a deep voice from behind her.

  The man yanked her hair with force. One hand was across her throat, his other groping her chest tightly. Harmony's feet flailed, knocking her bike to the ground.

  “HELP ME!” she screamed. A hand dropped over her mouth and she began to be pulled into the alley.

  “Shut up, before I put a bullet in your head!”

  Harmony kicked her legs into the air trying to break free, but to no avail. The man had a firm grip on her, and she couldn't get loose. He dragged her into the alley and threw her roughly against the wall. Pain shot through her back as she felt her body impact with the cement wall behind her, and her eyes finally focused on the man.

  He pulled out a small revolver from his back pocket and pressed it deep into her neck. Harmony gagged and tried to gasp for air.

  “Freeze!”

  She looked behind her attacker to see another man pointing a gun at him. Harmony's collar was grabbed and she was spun forward, the revolver placed directly against her head.

  “Shut up!” her attacker yelled to the other man. “You take one step closer, and she dies!”

  “Take it easy, man. No one needs to get hurt here!”

  Harmony felt the gun click against her head.

  “You drop your piece, and no one will!”

  There was a short pause. The attacker pulled Harmony closer.

  “I'm not saying it again! Drop your gun!” he shouted, holding Harmony tighter.

  What should he do? Palmer stood a few yards away from the alley, his gun aimed directly at the dealer. He had a clear shot. Every part of his mind was telling him to take it, but he didn't know if he should risk it. He already made one mistake today...did he really want to risk putting someone else in danger?

  Frustrated, Palmer set his gun to the ground. The girl stared at him unblinkingly, silently screaming at him for help.

  “Alright, the gun's gone, now just let her go!” Palmer shouted.

  The dealer pulled the girl to her feet and looked at him.

  “Shut up and stay there!” he yelled at Palmer.

  Palmer obeyed, not moving an inch. He was defenseless now, but much more than his own safety, he couldn't risk having her hurt.

  The dealer dragged the girl out of the alley and took off, holding her close at his side. Palmer waited two seconds, and then made for his gun.

  He picked it up and grabbed his radio.

  “This is Detective Palmer, be advised: suspect has a hostage. Repeat: suspect has a hostage.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Wade rummaged through the supply room as quietly as possible. The owner would probably be back from lunch at any moment, so he needed to hurry. All of the items were locked in different gates, and he couldn't find a key to any one of them.

  Finally, he managed to get hold of a crowbar in the room's closet. Wade made his way to the center locker, propping the lock up. He raised the crowbar above his head, took aim, and swung down.

  Missed. Blame the booze , Wade thought to himself.

  He lifted the crowbar once more and swung. With a loud crack, the lock bent sharply inwards. Wade swung once more, this time severing the lock in half.

  Wade removed the fragment of the lock that was still attached to the gate, and tossed it on the ground. He lifted the gate's lever upwards, and pulled. The gate opened up smoothly and Wade pulled out one of the many boxes it housed. He set it on a nearby table and popped it open.

  Removing the foam covering, he withdrew a very sleek, very smooth, black handgun. He walked towards the other end of the supply room and reached into an unlocked cabinet to retrieve ammunition.

  This should do the trick.

  Wade had surrendered himself from the possibility that he could change. Ever since leaving New York, his plan had been simple: tie up any loose ends, and then finish it. He wanted to end it all. All the countless days of feeling empty...of feeling soulless. He was tired of running from the inevitable. He had suffered his whole life, and things weren't going to get any better.

  Wade heard the front door of the shop open. He turned around and peeked out of the storage room. The shop owner was moving several boxes into the store front through the doorway, and Wade silently slipped out from storage and crept his way out of the building through the back door that he had broken in from. Quickly, he stuffed the gun into his pocket and left the scene.

  She was going to die.

  Harmony cowered in fear as she was pushed against another wall. The man had dragged her along for about a block before deciding she was too much trouble. Had he decided to go on without her? And if he had, what did that mean for her?

  “Give me your bag.”

  “P – Please...don't kill me,” she whimpered.

  Harmony's cheek stung as the man slapped her violently across the face.

  “I said gimme your bag!”

  The man forcibly grabbed Harmony by the hair and yanked backwards. He placed his hand on her bag and pulled it towards himself. He began to rummage through it, and Harmony stood still, frozen against the wall, fearing for her life.

  It was time.

  Wade sat behind a building, resting slightly against a cooling unit, preparing himself. Where had he gone wrong? Did it really even matter now?

  Did the path one travel on really matter once you reached the final destination? So many things had happened to him, and in such a short amount of time. Three years ago he had entered into prison with the promise that things would be different once he got out.

  And yet, here he was. By 'different' did they mean 'worse'? He was at the lowest point in his life. He had searched his mind and had finally come to the conclusion: he was at rock bottom. There was nothing to live for. Nowhere for him to go. No one who cared for him. He was empty. He meant nothing to the world, and the world meant nothing to him. He had been chewed up, spit out, and belittled to being less than dirt. Any time he tried to do something for himself...any time he tried to fix things, there was always another obstacle in his path, ready to knock him down again.

  If that was all life had to offer, he could do without.

  Wade looked around to make sure he was alone, and then pulled the gun out from his jacket pocket. He ejected the empty magazine and dug around in the jacket for a bullet. He pulled one out. A single, golden trinket, no more than an inch tall, was about to be his salvation from everything. It felt almost poetic, summarizing his entire existence into such a minuscule object. How could something so small offer so many things, when he himself could put forth nothing of value?

  He slipped the bullet into the magazine and made sure the spring was functioning properly.

  Should he write a note? Leave a message? What would he say? ...Who would he even say it to?

  No. He would leave this between himself and the gun. The only two objects in the world that meant anything to him. The gun meant an out. It meant relief.

  It meant freedom.

  Wade looked up to the horizon. It was fitti
ng, seeing the sun obscured by the clouds. He raised the gun to his head and pressed the barrel lightly against his temple.

  A few moments of silence passed as Wade shut his eyes tightly and held his breath.

  “...I'm sorry,” he whispered.

  Images flashed through his mind of his mother. All the pain she suffered...the things she had to endure. His father. The things he did to her...and to him. The prison. That terrible place. Isolation. Loneliness. His cell...the four corners, the smell of the air, the sound of the inmates, all flooding back to him, as if his whole life was playing out inside of his mind in time for the finale. His lungs were aching for air, his brain started to slow down. Wade felt his finger tense up as he began to pull the trigger back.

  The sound of a scream caused Wade's eyes to shoot open, and he lowered the gun as he took a sharp inhale.

  He threw the gun as far away from himself as he could, and stared down at it in disbelief. Tears where streaming down his cheeks, and he covered his face in his hands as he took an unsteady breath.

  He heard the scream once more and his head pulled itself up to look around.

  Something was wrong.

  The man threw her bag aside and kicked her feet out from under her, causing the back of her head to hit the wall hard.

  “ I told you to SHUT UP!” he shouted, putting his boot on her shoulder and pressing hard. Harmony let out a cry of pain, and then felt herself getting picked up by her jacket once again.

  “You're lucky I need you alive so they don't gun me down,” he said, putting his face millimeters away from hers. She felt his hand glide over her waist and he grabbed her hip. “Maybe if I'm lucky enough to get outta here, you and I can spend some alone time together.”

  Harmony spat in his face. If he was going to hurt her, she wasn't going to make it fun for him. He cursed angrily and slammed his knee into her side, grabbing her neck.

  “Hey!” Harmony felt his grip loosen, and she turned to see someone walking slowly up to their position. He had to have been a teenager. He was dressed in worn out clothes that were too small for him, and his hair was uneven and messy. He walked slowly, as if in a daze.

  “ Let her go!” he shouted defiantly. “What'd you say to me?” her attacker called back, pure rage building in his dilated eyes.

  “I said let her go, or you're gonna have a bigger problem on your hands.”

  As Harmony felt the grip around her neck loosen, the man threw her bag to the ground and stared at the boy.

  “You'd best go back where you came from if you know what's good for you!” he threatened.

  Harmony saw the boy quicken his pace, pulling out a small silver knife from his back pocket.

  “Last chance!” the boy shouted as he closed in.

  Harmony's attacker threw her aside and pointed the gun towards him.

  “I got your 'last chance' right here, pal. Drop that knife and turn around!”

  Harmony hit the ground hard, cutting her palm open on a jagged rock sticking up from the dirt. Should she make a run for it? She turned to look at the boy who continued to walk towards them. He was going to get himself killed. She needed to do something, or else no one would get out of the situation alive...

  Wade stepped closer and closer. Gun or no gun, the man wasn't going to scare him away. Wade tightened the grip on his pocket knife. He wasn't scared to die. This could be his chance to go out as a hero.

  “I said to drop that knife!” Wade moved into a full sprint, clenching the knife in his fist. He would be on him in two seconds. The man let out a yell, and Wade watched as the girl kicked him hard in the stomach, knocking him off balance. The man pulled the trigger, and the bullet hit a dumpster, missing Wade by a mile.

  Wade collided with him, knocking the gun away. Wade threw a right hook, but the man ducked just in time to catch him with a swing of his own. As Wade lost his footing, the man lifted him high, and threw him against the wall. Wade felt his back slam against solid force, and the knife flew from his hands almost as fast as the air from his lungs.

  Wade stumbled back onto solid ground and took another shot to his face. He needed to focus.

  Wade ducked the next blow and threw a lefty, catching the man's shoulder. They traded shots, and Wade lost all hearing when he was hit with a surprise punch. The man kicked Wade to the ground, and he laid there trying desperately to get back up and catch his breath.

  Wade saw the man pick up his knife and take a step toward him. Wade's eyes lost focus. The sense of sound came rushing back to him, and he heard the man yell out in pain.

  Wade shook his head and looked up: The man was lying on the ground unconscious with the girl standing over him, holding a metal pipe and carrying an expression of shock.

  Bloodied and bruised, Wade lifted himself up and gave the man one final kick. The girl dropped the pipe and huddled against the wall.

  “Thanks,” Wade said, looking at her. “...Same to you,” she returned quietly. Wade limped over to the side of the

  building and picked up his knife.

  “Freeze!”

  Wade looked up to see two men coming toward him aiming guns. One was in a suit, the other in a police uniform. His basic instincts kicked in, and he turned around to go the other way.

  Another man appeared from the opposite end with a pistol drawn on him as well.

  “ Drop your weapon, son! On the ground, now!”

  There was nowhere to run. He was sandwiched in. He heard the girl screaming. Reluctantly, Wade tossed his knife to the ground and dropped to his knees, hands raised. He cheek tore against the ground’s textured surface as the officer pushed his head to the ground, and his wrists strung sharply as an ice cold set of handcuffs locked into place.

  CHAPTER 9

  So much for the best of intentions, Wade thought to himself as he was being escorted down the hallway of the Munich Police Department. His wrists were raw from the familiar grip of cold metal cuffs. Leading him along was an officer who called himself 'Morgan'. Wade got the distinct feeling that the man was rather new at his job by the way he walked. Policemen always had that 'walk' that established themselves as supreme authorities, but Morgan was different. Judging by the lack of classic decorative patches worn by most officers, Wade deduced that Morgan hadn't been at his job for more than a year. Then again, it was a small town. Things might have worked differently in Munich, so Wade wasn't quite ready to put all his chips on the table.

  A buzzer sounded as Wade was led into a small room containing a table and two chairs.

  Interrogation room.

  Wade looked around and noticed four solid walls without a mirror. The department must not have been able to afford one. Wade laughed to himself at the splitsecond idea of making a run for it in such a poorly-designed building.

  “Take a seat and wait for a while. The detective will be in to speak with you shortly,” said Morgan.

  Wade sat in the seat furthest from the door and set his shackled hands on the table. Looking up, he noticed an old CCTV camera on the ceiling pointed at him. The red dot underneath the lens was blinking repeatedly.

  Morgan exited the room and Wade took a breath. Game over.

  He should have ended things when he had the chance. But then again, would she still be alive?

  He didn't even have a chance to catch her name. It was a shame, really. She was the first girl he had really interacted with in any way since...how long had it been? Regardless, she was in trouble, and he had helped her.

  It was a different feeling, being the hero. Not good, but somehow different. The first time he had been arrested, Wade was guilty. He was the criminal. He deserved every bit of what he got. But this time was different. This time, he was justified. This time, he was the good guy.

  At least, he thought he was.

  Wade stared down at his bound hands which he was restlessly tapping on the table, in beat with the camera's small red dot.

  A buzzer sounded, and the detective walked in.

  He was about
an inch or so taller than Wade, which wasn't saying very much. He was dressed in a white button-up shirt and cliché business slacks, carrying a file. His shoulder holster was empty, but Wade managed to catch a glimpse of the detective's shining gold police shield which bore, in large lettering, the words 'Senior Detective'.

  “Well, looks like we've both had quite a morning,” the detective said. “I'm Detective Dan Palmer, by the way.”

  Wade remained silent, and Palmer took a seat in the opposite chair, setting his folder on the table. He opened it up and skimmed through it for a few moments.

  “I've just been reading through your file,” he said. “Quite a jacket for 18 years old.”

  Wade stared down at the table, not making eye contact. Palmer flipped through the folder some more, reading top to bottom several documents.

  “Charlie Wade, released from juvenile detention just yesterday on good behavior,” he paraphrased aloud. “You had three more years on your sentence, but the parole board decided you were doing well enough to be released back into society ahead of schedule...albeit, on probation.”

  Wade swallowed. In his heart he already knew the answer, but the question still remained:

  Would he be sent back?

  Palmer shut the folder gently and looked up at Wade to speak.

  “Let's make no mistake. According to what that girl says, you're the hero here.”

  Wade looked up and locked eyes with Palmer.

  Had he just been...thanked?

  “...There's no telling what that guy would have done if you hadn't intervened,” Palmer continued. “And in truth, I'm all but ready to call you the Good Samaritan, if it weren't for the issue of you breaking your probation. You've had a warrant out for your arrest. And unfortunately, doing a good deed doesn't wipe away every bad one.”

  “It sure seems to help highlight them, though,” Wade returned, bitterly.

  Wade and Palmer stared at each other.

  “Look, I'm not the best when it comes to things like this, but there's nothing I can do,” Palmer answered. “There are rules we have to follow for the greater good. You broke probation, and you were involved in a crime. That breaks the terms of your early release agreement.”