Chapter 12: punto de ruptura
May 24, 2001
4:43 P.m.
The streets, Los Angeles, California
The grenade exploded the trash can painted like a Ewok, the first causality to fall in the gang war that had taken to the streets.
Catching up to the Toyota would have been no easy feat if anyone besides a supped up vampire was at the wheel. A half hour, maybe more, even to catch the lingering smoke trail of the sports car trying to make his escape as it headed for the coast. In all likelihood, Rodrigo would have escaped; the efforts of the day would have come to nothing as they would have had to start over from the top, hunting and torturing other criminals until they could sniff the trail out again.
Yet as I said, Trevor Daines was no ordinary man or even vampire. Working with senses that could process the environment and its variations and changes to the millisecond, there was no evidence to challenge the claim that the Blond was the best driver in the city. Knowing how to best cut corners, run red lights and dodging oncoming traffic, even guessing the turns his opponent would make before they themselves would think of their tactics; all simple moves in a game that the blond was playing, one that allowed Big Boss to regain sight of their fleeing suspect within a few short minutes.
Of course, that was only half the fight. As long as the driver was focused on tailing their speeding maniac pushing a hundred in the crowded city, he couldn’t divert his attention and make a move himself. That was all up to Damned Boss, who had taken the precaution to load a under mounted grenade launcher on his assault rifle.
Not that it was doing much good so far; the first grenade he had blasted had crashed into a tree, the second a garbage can. Now as he tried to reload it, he was forced to stop and drop as he hugged the roof of the car, 7.62×39mm rounds flying overhead. Good thing they were going so fast; that kind of spray would have hit something in any other situation, including the car as Trevor swerved in and out of the oncoming lane to avoid the hail of bullets that tried to pierce its tries.
“Boss, you want to call for backup?”
“On it?” Big Boss replied, digging into his flannel checkered shirt as he retrieved his flip phone. Rolling onto his back as another bullet nearly pierced his face, the soldier found himself starring as rows and rows of skyscrapers as they entered the downtown sector of the concrete jungle as the loyal butler answered, always quick to serve.
“Something a matter, Boss?”
“Shoot out. Rodrigo is make a break for it. You and Fabio need to get here now.”
“Understood… where is here, exactly?”
Trevor heard that, cursing as the Toyota took a hard left and was now rushing down a ramp to hop in the freeway; where they were headed was anyone’s guess, but there was no question that the long and open roads that the super car had found itself in was better for it. Speeding up, Damned Boss realized that the two of them must have been going nearly a hundred and twenty now as he heard the Blond yell
“Wherever the dam helicopter is!”
You don’t get to speed one twenty in LA and not attract the attention of the police, even if you are Schwarzenegger. A police chopper, spotlight and sniper focused on the fleeing Toyota, was in pursuit as it took what they hoped to be a lucky shot at the muscle car and came just short.
Rodrigo wasn’t going to take that sitting. Leaning out his window, he fired back at the chopper as it wobbled in the air, it’s armor taking the bullets but still causing the on board Police to take the chase more cautiously. Dropping in altitude, it lined up for another shot as Jack finally dared to stand again and lined up his rifle, aiming the launcher high as he prepared to fire and put an end to the madness.
The grenade went wide, crashing into the wall of the highway as the stone and the dirt it held up came rolling down from the hill to the right and buried a few cars who had tried to escape the carnage by pulling off the road. Cursing, Big Boss was about to yell at his driver until he heard the cock of a shotgun, ducking just in time as bullets whizzed overhead.
While Damned Boss was sure he had taken care of what remained of Rodrigo’s Ocelote gang back at his burnt bar, the small concern of his business partners, La Mara 18, hadn’t been a concern until the Crimson Honda S2000s began to line up by the outdated Ford Falcon. All open roofed cars built for speed and pride, they were the perfect assault vehicles if you only had to worry about one target; all the gunners had the room and cover they needed to strike back, the distraction here to allow Rodrigo to get away.
Something that could not happen. Yelling at the driver to go faster, Big Boss opened fire on the driver of the car that had taken his kill from him, the weakness of lacking a roof exploited in this regard. His head snapping back, the Honda swerved and crashed into the embankment as the five remaining Hondas began to fall back, their morale dampened from the violent death of the rusher.
Not without having inflicted some damage. Hearing a gasp of a motor, Big Boss looked down to find his ride full of bullet holes, the car lucky to still be going at all as he felt it begin to slow. Armored or not, it couldn’t withstand to the full volley of five different men unleashing their all; the Falcon was done, and within a few seconds it’d be nothing more than a relic to be towed.
Which meant Big Boss had to act fast. Blowing his wire off him with a single shot, he asked his Blond friend “How you doing?”
“Hurt, but nothing I can’t heal from given a minute. Car’s no good though; I’m flooring it and its losing two miles a second.”
“Can you hold these bozos off?”
“Of course. But what’s the pl-”
The second attack run was all the Boss needed to make his move. As a Honda with a man using a AK rifle similar to the one Rodrigo held began to come close to their bumper, the one eyed soldier made his move; throwing his own assault gun at the passenger as a distraction, causing him to fire about the entire road wildly and far away from the soldier, Damned Boss leapt from the hood of the Falcon and to the Crimson pursuer. Landing on top of the gunner, it was simple enough to take care of the two hoodlums; a single side kick to the ear of the driver caused him to shriek and pain and topple over the door of his sports car, a lack of a seat belt being his doom as his partner quickly followed.
A death that was a bit more brutal. As the car continued to speed forward, driverless, the passenger in the unmanned Honda tried to take down this killer in Jeans as he tried to grab the knife hanging from his neck, ripping it from the chain that suspended it. A bad move, given how much more muscle mass Big Boss had; taking the gangster by his wrists, all it took was a brief huff for the soldier to slam the knife down, cutting into the man’s belly and slicing it wide open, innards painting the killer standing over him dark as his Blue Jeans were ruined forever.
Something to worry about later, especially as he felt the Honda going a hundred an hour begin to swerve. Taking the driver’s seat, he brought it under control as he slammed the pedal, pushing the stick about as he took the beast by the reigns and made it work even harder than before.
That was the only chance that Big Boss had to say goodbye. Looking back, he saw Trevor perform his duty as the Falcon suddenly swerved, T-Boned and flipped over and over as he wrecked another two of the pursing La Mara 18 Hondas, the vampire escaping midflight through the door with a graceful, blood thirsty Max in his arms. Landing upright, the Blond dropped the dog as the remaining two pursuers slammed the breaks and began to drift, turning around to mow down the Blond with a smoking, ghostly arm.
Their deaths. Looking forward, Damned Boss shoved his hand beneath the gushing form of his eviscerated passenger and heaved, flipping the man out of the car where it was promptly crushed by a semi that he passed. It would have been satisfying to watch the deaths, but the escaping Rodrigo was playing trickster once again; now a half mile ahead, he just noticed the man taking an exit as he began to make his way towards the coast again, heading for the shipyards and warehouses where Trevor had torture
d the informant earlier during the day.
The soldier doubted Rodrigo could find anything that could save him from his fate now, but it’d be better if Big Boss didn’t risk it. Moving the stick once more and kicking the gear up another notch, the hunter dodged and weaved around several minivans who were ill fated to travel that road on this day as he went up the ramp towards more level ground, taking the turn off the exit at over sixty miles an hour as he nearly flipped the vehicle.
By magic or mechanics, the car stayed on the road. Entering a neighborhood now, a ghetto similar to the one where he had nearly burned to death in, the soldier cursed the madness of the crime lord as he hoped no one dared to venture the streets at this hour. Scanning the horizon for the odd person who seemed to warrant death, he thankfully found everyone and everything had cleared the road save for the White Toyota, the majority of the other cars having pulled into strangers driveways as he they called the police and begged for help.
Another chance to strike. Keeping his foot down had, the man tore his primary hand off the wheel as he shouted some angelic word, White light surrounding his hand in a manner similar to how Vampires summoned their weapons. Instead of some classical blade or staff coming to fruition, Big Boss opted for something smaller, lighter, and deadly as it morphed itself into a gun as he dodged a garbage truck making its rounds.
Gun isn’t doing it justice. The hand cannon he held was the single greatest mass produced revolver in Smith & Wesson’s manufacturing history, Big Boss breaking time itself to summon it from the future and he grew fed up with this game of cat and mouse. 10.5 inch barrel length, 56 ounces, a 5 round rotating cylinder that would fire .500 cartridges with over 3,000 pounds of force at over 2,000 feet per second… there is no living creature alive that could stand up to the awesome might of a handgun deserved to be wielded by a god.
So powerful, so majestic, so fantastic is it that I actually sacrificed my word count to put the numerical values in the previous paragraph instead of writing them out. An author never loses a chance to boost his word count.
Now back to the destruction. Pulling the hammer back with his thumb, the mayhem truly began as Big Boss aimed with his one good eye and fired, the car ahead just barely out of the so called maximum range as he tried to tear a hole through the back of the Toyota, having aimed high to adjust for the bullet drop.
It was too high. Instead of hitting its target, the bullet whizzed overhead and slammed into the heavy wooden door of a house at the end of the street, thankfully unoccupied though the damage was still apparent. The entire slab of refined tree exploded, the door breaking apart in many a splinter as he only imagined what kind of hurt the off track round would do to the back of the house, perhaps blowing a good portion of the wall out on its exit as Big Boss thought to his past mishaps.
There was a reason why he didn’t use this magnum often. Grunting and pulling the hammer again, the man was prepared to fire another round when he suddenly saw Rodrigo pop his head, the native of El Salvador prepared to fight back as well. Swerving into the yard of a family who had pessimistically looked to the day when such kinds of violence would reach their home, the soldier could barely yell his apology as he completely annihilated the carefully cut shrubs of the nervous father, all to avoid the bullets that would have hit his car otherwise.
The family watching from the patio of the two floored home should have been glad they didn’t get shot; instead, the dad yelled and cried as he fell to his knees, an emotional wreck as the past two years of work had been destroyed by the over powered Honda. First world problems.
Getting back onto the road, Big Boss took no time to aim as he fired again, his shot just scrapping the trunk of the Toyota as it took a wide left turn, nearly crashing into the home that the one eyed sharpshooter had damaged as they dodged. Wasn’t much of a good maneuver though; even with just a scratch, a good six inches of the trunk were torn off as the .500 round flew off into the distance, lodging itself into a tree and causing it to crack.
At least he had done some damage; as the two left the neighborhood, Big Boss knew that this little chase was coming to a close, especially as they approached the sea front in the distance. Two, maybe three minutes, and Rodrigo would have nowhere else to run as his reign of terror would come to a well-deserved bloody end, the perfect note to end the adventure.
It wouldn’t be without some challenges along the way. The light, so intently focused on the escaping crime boss, suddenly flicked as the sound of an explosion rocked the sky. Turning up, Big Boss found himself with two pursing helicopters under La Mara 18’s employ, men armed with shoulder mounted FIM-92 Stinger lock on missile launchers armed and ready for use.
For them to have this kind of military hardware was ridiculous. Once this was all over, Trevor was going to have to do some major probing into the criminal underworld; if the Barons were actively supplying all major crime elements with non-civilian weapons, a heavy toll was about to be placed on their operations.
At least the helicopters were easy enough to take out; while no simple 9mm had the power to take out a helicopter, James Bond be damned, my baby the .500 Magnum certainly could. Aiming up, he took out the helicopter that had just shot down the cops with a single shot, the bullet tearing through carriage, motor and blade alike as metal splintered off of it.
A decision he immediately regretted. While the helicopter was no longer functioning, it began to nose dive as it headed straight for the racing Toyota and Honda, aiming to crush both White and Crimson as if a meteor sent from Heaven itself. Rodrigo was panicked enough by the sight he actually switched his aim; unloading his whole clip into the wreckage, their lives were spared with the very last shot as the great monster suddenly exploded in midair, shrapnel and metal sent to disperse in every direction except theirs as Big Boss drew closer.
The near perfect distraction to catch up. Now less than fifty feet away from the Honda’s bumper, even as they dropped downhill and towards the pier, Big Boss raised the magnum one handed as he pulled the hammer, the gun prepped and ready to take the shot needed to end the chase. With a smile, Damned Boss let his soul celebrate as he felt his finger ever so slightly move on the trigger, pulling it back and…
And coming off as he heard a beep, looking upwards to find a trailing streak of flame coming from the Helicopter as a stringer missile rose into the air, preparing to descend and crash into his locked on Honda. With a grunt, Big Boss fired and watched the second helicopter explode, the massive bullet nearly the size of a hand tearing into the fuel and igniting the beast aflame.
A good kill, except that it didn’t resolve the Stinger missile issue. With its arc complete, it began to drop as it diverted its course, Damned Boss now absolutely sure it was coming to destroy his speeding muscle car. Six, maybe seven seconds before it hit, a shame given how close he was to the White Honda in front of him.
Only one shot remained in his magnum, a gun that was a pain to load even with spells. That meant he could either take out the missile, a hard shot he wasn’t even sure he could make, and let his target escape successfully to whatever surprise awaited him at the docks… or he could take out Rodrigo now, killing his target and risking his own life in the process, unsure if he could take the hit of the stinger directly after the toll of the grenade he had absorbed earlier.
Unless…
Throwing his door open, he muttered another ancient phrase of protection as he exited his car, White Light shining and covering his flannel shirt as he skidded along the hard pavement what must have been eighty miles an hour, a speed that would have torn his shirt and skin apart without the aid of divine intervention. The perfect position to take a shot, though he didn’t go for the kill just yet as he aimed, moving the iron sight of his magnum from the body to the ground.
Firing the last shot, he watched as it broke apart the two tire axis as the car became lopsided, swerving and crashing into the pursing Honda left without a driver. Exactly as planned, for as he dug his gun into th
e ground and tried to slow himself down the back up finally arrived, his killer turned helper as he braced for the impact.
Even a few hundred feet away, he felt the force and the heat; the stinger missile collided into the two vehicles, melting them together as the blast caused the sliding soldier to suddenly get thrown off the ground and back up towards the hill as the White Barrier that covered him materialized and, after a few bounces, shattered. Feeling actual pain for the second time that day, Big Boss continued to bounce and roll as he watched the fire and smoke that rose into the air, the explosive effect finally coming to a stop after what must have been a good five seconds
Which was about all that the one eyed man could take, finding himself lying flat on his chest as he came to a stop. Coughing, exasperated, and in long need of a nap, the soldier lay their mostly motionless as he titled his head up, hoping to catch a eye of his handiwork.
If destruction is to be reveled, than the burning metal was glorious. The two vehicles were completely fused, indistinguishable from each other as they gave off a deadly funnel of burnt oil and rusted car parts, their aurora more a thick Brown than the Midnight Black Big Boss had seen throughout the day. Stacked on top of each other, they helped the flame rise a good fifteen to twenty feet in the air as they singed the sidewalks and cement around it, Yellow paint and Gray stone turning dark and losing substance as they began to resemble their cement brother. There was no way, no how, no possibility that anyone within could have survived such a flame, their very bones cremated faster than even your local graveyard staff with pyromaniac tendencies. Rodrigo Morales was officially, unequivocally, assuredly-
Not dead. Blinking, noticing a blood smear that wrapped around the burning pyre, Big Boss noticed a trail that lead to the exposed, wounded back of the limping crime lord. Apparently, he had gotten the same idea as the one eyed man and leapt from his vehicle before the impact, cleared from the wreckage before the bullet had taken his tires. While no magic absorbed his long skid nor kept the blast from breaking his skin as the missile collided, the risky move had still succeeded in one regard.
Rodrigo was alive, and now on the wharf as his sneakers left the asphalt and crossed into the cheap cement of the docks, having arrived as his destination as he continued to jog forward towards the sea.
To which Big Boss yelled, slamming a fist into the ground as he brought himself to a knee. With an angry snarl, fed up with how hard it was to kill one man, the man stood as he uttered what sounded like an ancient curse word, his hands wrapped around with White light that flickered Black for a moment, a change in his spirit reflected in the spell he used.
Appropriate; no humane weapon came to his hands, now bearing the tools used by the very enemy he hunted. Thick, golden knuckles, the trademark fist gear for the mob bosses of old, now covered both hands as Damned Boss punched them together, the equipment clanging and ringing as he broke into a sprint. The noise caused the mustached Morales to turn his head ever so slightly, his eyes flickering from the Bloody gash that covered most of his face, as his vision and hearing were drawn to the cruel words that the hunter spoke.
“Rodrigo! I’m going to break you in half, you little arse!”
Only one more chapter to go. Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen, for the final round is about to begin!
Times of Peace: Volume 1 of the side adventures to The Mercenary's Salvation Page 25
