 | by
Alec in Michigan |
The cool breeze wafted through my hair, as I squinted against the bright sun. I gazed out into New York, the Statue of Liberty being the perfect vantage point. As I looked into the demented mass of steel and concrete that seemed to rise out of the Earth, I began to wonder what people liked about New York. It was just a steamy, gritty cesspool of crime and death.
Which I guess was the perfect place for a weapons deal.
Liberty Island was relatively deserted today, apart from a throng of school children on a field trip, and a few wandering groups of tourists. I checked my watch for what must’ve been the fifteenth time.
Eleven fifty five. Five minutes.
I glanced down to the suitcase that was grasped in my hand, courtesy of Tom Greenberg, a friend of mine who just happened to be a security guard inside of the statue. Inside of the case were a few things that would be vital to my investigation.
Including a .357 Magnum Desert Eagle handgun with a detachable scope.
Perfect.
My watch began to beep, for I had set an alert when the clock struck twelve.
It was time.
I opened the suitcase, pulling out the other items in the case. A pair of high powered binoculars, and a two way radio.
A voice crackled over the airwaves.
“Frank. You there, Frank?”
“Right here, Tom.” I responded, grabbing the binoculars.
“Do you have me in sight?” He asked.
I swiveled the binoculars towards the nearby rooftop that Tom was standing on, his finger on his ear piece.
“Yeah.”
There was a brief silence, then a crackle of static.
“Okay, we got something off the west dock. It looks like… It looks like a speedboat, two guys. One looks like he holding some kind of gun.”
I breathed in deeply.
"Here we go."
I turned towards the west, and zoomed in on the white streak zipping towards Liberty Island.
The radio began to crackle.
“Oh. Wait a minute. They’re turning towards the north. Looks like they’re going around the island, coming your way, Frank.”
“Gotcha, Tom.”
I continued to follow the boat, as it made short work of a trip around the island, leaving behind a gray and icy froth in its wake. The boat began to slow as it neared the empty east dock, which was nothing more than a small warehouse, and a few empty cardboard boxes.
Suddenly, I heard a steady thunking coming up behind me.
I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me.
No. There it was. Footsteps, running.
I grabbed the gun, the scope still cradled in the open suitcase.
“Frank. They’re stopping. Frank, come in.” Tom crackled, and I looked back to the dock, one hand still holding the gun.
Crap.
They were stopping. And they were getting out of the boat, large duffle bags hanging on the two men’s shoulder.
And there were the footsteps.
Closer.
I looked back at Tom, who had his hand to his ear, trying to contact me.
“Tom. Get down.”
The static was heavier.
“What?” He put his hand to his ear again.
“Move your hand, and get the hell down!” I shouted.
“I--can’t--hear you…”
I hurriedly looked towards over at the men, who were now looking directly at Tom.
They had binoculars.
Double crap.
They began to shout at each other.
One pulled an assault rifle.
“Tom!”
The shots echoed throughout the entire island. The children screamed. I jerked my head towards Tom.
He was down on the hard concrete, three red holes across his chest.
The footsteps were closer, maybe only ten feet from me.
Oh, crap, crap, CRAP!
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