Leslie Langtry - I Shot You Babe

Dekker kicked out, connecting with my left shin, and I dropped him for a second. That was all the time he needed to grab a weapon. Without thinking I pulled a similar item from a box. And that was how we ended up fighting a duel with plastic lightsabers.

We must have looked strange-two middle-aged men slashing away at each other with toy swords complete with sound effects. I managed to land the majority of blows and went for the final thrust, only to have the collapsible lightsaber, um, collapse. So I threw the handle at him and grabbed him again, dragging him toward the back wall.

Dekker reached out and snagged a display case. I threw him through it, causing no less than thirty or forty Teletubbies to begin singing nonsensically. By now I was getting worried. The shop probably had surveillance cameras, and we’d put on quite a show. In fact, I’d bet Jackson was laughing hysterically. I was a bit surprised none of the staff intervened or even rebuked us. No doubt airport security had been called.

I pulled Dekker by the collar toward the back door. It was a bathroom. No exit. Dekker shoved me backward and locked himself inside. Fantastic.

There was shouting in the distance. The authorities were on their way. Killing Vic was out of the question.

“Jack, can you do something about the surveillance cameras?” I asked quietly while taking off my jacket, and started messing with the doorknob. It was a simple lock, easy to pick if I had the right tools.

“Already did. They have nothing but static,” he responded. “It’s a neat little program Mom came up with…”

The boy was chatty, just like his mom. “Thanks, Jack. I’ll check in with you later.” I hung up, quickly found a chemistry set back at the toy store and punched through the box. Science kits usually have probes and other tools you can use to pick a lock. Unfortunately, the box had that plastic clamshell casing that keeps everything pretty and safe inside. I didn’t have time for this frustration. Ignoring the sharp edges that tore at my flesh, I ripped the plastic apart and retrieved the tools.

I managed to get the door open quickly and dragged Dekker out of the bathroom and into the mall. It wasn’t easy to look normal when you were bleeding and dragging a man behind you (who clearly had no interest in going with you) who was also bleeding. It wouldn’t be long before we attracted enough attention to cause trouble. And I didn’t have time for that. If I took him to the plane I could secure him and go after Ronnie. But the hangar was too far away. I was much closer to the baggage carousel.

Pulling my protesting vic behind me, I stepped outside and hailed a cab. To his credit, the driver didn’t give my situation a second glance, and soon we were headed to the newspaper where Ronnie was researching.

The ride was short, but I had enough time to bind Dekker’s hands with his own belt. The cab pulled up to our stop and I paid him and dragged Dekker out and into the building.

We’d just entered the elevator when I realized my vic was apparently quite the Houdini. As the doors closed, he broke his bonds and lunged. I swung my arm up and stepped aside, clotheslining him in the throat. He didn’t go down like I’d hoped.

“You don’t give up, do you?” Dekker growled as he punched me in the head.

“Don’t know the meaning of the word,” I replied, kneeing him in the gut.

And as the Muzak played “The Girl from Ipanema,” Dekker and I pounded the hell out of each other in a three-foot-by-three-foot lift. Arje remembered my weak spots and was getting the best of me with several punches to my shoulder. I managed to crack his nose. The snapping sound made me feel a little better.

Soon the linoleum was slick with blood. Dekker leaned for a side kick and succeeded in plunging his foot through a hole in the wall he created. I punched him in the groin and took a lot of satisfaction in his cry of pain. I hadn’t even noticed that the elevator had stopped until we both fell forward through the open doors.

“Cy? Arje?” Veronica said as she stood over us.

Ronnie?

Before Dekker could react I slugged him hard on the chin, driving his head back and rendering him unconscious. “Stay where you are. I’ve got to get him out of here.”

Veronica stared, wide eyed.

Somehow I managed to rise to my feet and drag Dekker across the hall to a bathroom. What was it with me and bathrooms lately? I handed Veronica a few paper towels and asked her to clean up the bloody smear trailing down the hall. She didn’t say a word.

Ronnie joined me in the small bathroom a few minutes later with red-stained paper towels. I locked the door behind her, leaning against it to catch my breath.

“So, this is the Sentinel’s office,” I gasped as nonchalantly as possible.

“Yup.”

I made my way to the sink and started washing up. “I’m sorry to cut short your research, but we have to leave. Now.”

Veronica looked pale. She shrugged.

Somehow I had to kill him in front of her. If I didn’t, he would continue tracking her down. And I couldn’t have that either.

“Um, I…” She started, but couldn’t seem to finish. “Why did you two end up here?”

I shook my head. “No time to explain. He’s dangerous, Ronnie.” I hoped she caught my meaning.

“Can’t we just call the police or something? Then they could lock him up-”

“No. If he wants to, he’ll have no problem hunting you down anywhere. This ends now.” On the outside, I was calm. On the inside I was shaking. I’d never killed anyone in the presence of a non-Bombay before. And I was pretty sure that would spell the end of my relationship with Miss Gale.

Ronnie pulled on my arm. “Let’s go! Let’s just go!”

I avoided looking into her eyes. I didn’t want to see what I thought was in there. It made me sick inside to even consider killing Dekker in front of her.

Looking down at the unconscious and bloody man before me, I realized that there was only one way to handle this. And it might have been my worst idea ever.

The idea of doing a good job is instilled in every Bombay from the minute we begin our training at the age of five. We are taught to make sure each assignment is completed with no screwups. Every Bombay has their own modus operandi. And every one of us takes pride in completing the assignment in a timely manner.

We found the freight elevator in the back, and we were able to at least make it to the ground floor undetected. The doors opened, and I spotted a janitor’s closet. It took two extra-large garbage bags to cover the unconscious vic. Ronnie convinced me to poke holes in the bag around his face so he wouldn’t suffocate. That was too bad, because I was hoping I could tell her I “accidentally” asphyxiated him.

I sent Veronica to find a cab, and she showed up with my former driver. I guess the guy liked the three-figure tip I gave him. He said nothing as I loaded Vic’s body into his trunk.

“Your hands are bleeding.” Ronnie took my hands in hers and examined the torn-up knuckles. “You got that from…” Her eyes darted between the driver in front of us and the trunk behind us. “From the elevator?”

I shook my head. “No. They got torn up while I was trying to open a toy.”

“I hate those things!” The driver spoke up with a grin in the rearview window. “It should be criminal to make the plastic covers for toys!”

I gave him a nod that hopefully conveyed something like, Yeah, me too. Stop talking to us. He seemed to take the hint and focused on getting us back to the airport. I’d texted the pilot, and he found us an alternative way in so we wouldn’t have to go through security checkpoints.