Nick Stephenson - Panic

Albert started the engine with a metallic rattle and threw the manual gearbox into first with a disconcerting grinding noise, rolling the car out onto the road with a puff of black smoke from the exhaust. He wrenched the VW through various other gears as he sped up, trying to keep up with the other traffic as they merged onto the main road. The car struggled forward, eventually hitting its stride after a few minutes of spluttering from the old engine, and Albert breathed a sigh of relief.

Holding back a chuckle at the sight of Jerome squashed into the passenger seat, Leopold sat back as best he could and watched the traffic pass them on both sides. Mary pulled out her cell phone and made a call back to her office. Leopold didn’t look forward to answering the awkward questions that were bound to follow once the NYPD discovered the mess they had left in the library. He caught Mary’s eye and noticed she looked tired. She smiled as she noticed his gaze.

After nearly fifteen minutes the VW reached Hank’s street. Jerome pointed to a parking space at the end of the street and Albert pulled up, hitting the curb with a muffled thump. Jerome wrenched himself out onto the sidewalk, followed closely by the others. The street was silent, other than the distant hum of the city traffic and the wind that whipped up the litter decorating the road. Leopold waited for the others to rearrange their crumpled clothes before setting off in the direction of Hank’s apartment.

“Follow me. We don’t have much time.”

Leopold felt a crushing force hit him from behind and heard a loud crack as though the air above his head had just exploded. Jerome landed on Leopold, knocking him to the ground, followed shortly after by Mary and Albert, as the giant bodyguard grabbed the three of them and wrenched them toward one of the nearby alleyways, breaking off a nearby car’s side mirror in the process.

The four of them toppled clumsily onto the ground. Mary slammed into one of several full garbage cans as a second crack reverberated, and part of the alley wall erupted in a cloud of dust and brick. Jerome forced his huge palms down onto Leopold and Mary’s backs, forcing both of them to lie face-first on the ground, out of harm’s way. Albert had rolled a little further down the passageway and was taking refuge behind one of the fallen garbage cans, underneath the fire escape that snaked its way up the wall.

“Keep down,” growled Jerome. “We’ve got a shooter positioned a few buildings down. Caught the reflection of the street lamps on his scope.”

“Is everyone okay?” asked Leopold, glancing around.

Albert squeaked in the affirmative. Mary didn’t respond.

“She’s out cold,” said Jerome, leaning in close. “Doesn’t look like any permanent damage.”

The bodyguard assumed a crouching position, keeping the others behind him as he inched his way back toward the edge of the wall. He spotted the side view mirror that had broken away from one of the nearby cars lying on the floor, its glass still intact.

“Wait, don’t do it,” said Leopold. “It’s too exposed.”

“We don’t have a choice,” said Jerome, turning his head. “The alleyway behind us is blocked. If we stay here much longer the sniper will just relocate and pick us off.”

Without waiting for a response, Jerome pulled off his coat and held it out into the street, in full view of the sniper. Another crack hit Leopold’s eardrums as the jacket ripped in half, the bullet narrowly missing Jerome’s fingers. Without wasting a millisecond, the bodyguard pushed forward and rolled out onto the street, scooping up the mirror and rolling back into the safety of the alleyway as another round narrowly missed the back of his head.

“There’s no delay between the rounds hitting the wall and the sound of the shots,” said Jerome, “so the shooter can’t be that far away. Problem is, we can’t hit back without knowing his exact position – which is where this comes in.”

Jerome slid the mirror toward the edge of the wall and angled it at the far end of the street, in the direction of Hank’s apartment but on the opposite side of the road. A second later, another bullet whipped past, catching the edge of the mirror and knocking it out of Jerome’s hand. It landed a few feet away, useless. The bodyguard smiled.

“What the hell is there to smile about?” said Leopold.

“I caught the glare of his scope in the mirror. He’s on the roof of the third building to the right, on the opposite side. This is good news, as long as he stays put.”

“How do you know he will?”

“I don’t. But chances are he won’t move unless he absolutely has to. He’s got us pinned down, so won’t want to risk us escaping while he changes position. He’s had a few near misses, so I’m guessing he’s going to try his luck a few more times before switching on us. Here we go.”

Leopold raised his hands in protest, but too late. Jerome moved with unbelievable speed and once again rolled out into the street, taking cover behind the parked car and drawing his Colt .45 as another crack rang out nearby. The car’s back window exploded, showering the sidewalk with glass. Jerome took a deep breath and launched himself away from the car, firing three shots in quick succession as he ran, before diving back to his hiding place next to Leopold.

The bodyguard shook his head. “The angle wasn’t right. We’re going to have to get closer.”

“What do you mean, we ?” said Leopold, a sinking feeling clawing in his stomach.

“If I can get him to break cover, I can take him out.”

“Let me guess. You want someone to draw fire? You know, this isn’t typical procedure for a bodyguard.”

“You’d rather Albert tried his luck?”

Leopold rolled his eyes. “Fine. What’s the plan?”

“I need to get onto the roof here,” said Jerome, slapping the wall. “When I give the signal, I need you to move back toward the SUV. When the shooter spots you and changes position to fire, I’ll take him out from here.”

“The SUV? He’ll pick me off before I get anywhere close.”

“There are enough parked cars to keep you covered,” said Jerome. “If you move fast enough, you’ll make it.”

“And if you miss?”

“I won’t.”

Leopold opened his mouth to protest, but was too late. The bodyguard bounded toward one of the upright garbage cans and used it to launch himself high enough to catch hold of the fire escape that ran down the side of the apartment building. His fingertips caught hold and he used his momentum to grasp the bottom rung of the ladder with both hands. He swung his legs upwards and climbed to the lower platform. The rusty iron creaked under his weight as he ascended the metal staircase that led to the roof. As he approached the summit, Leopold saw him give the signal.

Pushing his nerves to the back of his mind, Leopold took a deep breath and shot out into the street, diving behind the damaged car that Jerome had used for cover earlier. Leopold closed his eyes and braced for the bullet, but none came. Relieved, he assumed a crouching position and prepared to make a dash for the next parked car, just a few feet away. He kept low and moved quickly, keeping his head out of sight.

He reached the next car and leaned up against the rear bumper. There had still been no sign of gunfire, meaning the shooter had either moved position or was waiting for a better shot. In either event, Leopold knew he would have to present an easier target to draw fire in his direction, allowing Jerome an opportunity to take the sniper out from the roof. A simple plan, but he knew that if the bodyguard missed, it was all over. The next bullet would be aimed directly at Leopold’s chest, and he didn’t fancy his chances of getting out of the way in time. Everything rested on Jerome’s ability to make that one shot count.