Chris Kuzneski - The Prophecy

‘Where’s the closet?’ Vinnie demanded.

The Keymaster pointed ahead. ‘Up there, on the left.’

‘Open the door. I’ll be there in a minute. I need to check on somethin’.’

‘Where are you going?’ Paul wondered.

‘Don’t worry ’bout it,’ Vinnie growled. ‘Go with him.’

Paul nodded and followed the Keymaster towards the storage unit. Meanwhile, Vinnie marched towards the elevators.

‘Hey,’ he called from a distance, ‘what are you ladies doin’ down here?’

‘Stay calm,’ Jones warned her. ‘Let me handle this.’

‘Okay,’ she whispered.

Jones responded. ‘Megan lives here. She was giving me the tour.’

‘Of the basement? Why show him the basement?’

‘I’ve got a lot of stuff. I need somewhere to put it.’

Vinnie stared at Jones. ‘Was I talkin’ to you ? No, I was talkin’ to her .’

‘Sorry,’ Jones apologized, hoping the elevator would hurry.

‘So?’ Vinnie growled as focused on Megan. ‘Why are you down here?’

‘I’m just giving him the tour. He might move here.’

‘Great, that’s all we need. Let me see your ID.’

‘Why?’ she squeaked. ‘We haven’t done anything wrong.’

‘That’s for me to decide. Let me see your ID.’ He glared at Jones. ‘Yours, too.’

Both of them fished their IDs out of their pockets and handed them to the cop. He barely

‘Against the wall and spread ’em,’ he told Jones. Then he looked at Megan and said, ‘Stand over there, Jungle Fever, and don’t move.’

Jones rolled his eyes and turned away from the elevator as its doors opened with a clang. Unfortunately, cops had pestered him a few times over the years, so he was familiar with the procedure. Hands on the wall, legs wide apart, no back talk of any kind. If he played by the rules and stayed cool, the meathead would probably let him go. If Jones fought back or did anything stupid, the cop would have him in cuffs before the elevator doors closed.

Jones was determined not to let that happen.

‘Where’s your gun?’ Vinnie demanded.

‘Right coat pocket,’ he answered calmly.

Vinnie reached in and grabbed it. He took a moment to inspect the Sig Sauer P228 before he tucked it into his belt. ‘Any other weapons?’

‘We’ll see about that.’

Vinnie started his search high, patting down Jones’s shoulders and sleeves before he moved to the rest of his jacket. First he reached into Jones’s right pocket, making sure it was completely empty, then he did the same thing on the left. A moment after his hand went in, a huge smile surfaced on Vinnie’s face. ‘My, oh, my. What do we have here?’

Jones closed his eyes and cursed under his breath.

The cop had found his lock picks. In the state of Pennsylvania, the only citizens who were legally allowed to carry picks were certified locksmiths, which Jones was not. Therefore, the meathead could charge him with possession of an instrument of crime, a first-degree misdemeanour.

Grinning widely, Vinnie snatched the handcuffs from his service belt and pulled Jones’s right arm behind his back. ‘For a licensed detective, you sure are stupid.’ He leaned closer and whispered into Jones’s ear. ‘Then again, you are a fuckin’ mooley , so what’d I expect?’

Jones sneered but remained silent. This wasn’t the time to lose his cool.

Vinnie yanked Jones’s left arm back and slapped on the cuffs. ‘What’s it look like I’m doin’? I’m arrestin’ your boyfriend.’

‘But he didn’t do anything!’

‘Hey, Paulie,’ Vinnie shouted as he finished searching Jones.

A few seconds later, his partner ducked his head around the corner. ‘Yeah?’

‘Get your ass over here. This eggplant was carryin’.’

‘Drugs?’ Paul asked as he hustled forward.

‘Nah, he had a Sig and a set of picks.’

‘I’m licensed for the gun,’ Jones clarified. He wanted to make sure the other cop was aware, just in case his permit vanished before booking. ‘You saw my licence. It’s valid.’

Vinnie laughed. ‘It won’t be for long, asshole. Not after I file my report.’

Paul stopped next to Megan. ‘What about the closet?’

‘Fuck the closet,’ Vinnie said as he pushed Jones towards the elevator. ‘I’m takin’ this monkey to the zoo.’

40

Perhaps Megan knew the Keymaster, and the two of them had stopped to chat in the hallway. Or maybe the cops didn’t even go into the basement, giving Jones more time to continue his search.

Whatever the case, Payne wasn’t truly worried about things until the elevator doors popped open and his best friend emerged in handcuffs.

Vinnie the meathead appeared next, followed by his partner, and then Megan. Thankfully, her hands were free, which meant she wasn’t under

Payne leaned forward, trying to get a better view of Jones as he was pushed out of the main entrance towards the police car. For an instant, the two friends made eye contact from fifty feet away. Jones simply shook his head in frustration, as if to say he had done nothing wrong and was sorry for letting Payne down.

Ironically, Payne felt even worse than Jones. The guilt he felt for sitting on his ass and watching his friend get hauled off to jail was overwhelming. But what choice did he have? If he had been permitted, Payne would have willingly traded places with Jones, just to spare him the humiliation of being taken into custody. But that wasn’t the way the system worked. And he knew if he rushed forward and told the cops he knew Jones, there was always a chance Payne would be arrested, too — which would do neither of them any good.

With any luck, they’d be back on the street in less than an hour.

Of course, that plan became moot when the first shot was fired.

One moment Vinnie was shoving Jones into the back of the squad car, the next his meat head was being splattered all over the door and window. The killshot was so unexpected it took Payne a moment to process what had actually happened. By the time he did, bullet number two was airborne and headed his way. A splitsecond later, he heard a loud crack and flinched as the front windshield of the Suburban absorbed the impact of the round. Thankfully, the bulletproof glass held firm, saving Payne from nearcertain death.

It also helped him figure out where the gunman was positioned.

Using simple geometry, Payne knew the shooter had to be somewhere near the street otherwise he couldn’t have hit the cop and the Suburban in rapid succession. Leaning to his right, Payne tried to see around the web-like fracture in the glass, hoping to spot him. But before he got a clean view of the road, another shot hit the windshield, pushing thwack followed by a soft crinkling that reminded Payne of ice cracking on a frozen pond. One more shot, and he knew the window might collapse.

Wasting no time, Payne shifted the SUV into drive and punched his foot on the gas. The Chevy shot forward and clipped the bumper of the BMW sedan parked in front of it, knocking it into oncoming traffic. Tyres screeched loudly as Payne turned the wheel hard to the left and rocketed across the road to a chorus of blaring horns. None of that mattered to Payne. His only concern was surviving long enough to rescue Jones and Megan.

Jones didn’t need rescuing. He was quite capable of saving himself.

Covered in blood splatter in the back of the police car, he pulled his knees towards his chest and slid his wrists beyond his feet. A moment later, his cuffed hands were in front him, giving him the freedom to run or fight.

Jones opted to run now, fight later.

The racist cop had fallen face down on the

A black polymer handle dangled from the back of the cop’s belt. Jones recognized it at once. It was his Sig Sauer P228. With a smile on his face, he stretched forward and grabbed his gun.