RED INK
EP 28: Disposition
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~~~~ Fred's point of view~~~
His motorcycle was a tough zandor 880 with over 1000cc and could travel sixty miles per hour. He chose this cruiser because it was light weight and was very practical. The lamps in front of it were dim because he made it so. His eyes needed to do the seeing and any light could put his target on watch.
He brought out his firearm, it was a glock 48, 9 millimeter; and he had two, the other was in his front pocket on his lap , in his black cargo pants. He wore a black face cap over his head, a black mask over his nose and mouth. He was wearing a radio transmitter earphones on before removing it and tucking it in his cargo pants.
He was by the bush, where he had parked hsi car the previous night, and just as he thought, someone else was here. It wasn't their plan for it to go this way, but then, this person could also lead them to who they wanted. He had watched a fire build up in the sky, the area smelt of roasted meat, only few people who had experience could tell that it was human flesh burning. Someone who wasn't used to this smell would have covered his/her nose against it. But he was no new comer; he had seen worse. Hence, the reason for his calm, dangerous outlook. He knew what he was capable of doing.
The man inside of the wall was taking his time doing what he was doing, probably burying the bodies. He had been doing it for a while now, even in the rain, only God knew what he was doing.
Fred picked up his night vision binoculars and raised them to his eyes, trying to get movements from the gates, there was none until some minutes later. He saw the man jumping over the fence, observing the area before he got on his motorcycle. The man started the engine, the rain dashing at his face as he adjusted his mirror.
Fred waited for him to drive away for five minutes before he kicked his engine, turned his hand gear and accelerated. The road was a straight one after all, there was no way he could have deviated.
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~~Dice's point of view~~
He was looking at his mirror for any movement from his back but he didn't catch any. The road was free and there were no vehicles right now on it. But still, he was on alert.
Some minutes later, he was hearing the speeding sound of a superbike pulling some meters behind him. It sounded very fast. As paranoid as he was, he changed to gear 3, increasing his speed and sending off on the freeway with high strength front lamps shining brightly on the black coated road.
At first, he felt he was getting farther ahead, but looking through his mirror at the bright shining light of whatever that superbike was that was behind him made him realise his bike was learning in speed. So he reached down to the side of his bike where his gun was laying, his body doubling down to crouch while his eyes watched the road ahead of him. He picked it up, holding it firmly in a tight grip. The gun was already cocked. He looked back in his mirror, the light was closer now, shining and almost blinding his vision. So he put down his mirrors and focused on the path in front of him while his mind had whoever was behind him at the back of his head.
He put on his anti -fog glasses over his eyes, securing it behind his head with its extended, adjustible belt. The rain was drizzling but the speed made splashes of water over his face feel unbearable.
When he maintained his speed and noticed that the person behind him was trailing, he grinned, his two gold teeth shining in the night of the bright moonlight . "So it's you, Motherfucker?" He said to himself.
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Fred watched him as he bent over picking something up and then wearing something ove his eyes. The moment he turned his mirror was the moment he knew that his target was aware. So he put his engine on gear four, picking up speed, his face cap tightly secured over his head.
As he pulled up side by side with his target, both like twin flames lighting up each other, following and synchronizing their moves, brought out their guns, one on the left side and the other on the right hand side.
Fred recognized him, even with his glasses on. He was one to dig out information on who he was going after and he knew all the brothers in the cycle and how they looked like. This one right here was Dice, years in underground wrestling. He was addicted to gambling and was known as sneaker. Which meant he could pull up stunts on anyone, silently.
Seeing as he was holding his gun up, smirking and pointing it at him, he was fully ready for his attack tonight. This would be fun.
Both of them, aiming with all the will in them, opened fire at themselves, the noise of the gun becoming nothing in the desolate road they found themselves.
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Peter opened the door to his condo, the first thing he was welcomed by was the light smell of camphor. Ah! Smelled like home. He smiled and entered into his house, his big iron door automatically closing behind him and putting itself on auto lock. Which meant, nobody could open it from outside. Anybody trying to open it would trigger an alarm system which could wake the whole neighborhood.
As he proceeded into his living room, he felt the soft fur of his black and white shorthair cat around his feet, twirling and preventing him for taking further steps. "Ginger!" He called to him all excited. Ginger meowed, looking up at him, his eyes begging for pets. Peter bent down and picked him up, his hand petting his head. "Was I gone too long? Did you miss me?" He rubbed head with his cat for a while before putting it down.
He went to his room and dropped his violin by the door. Being in a dry place all of a sudden made him felt like he urinated on his body. So he started by removing his coat, and his undervest, then his tie and shirt...he removed his shoes and stockings, loosened the rubber band from his hair, feeling the ease that came with it. He removed all of his clothes and dropped them in his wash basket that was at the back of his door, where little other clothings laid.
He felt relieved when he was freed of the wt clothes and went into his shower. He took a thorough bath, sneezing sometimes in the shower, knowing fully well he was getting a cold but ignoring it anyway.
When he was done showering, he changed into a simple white polo, a jogger pant because he was beginning to feel cold and a small towel over his wet hair.
The cat had an automatic feeder and water dispenser which meant that it was well fed and was not in need of any more food tonight.
So, Peter strolled into his kitchen deciding that he needed a hot drink. He placed a big black mug on his kitchen table and put water into his electric kettle, putting it on to it. While that was working its deal, he went over to his cupboard and brought out his cocoa powder, scooped about four table spoons into his mug, took out heavy cream and creamer from his fridge, beat the heavy cream a little and poured it into the cocoa. He mixed it together. He added the liquid non-dairy creamer, added a little tigernut milk and waited for the water to boil. When it signaled that the water was ready, he poured it into his mug and mixed all together, attaining the smoothness he was aiming for. When he used the spoon to taste it, he felt like he was in heaven. He cleared out his table, cleaned the little mess he made and carried his steaming hot drink to the living room and sat in his couch, putting on the TV. The time on the wall said 10:48PM. It was really late.
After making futile attempts to look for good shows to watch, he gave up altogether. He changed the channel to Av mode, placing some disc in and playing soft instrumental music. He brought his hot cocoa to his nose, inhaling the steam, hoping it will help nose, He drank from it, tasting its consistent sweetness.
He thought about unfinished projects he had for the day and went to his room, carrying his laptop, placing it on his couch as he sat more comfortably. He compiled his projects and went through his emails.
The total workers in his small company were a number of six people. He had two road managers, each managing the schedule of his signees (a solo singer and a band), one general manager who oversaw both their works and the works of every one around, an assistant manager who helped the General manager when schedules got too tight, One stylist, one studio manager. These were permanent workers, the others were part-time bodyguards who only came when they were having a huge occasion or event, then producers who were working off record, a photographer, a makeup artist, a part time dancer...they were all just collaborators who work half time. And right now, he had his budget under control.
So he was seated, Ginger walking up and sitting in his lap, laying in front of his laptop, which he moved further so he could do what he was doing. He went through all emails, files and documents sent to him for the day, he went through the schedules of his signees and nothing seemed out of place. He also went through budget spending, viewing their expenses so far, it was tallying well with all the expense and income so far. So he sent an email to reply his General Manager, informing him that he would be going to the office tomorrow, everyone should be readily available, unless they had prior commitments to meet with. The only person who had such an exception was Dulux, his solo singer as he had a small live performance at an event that morning for elderly people homes. He had been prebooked. And after that, he still had another performance same day at a wedding event—his schedule was packed for the whole day. He had three days free to himself after that.
The time was thirty minutes after eleven when he was done. He put off his laptop, Ginger was already fast asleep and his cup of cocoa was finished. He gently got up and and went to the sink, washed the mug and placed it upside doen to drain water. He will raise it up tomorrow morning.
He switched off his lights but left the music playing. He looked at Ginger who was now wide awake following him as he went ino his room. By the time he laid in bed, he felt rhe exhaustion in his body. He didn't know when he fell asleep.
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While the city laid in their bed to sleep, the road of Thrive was bubbling with some live action drama.
They had both missed their shots, something that seemed to be intentional. Dice increased his speed, it would be better to get out of this drama and lead him out of the city than take him to their hideout. So he increased his speed with that at the back of his head.
Fred raised his gun up and aimed it at Dice; Dice who saw this coming changed lane to the other side and continued to do so, disengaging Fred and making him concentrated more on controlling his bike.
Fred who saw the scheme he was sketching kicked off his hoots, increased his accelerator and put his gear to the highest. He picked up speed so fast he passed Dice and drove ahead of him, so far away Dice would have thought he was leaving him alone. When he got farther away, he reduced his speed, turned his superbike to the side and brought it to an abrupt halt.
He cocked his gun, his hand as straight as a ballerina's arabesque feet posing at ninety degree angle. He put his hand on the trigger, closed his aiming eye and watched as the light of his target approached.
As Dice's lamp showed the figure ahead, he heated his hand gear and looked at his side to available space beside him, the road was wide enough to drift past him, it wouldn't be a good idea to hit him with the bike. So he picked up his gun and also aime it at him, shining his lights brighter at him, but Fred didn't flinch. He already got the angle he was going for.
When the bike was twenty feet from him, he pulled the trigger and dorked, turning his motorcycle, slightly dodging Dice's bullet. He had him yelp but didn't stop. He got him.
He got back on his bike and followed him. Before the night was over, he would have lost blood and would be too weak to continue riding.