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Harrison stared out of the rain spattered, second story, hotel window, scanning the roof tops opposite with cold blue eyes. The inside of the room was smoky with the dozen or so cigarettes he had previously smoked. The streetlights had been on for an hour or so now, dusk had settled like a cloak of dark mesh. A converted road sweeper gritted the road. He began to light another cigarette but extinguished it as the vehicle spluttered and the engine appeared to cut out. The game might be on. The door opened and a Hispanic man in a luminous vest and hardhat stepped out of the cab onto the road, lifted the road sweeper hood and swore. He was approaching his fifth expletive when a silver Mercedes pulled in behind the road sweeper. The driver of the Mercedes got out and offered to help the irate driver of the sweeper. At first the sweeper driver declined but his stubbornness soon disappeared as the Mercedes driver reached into the engine, twisted something, and brought the vehicle back to life. The men shook hands, the sweeper driver offering to buy the Mercedes driver a beer should he ever be in the vicinity of the union bar. The other man said he didn’t think it was likely, but that he would if the opportunity arose. The Mercedes man got back into his car and was about to pull out when a blue van blocked him in and two shots were fired. His sight obscured by the van, Harrison only heard the shots. The back doors of the van opened and three men stepped out wearing balaclavas and wielding automatics. Two men went around to the front of the van and began threatening the sweeper driver with their automatics. The other went around to the Mercedes. Several more shots could be heard. The Mercedes reversed knocking the right door of the van in the process. The balaclava-clad man ran along side firing point blank at the driver’s window. The bullet he managed to fire ricocheted off the bulletproof window and caught him in the throat. He dropped heavily to the tarmac. Meanwhile the two threatening the sweeper driver were having better luck.
“Where’s the package Sanchez?” the man on the left said in a heavy Detroit accent. The driver, Sanchez, reached into the engine and pulled out a small brown paper package, about two inches square. Sanchez made to hand it to Detroit who had threatened him but dropped it at the last second. In the moment of confusion Sanchez was able to sweep the legs out from under Detroit and grab the trigger of the other mans gun to his right, who now clicked away aimlessly with his gun. Seeing the obvious ineptitude of Clicky, Sanchez merely broke his nose with the butt of the gun before knocking him unconscious. It was obvious he could have easily killed him. The now standing Detriot wasn’t so lucky taking a double tap to the face from Sanchez as he brought his automatic to level at the driver. Sanchez picked up the small brown paper package and put it into his pocket before quickly getting back into the sweeper cab and starting it up in preparation to leave.
Harrison pulled his lighter out of his pocket. He twisted the top of the lighter anti-clockwise and stuck a cigarette in the top of it pulling the darker half of the cigarette upward to expose a small aerial in-between the cigarette halves. The sweeper was now moving off at low speed.
“Bye Sanchez” He made to use the lighter. Pressing down on the gas and moving the metal wheel for the spark. There was no spark from the lighter. But Harrison knew there was now one in the brown paper package. The Cab of the sweeper burst into flames before slowly veering into a lamppost. Harrison twisted his lighter back, scanned the rooftops again before lighting another cigarette. When he had finished he stubbed it out on the windowsill then made his way down to the street where he got into the passenger side of a silver Mercedes, with dented windows, which then sped away.
“Where’s the package Sanchez?” the man on the left said in a heavy Detroit accent. The driver, Sanchez, reached into the engine and pulled out a small brown paper package, about two inches square. Sanchez made to hand it to Detroit who had threatened him but dropped it at the last second. In the moment of confusion Sanchez was able to sweep the legs out from under Detroit and grab the trigger of the other mans gun to his right, who now clicked away aimlessly with his gun. Seeing the obvious ineptitude of Clicky, Sanchez merely broke his nose with the butt of the gun before knocking him unconscious. It was obvious he could have easily killed him. The now standing Detriot wasn’t so lucky taking a double tap to the face from Sanchez as he brought his automatic to level at the driver. Sanchez picked up the small brown paper package and put it into his pocket before quickly getting back into the sweeper cab and starting it up in preparation to leave.
Harrison pulled his lighter out of his pocket. He twisted the top of the lighter anti-clockwise and stuck a cigarette in the top of it pulling the darker half of the cigarette upward to expose a small aerial in-between the cigarette halves. The sweeper was now moving off at low speed.
“Bye Sanchez” He made to use the lighter. Pressing down on the gas and moving the metal wheel for the spark. There was no spark from the lighter. But Harrison knew there was now one in the brown paper package. The Cab of the sweeper burst into flames before slowly veering into a lamppost. Harrison twisted his lighter back, scanned the rooftops again before lighting another cigarette. When he had finished he stubbed it out on the windowsill then made his way down to the street where he got into the passenger side of a silver Mercedes, with dented windows, which then sped away.
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Harrison stared out of the rain spattered, second story, hotel window, scanning the roof tops opposite with cold blue eyes. The inside of the room was smoky with the dozen or so cigarettes he had previously smoked. The streetlights had been on for an hour or so now, dusk had settled like a cloak of dark mesh. A converted road sweeper gritted the road. He began to light another cigarette but extinguished it as the vehicle spluttered and the engine appeared to cut out. The game might be on. The door opened and a Hispanic man in a luminous vest and hardhat stepped out of the cab onto the road, lifted the road sweeper hood and swore. He was approaching his fifth expletive when a silver Mercedes pulled in behind the road sweeper. The driver of the Mercedes got out and offered to help the irate driver of the sweeper. At first the sweeper driver declined but his stubbornness soon disappeared as the Mercedes driver reached into the engine, twisted something, and brought the vehicle back to life. The men shook hands, the sweeper driver offering to buy the Mercedes driver a beer should he ever be in the vicinity of the union bar. The other man said he didn’t think it was likely, but that he would if the opportunity arose. The Mercedes man got back into his car and was about to pull out when a blue van blocked him in and two shots were fired. His sight obscured by the van, Harrison only heard the shots. The back doors of the van opened and three men stepped out wearing balaclavas and wielding automatics. Two men went around to the front of the van and began threatening the sweeper driver with their automatics. The other went around to the Mercedes. Several more shots could be heard. The Mercedes reversed knocking the right door of the van in the process. The balaclava-clad man ran along side firing point blank at the driver’s window. The bullet he managed to fire ricocheted off the bulletproof window and caught him in the throat. He dropped heavily to the tarmac. Meanwhile the two threatening the sweeper driver were having better luck.
“Where’s the package Sanchez?” the man on the left said in a heavy Detroit accent. The driver, Sanchez, reached into the engine and pulled out a small brown paper package, about two inches square. Sanchez made to hand it to Detroit who had threatened him but dropped it at the last second. In the moment of confusion Sanchez was able to sweep the legs out from under Detroit and grab the trigger of the other mans gun to his right, who now clicked away aimlessly with his gun. Seeing the obvious ineptitude of Clicky, Sanchez merely broke his nose with the butt of the gun before knocking him unconscious. It was obvious he could have easily killed him. The now standing Detriot wasn’t so lucky taking a double tap to the face from Sanchez as he brought his automatic to level at the driver. Sanchez picked up the small brown paper package and put it into his pocket before quickly getting back into the sweeper cab and starting it up in preparation to leave.
Harrison pulled his lighter out of his pocket. He twisted the top of the lighter anti-clockwise and stuck a cigarette in the top of it pulling the darker half of the cigarette upward to expose a small aerial in-between the cigarette halves. The sweeper was now moving off at low speed.
“Bye Sanchez” He made to use the lighter. Pressing down on the gas and moving the metal wheel for the spark. There was no spark from the lighter. But Harrison knew there was now one in the brown paper package. The Cab of the sweeper burst into flames before slowly veering into a lamppost. Harrison twisted his lighter back, scanned the rooftops again before lighting another cigarette. When he had finished he stubbed it out on the windowsill then made his way down to the street where he got into the passenger side of a silver Mercedes, with dented windows, which then sped away.
“Where’s the package Sanchez?” the man on the left said in a heavy Detroit accent. The driver, Sanchez, reached into the engine and pulled out a small brown paper package, about two inches square. Sanchez made to hand it to Detroit who had threatened him but dropped it at the last second. In the moment of confusion Sanchez was able to sweep the legs out from under Detroit and grab the trigger of the other mans gun to his right, who now clicked away aimlessly with his gun. Seeing the obvious ineptitude of Clicky, Sanchez merely broke his nose with the butt of the gun before knocking him unconscious. It was obvious he could have easily killed him. The now standing Detriot wasn’t so lucky taking a double tap to the face from Sanchez as he brought his automatic to level at the driver. Sanchez picked up the small brown paper package and put it into his pocket before quickly getting back into the sweeper cab and starting it up in preparation to leave.
Harrison pulled his lighter out of his pocket. He twisted the top of the lighter anti-clockwise and stuck a cigarette in the top of it pulling the darker half of the cigarette upward to expose a small aerial in-between the cigarette halves. The sweeper was now moving off at low speed.
“Bye Sanchez” He made to use the lighter. Pressing down on the gas and moving the metal wheel for the spark. There was no spark from the lighter. But Harrison knew there was now one in the brown paper package. The Cab of the sweeper burst into flames before slowly veering into a lamppost. Harrison twisted his lighter back, scanned the rooftops again before lighting another cigarette. When he had finished he stubbed it out on the windowsill then made his way down to the street where he got into the passenger side of a silver Mercedes, with dented windows, which then sped away.
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