Wednesday, November 24, 2010

Full Intention: Chapter 8 - Keep Moving

The Full Intention – Keep Moving.

If you’ve been following these, I have been continuing. It’s been a little while since I’ve dropped the next one. Tonight feels appropriate. Working on some new things. And old. Someone tells me there’s no point in finishing what you’ve started and right now I couldn’t disagree more. Once and again you have to stand for something instead of abandoning what you’re doing for something else. If you’ve missed anything here’s the links to the others...

Enjoy. kisses. m.

Keep Moving.

Another way. I’m walking through an unfamiliar house. Armed to the teeth with one last chance at coming back to life. It’s my job to kill someone once again. Three men follow me into the den of deceit where I’m leading the pursuit once again. Trailing through the hallway I’m looking at the family pictures that line the passage. A fairytale that is far from true stares back at me. Two small girls and a boy sit in front of a birthday cake arranged next to a woman wearing a white dress. This lie continues to follow me down the hall. Places and people that never happened are a living illusion in this tiny pied-à-terre. Twice I see myself embedded in these lies and dismiss the reaction.

Keep Moving…

Open your eyes. Keep them open. There’s no one to be trusted. The tables turn quickly. And if you aren’t careful you might end up on the wrong side of things.

Steven bends over and puts the gun in his left boot before walking away from the car. We’re parked in the middle of an empty roadway amidst a storage facility. As he walks away from the car down the narrow roadway I’ve got my gun aimed straight at the back of his head. Don’t turn around cause there’s no chance I’ll miss this time.

Shoot to kill. If anything happens, my orders are shoot to kill. Orders that I have no problem following through on. If push comes to shove, I will kill Steven. This cat’s not supposed to be alive and there’s no one left to blame. Yet there’s no one around as I cover the perimeter. No reason for push or shove or orders that can not be followed through. And he moves another fifty feet away before entering an oversized storage unit.

Upon his disappearance into the entry I realize that this may be my only chance to walk.

“Let me out.”
“I’m leaving.”

“Give me a reason to shoot you.” That’s what I tell Ethan before grab the spare rifle and get out of the Seville. The truth is I don’t need his permission. And it doesn’t matter what Steven thinks about the situation. While he’s busy running more information into the ground I’m outside holding the gun. And I’ve had enough. Dead. Alive. Or Inbetween.

Backing away slow with the crosshairs of the rifle a mere inch above the brim of Ethan’s Gucci aviators, I tell him the only words I think will save his life. “Don’t follow me.” He shakes his head adjusting his Gucci’s. The slight adjustment gives a glare of midday sun right into my eye line. Blindly I take few steps of confidence into the open stretch of no where before coming face to face with the blunt edge of a steel pipe held by a face that seemed more familiar than the last time I saw it. Jamison Todd.

Jamison Todd. Brilliant Con. The man who needs no plans. The man who will tell you that plans are for people who can’t make their own details. The man you call when you’re best friend is supposed to kill the other and messes up the job. Thirteen different aliases and two dozen alter egos just for spinning wheels on the continent. A man I haven’t seen in eight years and hadn’t planned to ever again…

“Now I can hit you again, or you can get back into that car.”
“Hit me again.”
“Not much has changed. Stubborn as hell.”
“Hell. You haven’t seen anything yet.” I fumble for the rifle.
“Don’t bother. Get in the car.”
“Where’s Steven?”
“Don’t worry about it. Ethan! We need to keep moving.”

Keep moving… is what I’m thinking as I see Ethan pause and look at picture of a white Maltese. Ethan breaks the gaze and nods at me. Jamison lowers his pistol and motions toward the end of the hall before nodding to Ethan. Falling to the rear Steven is pressing digits into a wireless alarm.

Turning the corner I find myself amidst an open room. Along the far side of the room there’s a lighted glass box fashioned into a table surrounded by a set of Mies Van der Rohe Chairs with matching table. Upon the wall facing a bay of windows hangs an illegal Warhol. A fraudulent self-portrait of the artist that was never authenticated and thought to have been destroyed. It’s the only thing that seems foreign in this room. A room that aside from the missing Japanese wood block prints and rug the seating area matches the same room in Steven’s personal home.

Following quick the three fall into the living area. One by one they take action. Each one prepared for the task at hand.

Ethan pulls out a small tool kit and starts to tear into the cushion of the chairs. Jamison reaches into his back pocket and throws down a rolled up satchel. Unfolding it he removes a set of knives, lifts the rug and begins carving a hole into the wooden floor. Steven enters loudly with a hand signal that tells me to remove the fraud from the wall. As the imposter looks down at me I lift and pull quickly. Still fumbling with the alarm, Steven pauses before entering the code key.

Nothing. The code key to this vault has been changed. As he begins to reset the vault to open there’s nothing more to do. Keep moving. Looking at him for confirmation, he nods and I move onward. Three left behind and four on its way.

Another way. Down the hall. Ignoring the visual propaganda that fills the walls. A feeling of déjà vu crawls up under my skin as I slink down the narrow corridor with my gun ready. Except this time there’s death waiting at the end of the hall. Open the door. Look over the two bodies lying in the bed. The lie that dares to live and call itself truth. Carefully I walk over to the side of the bed and take out one lie. I’m not surprised. She’s not the same woman in the pictures. She’s not me. After moving over to the left side of the bed I notice that other liar is dead. The same liar in the pictures already taken care of. Damn. Someone’s been here…

“It’s time.”
“But someone…”
“It’s too late.”
“Someone’s been…”
“We need to keep moving.”

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