Contingency Squad

“They’re getting away!” Ci shouted, pulling on his brown leather jacket. He walked down a set of stairs leading away from the crime scene. At the bottom of the stairs, he raced haphazardly across the road to where he’d left his car. Hurriedly opening the door to a small black convertible, he slipped into the driver’s seat. Dramatically putting on a pair of large black sunglasses, he closed the car door and turned the ignition key. The car roared to life, and jumped into motion as Ci Fisher shoved the gear shifter into drive. A rooster tail of sparks shot off from the car’s bumper as it brushed sharply against the asphalt. It wasn’t meant for the speeds Ci intended. Ci tucked some of his shaggy blonde hair away from his right ear to reach a tiny green bud hidden inside. “Jzek, where’s San?”

In a white van elsewhere on the scene, Jzek answered his partner via the secure communication line he’d created. It ran effectively between the agents’ ear pieces, keeping them in touch with each other’s progress and whereabouts. “She’s coming, where are you? Wait, I’ve got you. What took you so long? We’re behind schedule, you know,” Jzek rambled, flipping between screens on his laptop to see where the rest of his team was. Ci’s small blue arrow darted across one of the screens.

“San’s on the move? Good. Where’s the Leprechaun?” Ci asked, referring to the criminal group he and his team were chasing. “And what do you mean late? I was canvassing the crime scene. The Leprechauns are really good at what they do. We’d probably be friends. They’re effective, quick, and tactful,” he admired, taking a sharp turn at twenty miles over the posted limit.

“That’s great Ci, maybe you could join them. Now hold on a minute, I’m tracking the GPS that’s installed in the SUV the Leprechauns stole. Maybe people will start listening to me now when I say good thieves can’t leave a carbon footprint,” Jzek muttered pridefully, pausing on a screen. “Bullseye! I’ve got them right here. Our target is nearing...wait a second! He’s coming my way! Apa, what do you want me to do?”

“Jzek, your position is compromised. Ditch the van. Ci, swing back and grab Jzek. San, meet us at the rendezvous point at the laundromat. Hurry up, the Leprechaun is getting away!” Apa--the squad leader and coordinator--ordered.

Ci nodded, not realizing that Apa couldn’t see the gesture of affirmation. The black convertible drifted around another turn, then came to a screeching stop. A yard ahead, Jzek was coming toward the convertible, carrying his small laptop tucked safely under his left arm. A large SUV rumbled down the road past Jzek. One of the vehicle’s tinted windows rolled down, revealing the angry thief inside. The man--who, like his associates, wore a clown mask to protect his identity and strike fear into his victims--reached his long arms out the window, holding a scathing grenade launcher in his gloved hands. He looked through a small scope on the weapon’s side, stealing a look with one eye at his target. Satisfied, he fired off one of the grenade launcher’s fat missiles, destroying the white van Jzek had just been operating mere seconds before. Then the masked shooter turned to look at Jzek who had turned from his rushed walk to a head-on sprint from the fiery wreckage. The shooter reached a gloved hand up to readjust his clown mask, which was decorated with slanted red eyes, a deep blue frown, and a menacing, pointed chin.

Breathing heavily, Jzek climbed into the seat next to Ci. “You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay,” Jzek chanted, rocking back and forth in his seat.

“Thanks for the sentiment, but I’m not overly concerned,” Ci laughed.

“I was talking to myself,” Jzek frowned, turning back to his incantations.

Throwing the car back into motion, Ci turned to his friend. “Ascar, you all right? Jzek! Nevermind,” Ci shook his head turning from the communications expert back to the communication system linked by the earbuds each team member wore discreetly. “Apa? Hello? Apa Vernon, come in!”

“What is it?” Apa responded, his attention obviously elsewhere as he pulled up to the laundromat.

“I have Jzek, and I’m just behind the Leprechauns.” Ci relayed. Then, in the process of swerving to avoid hitting a mother and child, Ci came into sudden contact with a startled flock of pigeons that came dive bombing past the convertible to escape the roaring machine Ci drove toward their perch.

“Watch where you’re driving!” Jzek shouted.

Three thunks on the windshield exploded in a cloud of feathers. Jzek stuck out his tongue and closed his eyes, trying to un-see what he’d clearly just witnessed. Ci, on the other hand, craned his neck in frustration in an attempt to look between the bird remains that stained his front windshield. He sprayed windshield wiper fluid up onto the glass, and moved the car’s wipers back and forth several times in a futile attempt to remove the marks.

“Apa, I lost them,” Ci shouted angrily, slamming his hand against the steering wheel in defeated disappointment.

Jzek opened his laptop and flipped through the several screens he’d kept open. Just next to the blue and orange overlapping arrows that represented Ci and Jzek was a faded green dot which tagged the thieves being hunted. “Turn left Ci. The Leprechauns just went into a parking garage. Turn left now, Ci!”

Responding quickly, Ci flung hand over hand, cranking the steering wheel as far to his left as it was able to go. The car turned violently, bringing the left side of the car a few inches into the air, and throwing both riders back and forth in their seats. The wheels slammed back onto the ground as the convertible sped downward into a parking garage, running over the remnants of a standard orange and white striped ‘caution’ fence which the Leprechauns had carelessly crashed through seconds before.

“They’re on the second level. Hurry!” Jzek shouted, then bent over and vomited onto the car’s new carpet. He wasn’t a field agent, and thus wasn’t accustomed to the foreign adrenaline that coursed through his veins at speeds only exceeded by that of the convertible, which Ci now launched up a winding road onto the parking garage’s second level. He glanced in exasperation at the fine carpet Jzek had just ruined, winching at the aroma that began to diffuse throughout the enclosed interior of the borrowed vehicle. A small, dark green sedan near Jzek exploded without warning. At the other end of the garage, the enemy SUV’s grenade-launching gunman frowned from behind his grotesque mask, withdrawing his dark figure back into the cover of the vehicle.

Jzek screamed as Ci pressed on the gas pedal, trying desperately to force their car into higher speeds. “Didn’t you take a physics class in high school?! You can’t go this fast in such a confined space and still hope to maintain control!” Jzek dug his fingernails into the new leather seats of the convertible as it slid around a corner, smashing the left tail end of the car into a concrete pillar. The tail light broke off, spinning like a top on the ground behind them.

“I dropped out of high school,” Ci admitted, smiling and licking his upper lip. He drove up another turning ramp onto the next floor of the parking garage and blinked behind his dark sunglasses as the evening sun blared through his windshield. They were on the top floor of the parking garage now, able to look out over the streets a few stories below. The SUV ahead was nearing the edge of the parking garage now, but it wasn’t showing any sign of slowing. Ci followed suit, determined not to let the Leprechauns get away from him. Jzek closed his laptop and pulled on his seatbelt. Then he reached behind him and grabbed at the seat belt attached to the back seat.

“Brace yourself,” Ci shouted over the noise of the engine. “Stay calm, this is gonna be a rough landing.”

“I’m calm. I mean, if I weren’t calm, why would I be wearing more than one seat belt?” Jzek laughed fearfully, tying a third seat belt to the two already locking him in place and reaching up to adjust the glasses that kept bouncing around on his nose.

The Leprechaun’s SUV crashed through the concrete barrier at the end of the lot and rushed off the edge of the parking garage. It fell twenty feet before crashing harshly against the earth below. As its front wheels made contact with the pavement, the driver overcorrected, turning the steering wheel sharply to keep from colliding with a laundromat ahead. The car turned and flipped, rolling down the street in an awful scene of wreckage. Glass was thrown with other miscellaneous items along the path of carnage, before the twisted mass of broken exhaust and steel framework finally came to a rest upside down with no detection of further movement. Then it erupted into flames. The scene exploded into chaotic confusion as frantic bystanders fled the area.

Up above the fearful spectators, Ci’s convertible came flying off the edge of the garage much like the SUV preceding it. Hitting the ground abruptly, the convertible tipped onto its right side, sliding through the doors of the unsuspecting laundromat, and spraying hot golden sparks in every direction as a result of the disorderly friction slide forward. A purple motorcycle slowed to a stop next to the laundromat and ensuing commotion. The bike’s rider dismounted and removed her black helmet. She shook her head, sending long brown locks of hair cascading over the shoulders of her purple windbreaker.

“Apa, I’ve got Ci and what’s left of the convertible,” San reported, pulling a finger up to her own green earbud. “Our associates seem to have left this scene in a very unorderly scene or disarray,”

“Well done, Miss Tawn,” Apa complimented. “I’m almost there. Take care of our assets and contain the mayhem.”

San moved toward the car, and opened the driver’s door which hung in the air. Ci forced a toothy grin, removing the one side of his sunglasses that was still attached to his head. Wincing, he gave a sheepish shrug as if to say that he’d meant for all of that to happen precisely the way it had. San shook her head to show her obvious objection and offered him a hand to help him out of the wreckage. San brushed broken fragments of glass off her friend’s brown jacket, but Ci batted her hands away, certain he could shake off his own clothing without any motherly assistance.

“That’s a horrible parking job, Ci,” San remarked sarcastically. “You didn’t even stay in the lines.”

“Don’t even stay in the lines when I’m drawing,” Ci grinned, placing a hand on San’s shoulder to let her know he was all right. “Besides, any landing you can walk away from is a good landing!”

“Who said that?” San asked, looking at the warm blood that trickled down Ci’s forehead.

“Some penguin,” Ci responded, bringing his fingers to feel around the part of his face where San was looking on with such concern. He wiped away the blood and smiled reassuringly.

“A penguin? You’re quoting penguins now?” San asked incredulously, shaking her head in disapproval.

“Between you and me, I don’t think penguins even exist,”

“No? And why not?”

“Well, have you ever seen one?” Ci huffed. “That’s what I thought.”

“That doesn’t mean--”

“Just like camels.”

“Wait, camels? You really--”

“And my social life.”

“Well you don’t have a social life by any standards,” San retorted, folding her arms. “You do live in a prison, you know.”

“So do you, but--”

“Sorry, Ci, I don’t think it was a good landing,” San whispered as an unsettled look spread across her face. She ran past Ci toward the wrecked convertible, calling for help.

Jzek Ascar was lying stationary in his seat of the car, his head resting solemnly on his shoulder, eyes closed. Ci hurried to his friend’s aid, trying desperately to untie the seat belts that held an immovable grasp on Jzek, locking him firmly in his seat.

“Get down!” a deep voice shouted from somewhere behind them. Ci turned to see who had shouted and spotted Apa running towards them through a crowd of screaming civilians, waving his arms frantically.

Ci turned, craning to see what Apa’s gestures referenced. A man had climbed out of the burning wreckage of the SUV down the street. His mask and clothing were on fire, and he held the destructive grenade launcher in one hand. Tearing the flaming mask from his face, the hazy figure looked up to see Ci and San bent over the ruined convertible which had pursued him in the car chase. He raised the grenade launcher, and without any effort to aim at anything in particular, he fired off an explosive projectile. The missile’s kick sent him staggering backward.

Reacting quickly, Ci grabbed San by the arm and jumped away from his wrecked convertible. The missile fired from the SUV hit where Ci had just been standing, blowing the rest of the laundromat to pieces, and demolishing the convertible--and Jzek with it--in the process. The blast’s energy smashed into Ci, throwing him and San across the street. This wasn’t the first person Ci had seen killed in an automobile accident. Except last time hadn’t been an accident. Kiff had died right in front of Ci, and now Jzek had as well.

Apa turned in anger, drawing a sidearm from its holster which hung at his hip. He fired three shots off at the clown from the SUV. One shot fell short, digging into the street before the SUV. The second bullet struck the SUV itself, sending another plume of fire into the toxic air. With his third shot, Apa struck his target in the arm, knocking the clown off his feet. Apa turned to see Ci struggling to sit up, then he took off running toward the SUV with his gun still drawn out in front of him.

As he approached the vehicle, another burst of flame sent a column of smoke directly into Apa’s face, temporarily blinding him and sending him into a fit of coughs. Once the smoke had cleared, the leader found his victim was no longer flat on the pavement, but several yards away. Along with blood that stained the road was the grenade launcher the clown had discarded in his escape. Apa raised his gun to fire again, but found it was useless. The clown was too far away, and by the looks of it had escaped with the briefcase he’d been sent here with his team to retrieve. Apa bent down and picked up the clown’s grenade launcher, but found that the firing mechanism was fried, rendering the destructive weapon useless in Apa’s charge. In frustration, Apa threw the launcher back to the ground, ignoring the potential damage throwing weapons causes. Ci arrived at Apa’s side and frowned, looking first at the battered weapon, and then up to the escaping thief.

“That’s the briefcase we were sent here to get! That Leprechaun can’t get away with the package. You know what the Warden will do to us if we don’t get that back?” Ci asked, looking from the fleeing clown to the dead men still lying in the SUV with their faces showing through their burnt off masks.

“Take care of San,” Apa muttered shortly, holstering his gun. “I’m not going back to prison.”

Ci shouted after Apa, who turned and raced after the escaping clown. In irritation, Ci turned back to help San, who still lay in the grass where the blast had dropped her. San opened her eyes, and blinked rapidly, trying to focus on Ci.

“My arm’s broken, and I’ll have a few bruises and scars to show off tomorrow. Where’s the package? Did Apa get the Leprechaun?” San asked anxiously, trying not to move too much.

“Apa hit the Leprechaun, but he got away. The rest of the clowns are dead--or else ought to have considered a career in acting. I’d bet on the former. Apa’s going after the clown because…” Ci trailed off, looking down in frustration. “Because we didn’t get the package.” Ci admitted, swallowing hard and avoiding eye contact.

San clenched her teeth and winced at the pain pounding in her head. She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, trying to relax her hyperactive nerves. Ci stood up, looking into the distance in an attempt to see where Apa was.

All the way down at the other end of the street, Apa was tearing after the wounded clown, who began limping as the adrenaline from the crash lost its numbing effect on him and shock set in. Where the clown’s adrenaline was just declining, Apa’s energy was only on the rise as he sprinted harder and harder, pushing himself to overtake his quarry.

Springing into the air, Apa landed with a snap on top of the badly burned clown. “Gotcha!” Apa shouted, twisting the clown’s arms behind his back. The clown spat angrily, paling as he lost blood. Mercilessly, Apa twisted the clown’s arms higher, and began walking slowly back to where he’d left the rest of his team.

Suddenly, the clown twisted his body out of Apa’s grip and reached forward quickly to grab the gun from Apa’s holster. Before Apa knew what had happened, the clown forced his foot into Apa’s chest, relieving him of air. Hurriedly, the clown bent down and grabbed the briefcase away from Apa while he was winded. From his hurting place on the ground, Apa reconciled. He knew the clown’s vision was fading and soon he’d probably collapse, unconscious from the amounting pain. After all, he’d literally just been blown up. But there was a chance the clown was stronger than that and would be able to escape. With this possibility on his mind, Apa reached behind himself to grab a spare firearm that he kept tucked down the back of his pants. The clown saw the movement first, though, and without any hesitation, fired his stolen gun. Apa gasped and looked down at his stomach where the bullet had lodged itself. Inhaling deeply, the clown shot again. Apa scrunched up his face and frowned. He sagged backward, his hand sliding off of the handle of his spare gun. He flattened against the pavement, and closed his eyes.

Ci rounded the burning SUV and stared on in horror. Before he could react, the clown ran at him and slammed the briefcase against his head. Groaning, the field agent held a hand up to his temple, sinking to his knees in pain. Shaking his head, Ci picked himself up and turned in circles in an effort to see where his attacker had gone. Blinking, he saw the clown in the distance, entering one of the towering businesses nearby.

Apa Vernon and Jzek Ascar are dead, Ci thought, blinking away tears as he staggered forward. San Tawn is badly hurt. None of this will mean a thing if I don’t get that briefcase. Ci entered the building he’d seen the clown run into. A frightened receptionist pointed toward the stairs, opening and closing her mouth in shock. Ci nodded and ran to the stairwell. Small red dots of blood led up the stairs. Swallowing, Ci followed the blood, running the trail he’d been so graciously provided. As he ran, pausing to listen for footprints or breathing up ahead of him, Ci began calculating numbers in his mind. This would have been Apa’s last mission. He would have been free after this. Jzek was just starting, but with his skills the Warden would have let him go after just a few more tasks. San only had another mission after this one, assuming the briefcase was retrieved. And me? Let’s see. After the business with Tahz, and the assignment hunting Pilfrey...I only have three more missions until my sentence is over. Then maybe San will--

Ci was ripped from his thoughts by the sound of a door slamming ahead of him. He raced up that last stairwell, and stepped through the door that had just closed. Ci looked around, recognizing he was on the building’s roof. The Leprechaun was standing a few feet away, clutching the briefcase tightly to his chest.

“I have a name, you know!” the clown shouted.

“Yeah,” Ci asked. “So did the people you killed down there!”

“I only killed the old one with the gun. You killed the other one in the car crash.” the clown growled defensively. “My name is Pete.”

“All right, Leprechaun,” Ci said, walking toward him. “Why don’t you just hand over the briefcase? Nobody else has to die.”

“I said my name is Pete!” the man shouted, tears streaming painfully down his burnt face. “Why do you call me a Leprechaun or a clown? I have a name, too!”

“I don’t choose the names. Herrifen Magnus does. But I believe it’s probably because of your fascination with gold,” Ci answered, still walking cautiously toward Pete. He was keenly aware of how high above street level they were.

“Gold? This is about the job at the Conglomerate Treasury, isn’t it?” Pete asked, sounding offended as he pieced the events together.

Ci just nodded, still walking nearer. “And now we need that briefcase. Come on, I’m not stupid. We both know what’s in there. Just hand it over, I’ll bring it back to my Warden, knock another couple years off my sentence. And hey, we can all go home. What do you say?”

“Home?” the clown repeated, a wave of calmness and serenity washing over his face. He sagged a little, reaching an arm down to clutch his leg. “I haven’t been home in so long...Maybe you’re right.”

Ci nodded in relief, moving quickly toward Pete.

“Then again,” Pete stalled as Ci came up next to him. “Maybe you’re just wrong.” Pete opened the briefcase to reveal what was inside, then pulled it out, and dropped the empty briefcase.

“Where are the papers?” Ci shouted in horror, staring after the empty briefcase that drifted down toward the street.

“I’d be more worried about what was in the briefcase than what was not.” Pete smiled painfully, the dizziness taking command of his body.

Ci stared at the small bomb, and watched in horror as Pete activated the device, dropping it onto the rooftop between them. Then exhaling, Pete fell backwards off the building. Ci lunged with quick reflexes to try and save Pete, but the thief had already toppled to the road below. The explosive on the ground began beeping rapidly, attracting Ci’s attention back to the crisis at hand. With nowhere to go, Ci rushed forward and lifted the bomb in one hand. Looking around hurriedly, he decided to throw it off the edge of the building where it would exploded in midair without any fatalities. That was assuming that the blast radius was relatively restricted.

Ci hurled the bomb as hard as he could against the afternoon breeze. The explosion propelled Ci backward, sending him toppling out of control off the eastern face of the building.

As Ci fell, he opened his eyes wide. Why spend so much time earning freedom by working for the United Conglomerates, if he could just die? Maybe this was for the best. He would finally be free of the Warden and the missions and the prison. There were no more troubles or diseases. Death would bring a calmness to a wicked world that hurt whoever passed through it. Ci smiled.