7 Deadly Tales (Seven Thrilling Reads!) Read online

  ‘Nothing, Sir.’ Shaw looks from Frank to Mullins, whose nose is bleeding. ‘What happened to your nose?’ ‘I get nose bleeds, sometimes.’

  ‘Whatever. It’s all beside the point. Something big just went down. The president was assassinated outside some swanky hotel in Washington a few minutes ago. It was a professional job. Instant death. Washington fears events here are connected. They’ve called off the extraction mission until they know more.’

  Everyone is quiet for a long moment.

  ‘Did they catch the assassin?’ Frank breaks the silence.

  ‘No, but that is now Washington’s number one priority.’

  Eighty One

  Sandra and Mike stand at the train station, overlooking the tracks. The station is nearly empty. Mike moves to a bench and sits down. Sandra joins him.

  His face is glum. ‘This must be one of the worst days of my life. It’s minus three degrees and I’m stuck in a train station that's as exciting as sucking lemons. Why aren’t we on our way to Washington to cover the assassination?’

  Sandra rests her head on her fist. ‘God, Mike, give it a rest. We go where we are told to go. All I’ve heard from you today is constant pissing and moaning about the situation. The President has just been killed and all you’re concerned about is that you’re not filming the aftermath. Fuck sake, Shut the hell up!’ She takes a deep breath and unloads more on Mike.

  ‘You’ve been my cameraman for a long time. Today I realized what a selfish prick you are.’ ‘Are you finished?’ Sandra nods. Her breath is visible in the cold Boston air.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, Mike. It’s been a shitty day for both of us. You never know. Maybe someone interesting is going to come off the train. We will be the first on the scene.’

  ‘Or maybe Bob wants us out of the studio to wait for some B list celebrity to give us his take on the day’s events. I do know one thing, I’m done after this.’

  Eighty Two

  Connor Chase sits in his makeshift office and flicks his Zippo lighter on and off, watching the flame. He slams his fist on the desk. ‘Someone get the hell in here!’ he shouts.

  The door bursts open and two of his goons walk in. Both men have automatic weapons. They fill the room and stare as Connor runs his finger through the naked flame from his lighter. His knuckles singe and he smiles sadistically. He looks up at his two employees and shouts ‘How the hell did this happen?’ The two men look at each other, confused.

  ‘How did what happen, Sir?’ ‘The President getting assassinated on the same day I call for a 28th amendment is a bit counterproductive, don’t you think?’

  One man nudges the other to speak up.

  Connor rises from his seat and swipes the contents of his desk to the floor with his arm. The sound of breaking glass echoes through the room.

  ‘I want answers. Find out who killed the President and report back to me. And one of you get Jason on the phone. It’s time to stop fucking around. Get the camera online and get me twenty five hostages…. They are going to regret keeping me in the dark.’

  Eighty Three

  Jason hangs up his mobile phone and snaps the LED screen into place. He turns to face the terrified passengers.

  ‘Okay, here’s the deal. I’m splitting the passengers up. I’ll randomly select people to sit near me. You’ll help me tie up the remaining passengers. Then I’ll take you to the back of the train, which will stop five miles before the station, and you’ll be free to go.’

  ‘I will escort you to a wooded area and tie you up. You’ll remain there until the police find you. The passengers who remain on the train will be picked up by the police at the station.’

  One of the hostages puts his hand up. Jason nods at him.

  ‘Why don’t you just let all of us go?’ he asks.

  ‘By splitting you up, the police will take longer to look for me. They will be too busy being heroes and saving you guys.’

  Jason eyes the hooded man.

  ‘You got something to say?’ The hooded man shakes his head.

  ‘Good. Anyone who refuses to do as I say will get a bullet in their heads. I hope that’s clear.’

  Jason pulls random passengers by their arms and pushes them to one side of the train. The hooded man clenches his fist. The dark woman covers his clenched fist with her hand and shakes her head.

  Jason watches the hooded man wait and bide his time, waiting for the right moment to strike.

  Eighty Four

  ‘What do we do now?’ Frank rattles the ice at the bottom of his glass.

  Shaw lights his cigar.

  ‘There’s nothing we can do. The President is dead and Washington doesn’t want any attention taken away from the assassination.’

  ‘That’s BS. Sorry to be so blunt, but at the end of the day, the President is one guy. One guy. Connor has killed a lot more in the past two days than a single guy, no matter how important that one person is. Hundreds of people are still being held hostage. We need to make sure they don’t end up swallowing a mouth full of lead on live television.’

  ‘Your right, Frank, but we can’t go over Washington’s heads. I sure as hell don’t want to be stacking papers for the rest of my life because I didn’t follow orders’ Eddie interrupts and hands Shaw a coffee. ‘You want coffee, Frank?’

  Frank looks at his whisky and shakes his head. He paces the room as Shaw and Eddie talk. He is startled by a pat on his shoulder. He turns to see Eddie talking but he can’t hear a word of what he is saying. He only sees the DA’s lips move. Then sound returns.

  ‘You okay, Frank?’ he hears Eddie ask.

  Frank is doused in sweat. ‘I need some air. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.’ Frank’s mobile rings and he flips it open and puts it to his ear.

  ‘This is Frank.’

  A quiet hiss on the other end of the phone turns to a familiar cackle.

  Frank grabs a piece of paper and jots “Connor” on it. Eddie and Shaw sit up and pay attention as Frank switches the speaker on.

  ‘Speak up, Frank, my boy.’

  Frank clenches his fist at his side. Shaw slides another drink across the table. Frank grabs it and belts it down.

  ‘What do you want, Connor?’

  ‘Oh, the bitch talks! I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for some time now, Frank. Have you been avoiding me?’

  ‘Why would I do such a thing?’

  ‘Maybe because I killed that office slut you liked so much.’

  Frank kicks the chair next to him across the room and bangs his fist on the table.

  ‘You listen here, you motherfucker. When I get a hold of you, I’m going to gut you like a fish. You hear me, you no good, murdering, son of a bitch?’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it!’ Connor hangs up. A dial tone is the only sound in the room. Frank hurls the phone at the wall. Plastic shatters in all directions and he kicks the chair once more. He storms out, leaving Eddie and Shaw stunned and silent in their seats.

  Eighty Five

  Officer Mullins is in his patrol car in the parking lot. A tap on the passenger window startles him. His partner gestures for him to open the door.

  Mullins flicks a switch on his dashboard and unlocks the heavy door. His partner gets in.

  ‘Don’t slam the damn thing’ Mullins says as his companion closes the door.

  ‘You got any news about what’s happening?’

  ‘Do you think I’d be here, staring at the wall if I did?’

  His partner shrugs. ‘You’re supposed to be leading this operation. I thought you might know something.’

  ‘Not any more. The president was gunned down and now they don’t want us to go after Chase.’

  Mullins partner looks sympathetic.

  ‘I had a chance to advance in my career and that chance was blown away in seconds,’ Mullins fumes. ‘I’m going to be stuck in this patrol car with you for the rest of my life.’

  ‘Charming.’

  ‘If you haven’t got any thing important to say,
I’d appreciate it if you leave me alone.’

  ‘The county is in a state of emergency. We have a psycho killer holding several hundred people hostage. The president was assassinated. All you can think of is how miserable you have it. Man up. Do your damn Job.’

  ‘Believe me; I am going to do my job. Don’t you worry about that.’

  Eighty Six

  ‘I don’t want to hear that right now. You can’t be serious. Fuck sake!’ Eddie slams down the office phone and looks at Shaw, then pours himself another drink.

  ‘You alright, Eddie?’

  Eddie swigs his whisky back in one gulp and slams the empty glass down. ‘What does it look like?’ He wipes his nose with his sleeve. He pours himself yet another shot.

  ‘Don’t you think you need to slow down?’ Chief Shaw looks concerned.

  Eddie takes another swig.

  ‘Nope.’

  Shaw shakes his head and makes his way to the door.

  ‘Pull yourself together, Eddie. You’re the Goddamn DA. You can’t be drinking on the job like this. You’re ringing Washington up in that state! You’re not going to achieve anything good, Eddie.’

  Eddie scornfully stares back at the Chief.

  ‘I’ll do what the hell I want, when I want. You got me, Chief Shaw?’ He pours himself another drink.

  As he starts to down the shot, the brown liquid hits his mouth and dribbles from his mouth onto his white shirt. ‘Oops,’ he says sarcastically.

  ‘Like I said, pull yourself together.’ Shaw leaves, slamming the door behind him.

  Eighty Seven

  The train’s metal flooring creaks with every turn of the cabin and Jason looks down at the dark pregnant woman and then at the hooded man next to her. He stares at the hooded man for a few seconds. The man’s fists are clenched, ready for attack.

  Jason smiles, raises his hand and lands a backhand firmly on the pregnant woman’s dark face. She hits the floor as the rest of the passengers watch on in horror.

  Jason laughs as the hooded man bolts from the floor and tackles Jason. Jason’s head pings against the metal floor. Jason’s eyes widen as a fist hits his face, hammering his head back to the floor.

  The hostage’s cheer and jeer as the hooded man reigns down a fury of rights and lefts. He stands and surveys his downed opponent.

  Jason focuses; he snaps his leg back and kicks the man’s right knee. The sound of the man’s leg breaking is followed by a tortured scream. Jason eases himself up and stands over the man, reeling in agony.

  Jason pulls out his 9mm and aims it at the man’s head.

  ‘I wondered when you were going to make your move.’ Jason cocks the hammer back and fires one shot into the hooded man’s head. Blood seeps and reddens the fabric of the black hood. The man hits the floor with a thud.

  Jason puts his gun away and turns to the other passengers. ‘Like I said, anyone who doesn’t do as I say, then it’s good night for them.’

  The pregnant woman holds her face in pain and he kneels beside the terrified woman. He moves her palm from her cheek, revealing a red bruise. He looks into her brown eyes. ‘You’ll live,’ he says quietly.

  He gets back up and grabs his AK47. ‘Now let’s get this party started!’

  Eighty Eight

  Frank leans against a brick wall and surveys the traffic. The incident building is to his right in the far distance. Boston’s skyline is to his left. He slouches down and sits on the pavement. His hands slide across the coarse pavement. An ant runs across the finger of his right hand.

  He watches the cars drive by and reaches into his pocket and pulls out a new pill bottle. He unscrews the child proof top. He pours three of the assorted pills into his palm and chucks them into his mouth. He swallows them dry. His face remains placid as he drifts in and out of consciousness.

  Specs of light dance in front of him. He can’t hear a single thing as he watches the white lights dance. The image of his wife appears before him. Her luscious blonde hair drapes over her slender shoulders and she blows him a kiss. A tear rolls down his face and off his chin, hitting the pavement with an imagined sorrowful splash. He swallows hard as the image of his wife evaporates.

  A car horn beeps and he realizes it is night time. His watch tells him he has been there for three hours. A woman walks past as he is about to get up. She flicks a nickel on the ground as she walks away. He looks at the nickel in confusion and sticks out his arms to study his dirty and tattered clothes.

  He takes another deep breath and wipes the remaining tears from his face. Boston glistens in the moonlight light. He turns to see the incident room on the right. Bending down, he grabs the nickel. He flips it a few times and briskly walks toward the Boston horizon.

  Eighty Nine

  Chief Shaw looks on as officer’s form a crowd around the TV. The big screen TV flickers from pitch black to a live stream and Connor Chase appears wearing his usual white Tux. His face stares into the camera.

  Connor fiddles with a microphone attached to his chest.

  ‘Hello America. Here I am broadcasting live to you again. My video streams have more unique views than any other video in the history of the internet. You are lucky to be part of this accomplishment. YouTube fame aside, I’m here on important business. I’m talking about the 28th amendment.

  Now I know I must sound like a broken record, but surely you understand the importance of this amendment. Take today’s events for instance. The president was assassinated because someone gathered information, or as the CIA likes to put it, intelligence. The people who killed him knew when and where he was coming. They knew how to get to him. They knew how to get away. They succeeded. And the authorities are sucking their thumbs trying to find a lead on the assassin. Now, I’m not stupid. I know that the mere fact that I’m mentioning this is enough for them to want to pin this on me. They probably think that I had something to do with it. I’m not going to lie; I did think that the president might deserve to die. I mean all that shit about him being with this girl, then that girl. Cheaters never win, but I have to admit that I had nothing to do with the poor old bastard being shot.’

  Chase paces as he thinks with his hands.

  ‘Why would I kill the guy I need alive to pass the 28th amendment? I guess I could have had him killed for wasting my time and not complying with my demands, but I did not. Now the guy is dead and I’m left with no one to bargain with. So here’s what I propose. If Washington doesn’t start taking me seriously, I will do away with twenty five hostages live on this stream in a matter of minutes. The people in charge need to call me now so we can arrange a means of me getting away from this building alive and safe to some third world country. You know the drill. Most of all though, I want Washington to know if they do not pass my 28th amendment I shall do away with those twenty five hostages in a firing line live on TV. Now to make sure everyone understands my willingness to act with such brutality I would like to take you to live CCTV footage of the train station downtown. I’ve helpfully placed cameras in strategic positions to catch this moment in history. Roll the footage, as they say.’

  An image of four separate shots overlooking the train station appear on the TV. Nothing happens for a moment and then a train makes its way into shot. It slows to a crawl and finally stops. Four different camera angles capture the front of the train, the side, the rear and a wide angle of the whole train.

  The ticker on the bottom right of the TV reads the exact time and date. Shaw picks up his mobile and dials as he watches the idle train. Someone answers.

  ‘I need some units at the train station. Something is about to…’ A massive explosion at the front end of the train engulfs it in flames. A mushroom cloud of smoke bellows out and debris floats to the ground. The impact of the explosion knocks out the front camera and rear camera shots. The long angle shot and middle angle are all that remain as smoke and fire fill the platform.

  ‘Make that rescue units,’ Shaw says, ‘We have an explosion at the train station, probably ca
sualties.’ Shaw flips the phone shut and puts it in his pocket, staring in shock at the TV image.

  Ninety

  Frank opens the door to his apartment and rests his head against the firm wooden grain of it as it closes him in. He hears the hum of the light fixtures in the hall on the other side. He slouches against it for a while.

  He reaches in for his pill container, unscrews the top and pours a few dozen pills into his mouth. He rattles the container. It’s nearly empty. He listens at the door again. The hallway is silent.

  He turns and surveys his apartment. Scattered folders and clothes define the decor. The empty bottle of Jack he so willingly guzzled a few days ago clutters the open plan living area. He makes his way to the fridge and peers in.

  The cold refrigerator warms his face as he rummages through it. His hand finds a long neck cold bottle and he pulls it out. He smiles as he unscrews the chilled whiskey.

  ‘I wondered where you got to.’ He lifts the heavy brown bottle to his lips and lets the liquid gush down his throat, down his front in true McKenzie style. His face drips as he finishes the bottle off and chucks the empty container on the floor. The thud sounds right in the dark room. He stumbles to his couch and plonks himself down. The familiar cushions welcome him. He grabs the remote and flicks on the TV. The first channel it is on shows the carnage at the downtown Boston train station. Frank quickly sits and watches the disturbing images.

  The TV then flicks to a live picture of Connor Chase, standing firm and proud in his white tuxedo. Frank shakes his head and hurls the remote towards the television. It cracks the widescreen. Frank grabs his keys and walks out the door, slamming it firmly behind him.

  Ninety One

  ‘I hope I have made myself clear.’ Chase looks scornfully at the camera. ‘I am serious about this.’

  Chief Shaw stares at Chase and turns to see Eddie with an empty glass in his hands. Chase’s tirade continues in the background. Shaw turns to the screen as he grips the desk in front of him. His fingers dig into the wood as the horror of what he just saw washes across his face.