So far away from home, I was lost.
There were so many choices, so many decisions, each with its own subset of problems and decisions. I was weighing the pros and cons of each, trying to make the best decision for me. My only problem was that I had about a second and a half to finish.
I dove left, into the heap of paper and cardboard, behind the metal trashbins. Sure, this worked in the movies, I'll just push it towards them, and they can't shoot through it.
Well, the bad guys in the movies never shot .45's and they never actually hit the thin sheetmetal of one of these things. Sure enough, holes were punching through the left side of the bin.
So I forgot to put that in the equation. Meh.
Sprinting further down the alley, I kept wondering why I was here.
Because you saw it in a movie, numbnuts.
I don't want you to think I'm crazy, I don't actually talk to myself. Out loud. He's right, it's more of a running commentary in my head. Keeps me level. It's almost like having two full capacity brains in my head. Example: My eyes were now scanning the alley ahead of me as I ran. I was concentrating on my footing through the garbage, and he would take note on what was ahead, so when I got there, I'd have a plan.
Like how about the back door of the deli? Dude was sitting there smoking and left it open.
He's good like that. Minor details are his forte.
Turned out the reason he left the door open was that he'd been hit by some of the metallic rain intended for me. Meh, win some, lose some.
This looked easy, but I knew I couldn't just barge out of the front of the store. Made that mistake once already. These guys were thorough. Besides the two chasing me, there was second car parked at the end of the alley. It was a Chrysler, and five bucks says he's waiting out front.
I know. I walked through the kitchen, pretending to belong there. But it's hard to fit in when you're wearing sandals and bloody skivvies.
Screw it. I grabbed a to-go bag, slid the knives off of the counter into it, and sprinted throught the door. Where he attempted to force the door through the back of one of their heads. After hearing his head split on the corner of the door, I chucked the bag at the other one, watching it hit him square in the face before ducking down to grab the gun out of the first one's hand. I swear, the thing weighed about 10 pounds. I turned around, following my sight with the pistol (hand cannon) like they do in the movies, and it was a good thing too.
I don't know if it's normal, but the first thing I thought after I watched that man's grey matter cover a particularly heinous painting behind him was that I wish I'd had earplugs. [To do for next escape from hitmen: Bring earplugs, pants and decent running shoes.] I grabbed his weapon, went back to the first one, grabbed his sport coat and headed for the door. The car - Chrysler - was idling on the patio, much to the chagrin of cheap table and yellow umbrella. The chairs escaped unscathed.
What's one count grand theft auto on top of two counts manslaughter?
Worth it. I already had the car in reverse.


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