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THE TARGET PART II
By Jason Bourne
1
From the doors of the Prosperity Mall, with a stream of numerous other people, a teenage boy with blonde hair, a black shirt, and a denim jacket walked out of the mall and into the afternoon sun wearing sunglasses.
As Jerry crossed the street, he spotted an elderly lady, looking pitiful against all the perfectly healthy people walking along the street. She was carrying a plastic bag that looked bigger than her thin pitiful frame.
Jerry immediately rushed over to her.
¡°Can I help you with that, ma¡¯am?¡±
The old lady turned around.
¡°Why thank you, young man, but-¡±
Jerry grabbed the bag and asked, ¡°Where do you live, ma¡¯am?¡±
She pointed to an old brick cottage about three houses down and said again, ¡°It¡¯s o-¡±
Jerry followed her to her cottage where he settled the bag on her doorway. The old lady smiled at Jerry. ¡°Thank you so much, young man.¡± She took out her purse. ¡°I¡¯ll have to pay you for this.¡±
Jerry stuck out his hand in a gesture of refusal. ¡°Oh no, I couldn¡¯t.¡±
¡°Please take it, young man.¡± She said.
¡°I insist.¡± Jerry said, smiling.
The old lady smiled at Jerry again. ¡°You are a good boy.¡±
¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am.¡± Jerry smiled. If only you knew what¡¯s what¡¯s going on in my head now, ma¡¯am, if only you knew. You¡¯d run away screaming.
As he walked away from the old lady¡¯s cottage, he heard a cry of pain, then some sobbing noises near an alleyway. He turned toward it to look.
What he saw filled him with revulsion and fury.
Butch and his merry band were surrounding a small kid who was covered in bruises. Butch was in the act of hitting the boy again before Jerry said, in a cold and fear instilling voice that was utterly unlike him, ¡°Let him go.¡±
The four musketeers looked up. Jerry saw Butch¡¯s black eye.
They stared at each other for a few more minutes. The boy they had been beating up had slinked away. Butch knew, but he didn¡¯t care.
¡°Well, it¡¯s the rock-man.¡± Butch drawled.
Butch¡¯s second in rank, Ryan, stepped forward. ¡°We thought you¡¯d be smart enough to stay at home, asshole. Seems like you aren¡¯t.¡±
Jerry stood at the mouth of the alleyway expressionlessly. His left hand was flat; he had subconsciously directed all the energy in his hand to his little finger.
Butch didn¡¯t like that. He nodded to his gang, the gesture clear enough.
Get him.
They did. Unsuccessfully.
Jerry raised his left hand, which was in a karate chop position, and struck the throat of the first boy charging at him with so much force that he fell back choking and gagging.
The second boy charged from behind him, one fist raised, and without turning around, Jerry struck the boy¡¯s ribcage with his elbow. As the boy doubled over in pain, Jerry punched him hard in the nose. Blood, red and viscous, started dripping from the boy¡¯s nose as he fell back, crying.
Ryan charged at Jerry from another side and tried to bear-hug him. John ducked easily and elbowed Ryan¡¯s stomach very hard. Ryan fell over and Jerry karate chopped him in the ribs.
He turned around and saw Butch heading for him, fists punching. Jerry stepped backwards and put Butch in a choke-hole. He spun around and released Butch into a pile of garbage.
Blubbering in fear, Butch said the words that numerous kids had said to him before when they got their beatings from him.
¡°I-I-I¡¯m t-t-t-telling!¡±
Jerry smirked and grabbed Butch by the chin. ¡°You go ahead and do that, Butch. You do, and I¡¯ll give you a beating that is perhaps ten, maybe twenty times worse than this. You hear me?¡±
Butch Crandall, the biggest bully in Greenwater School nodded as if his head had been put on a string. It wasn¡¯t the beating that scared him, actually. No, it was the look in Jerry Bachman¡¯s eyes. They scared him so much more than the beating he had watched John give his gang, for they were stone-cold, not the eyes of the geek he had known at all, but someone else¡¯s.
Jerry stood up and walked away, stepping over the punks. One side of him felt immense satisfaction while the other was horrified. My God, he thought. What have I done?
You have single-handedly beaten up the biggest, toughest bullies in Greenwater School.
He stood in the row of houses, thinking about it, and suddenly he wasn¡¯t scared any more.
He was terrified.
2
To soothe his nerves a little, Jerry went over to the Shopping District and took a slow walk among the rushing of people. If it hadn¡¯t been so noisy, Jerry would have noticed that his footsteps were almost entirely soundless.
Jerry was still overcome with fright, however, and he had to use a lot of effort to prevent himself from screaming. As people passed down the streets, Jerry found himself subconsciously making mental descriptions of them. Tall blonde male, approximately 6 feet and two inches tall, probably a banker¡among many others.
Jerry¡¯s eyes strayed to a newspaper stall and he spotted a headline that made his heart skip a beat.
CIA AGENT FOUND
DEAD IN FOREST LANE.
Below was a picture of the man, and Jerry stared open mouthed at it.
It was the dying man he had seen about two million years ago in Forest Lane.
After about two hour¡¯s worth of inspecting the device, Jerry put it into a drawer and put his hand on the switch when he saw movement outside the window. He switched off the light, but walked over to the window.
Outside was a large black Mercedes Benz in the driveway of the Creed household. Jerry, having been their neighbor for about three years, knew they weren¡¯t rich enough to buy a car like that.
So whose car was it?
Then, Jerry saw a small black figure on the rooftop of the Creed¡¯s home. Even though it was very dark, Jerry could somehow see that the man was carrying a gun.
Quickly, but calmly, Jerry got dressed. He pulled out a black jersey he had never worn before and long black trousers. He took the coat hanger from which the jersey had hung from and went outside. The old Jerry Bachman was gone. Now the new Jerry ruled his mind.
Stealthily, Jerry crept toward the back door and silently unlocked it. With both hands, he quietly opened the door, closed it, and locked it. Quickly and quietly, he headed for the Creed household, camouflaged efficiently among the shadows by his black attire.
He waited patiently among the bushes, knowing that the man would come, knowing what the man had come for.
After about fifteen minutes, a black, the crouched figure headed for the Mercedes with his gun and nothing else, as Jerry had predicted. As he walked toward the car, he holstered his gun. Now!
Slowly, Jerry came from the bushes and took out an unraveled coat hanger, the only tool he would need now.
His right hand gripping the hook of the coat hanger, Jerry brought the hanger over the man¡¯s head and down to his throat in mere seconds. He pushed the thin wire of the coat hanger into the man¡¯s throat and within seconds, the man¡¯s body went limp. He was dead.
Jerry walked over to the man¡¯s Mercedes and slipped the coat hanger into a gap in the window the man had carelessly made as he could not search the body for keys then. With a small loop he had made at the other end of the hanger, he hooked the door lock and opened the car easily. Quickly, he dragged the corpse into the back seat and shut the door. The keys were in the ignition. Good.
Jerry started the engine and drove smoothly into the night. The conscience of the old Jerry Bachman came for a split second (¡°Goddamn I¡¯m thirteen and I¡¯m driving¡±) before winking out like a light.
Jerry drove into Forest Lane, the very place where the madness had begun.
Being very remote, Jerry knew there would be no one to see him. He searched the man, hoping to get some clues to who he was.
The man was holding a silenced Beretta 8000 Cougar pistol, a very advanced firearm which offered good concealability, firepower and accuracy. Jerry ejected the magazine.
(¡°How the hell did I know how to do that¡±?)
and found that the weapon was chambered for .357 SIG bullets. There were eleven of them; a full magazine. Good. He thought
(Why?)
and put the magazine back into the magazine catch. There were also three extra clips.
As he stepped on the gas pedal, he noticed something below it and frowned a little. He took it out and found that it was an attach¨¦ case. Curious, he opened it. His eyes widened.
Inside the case were bundles and bundles of ten thousand dollar notes. Each bundle had ten notes in it. His eyes still on the road, he started to count the money.
When he finished, his eyes widened and he stopped the car. He bent his head down and counted the money again. No, he hadn¡¯t made a mistake.
Inside the attach¨¦ case were five million American dollars.
He removed a note and held it to the moonlight. The note was crisp, new, and it straightened out easily. But he was sure. The notes were genuine. Jerry put all the notes back into the case and continued to drive, his mind spinning with horror as the pieces of the horrific puzzle put itself together.
Someone wanted the device Jerry Bachman had so much, he would kill for it.
He parked the car at the Greenwater Jetty. He switched off the headlights and opened the boot. He hoisted the anvil out of the boot and dragged it to the empty pier. He hoisted the garbage bag with the dead assassin¡¯s corpse in it and dragged it beside the anvil. With the rope, he tied the corpse to the anvil and cut off the remaining rope. He dragged the corpse to the edge of the pier and threw it into the sea where it sank into the depths.
For a few minutes, Jerry stood at the edge of the pier, looking at his own reflection in the sea.
When Jerry lay down in bed that night, his mind was spinning with horror as the pieces of the horrible puzzle assembled itself. John reached for his bedside drawer and took the plastic device. He stared at it for a long time.
Someone wanted the device Jerry Bachman had, someone who wanted it so bad, he would kill for it.
3
He had walked down to Brett¡¯s Luncheon for lunch the next day at about twelve noon.
¡°Hey, Jerry!¡± The youngish waiter said cheerfully to him when he sat down; Jerry was, after all, a familiar customer.
¡°Hi.¡± Jerry said simply, making the waiter frown a little. His voice, he thought, it¡¯s so different.
¡°What would you like today, Jerry?¡± The waiter said, regaining his smile.
¡°Oh, the usual. An omelette with mushrooms, please. And a bowl of mushroom soup.¡±
The waiter took this down on his notepad. ¡°Any drinks?¡± The waiter said, looking up at Jerry. As he did, he got the shock of his life.
My God, the waiter thought , the look in his eyes, in his GODDAMNED EYES!!
¡°-no ice, please.¡± Jerry was saying. Then he looked at the waiter and saw the shock in his eyes. He knows, Jerry thought. He knows that something isn¡¯t right.
¡°Hello?¡± Jerry asked. Almost immediately, the waiter snapped back in place and asked, ¡°Sorry, I was just thinking about my-er-um- girlfriend, yes, yes my girlfriend. You were saying?¡± The waiter was sweating.
Like hell you were. Jerry thought.
¡°One coke, no ice please.¡± Jerry said politely.
Jerry was walking down Shopping district, wondering where to go next when he saw them.
Three men had got out of two black cars, one a Chevrolet, the other a Porsche, and into the human-clogged pathway. The first one had an artificial leather jacket. His left hand was in the pocket, clearly holding on to something. A gun, most probably. The second wore a loose OP tee shirt while the third carried a large violin case. What as in it?
They were walking separately, but Jerry could see that the three of them frequently passed each other, making brief eye-contact. Jerry knew they were looking for him.
How had they known he was here? No matter. He had his gun, the money, and the device they were looking for. He was quite ready.
First, he had to escape detection. He looked around, sure that there could be something or someone he could use.
She was there! Rachael Gates! For a brief moment, the old Jerry Bachman came into the surface of his mind before he was swept away.
Jerry walked over to Rachael. ¡°Hi,¡± Jerry said briefly. His eyes wandered to the men for a moment.
¡°Hi.¡± Rachael said, smiling.
Jerry desperately looked for a topic to talk about.
¡°Er¡um¡you know about the holiday assignments, right?¡± Jerry asked, his eyes turning to look at the mercenaries again.
¡°Yes.¡± Rachael said, her large brown eyes staring at Jerry.
¡°What are they? I-um¡forgot.¡± Jerry said. His eyes wandered about the place and saw something.
It was an uneven glint in the window of a shopping center. Jerry squinted a little and then nearly opened his mouth in shock. It was the scope of a sniper rifle!
It was pointed right at him.
¡°-twenty four.¡± Rachael paused. ¡°Are you listening?¡±
¡°Get down.¡± Jerry whispered.
¡°What?¡±
Jerry grabbed her by the back and shoved her down with himself. Rachael gave a sharp cry of surprise.
A middle-aged man who had been walking down the path suddenly fell down. His head had been blown away. Instantly, the whole crowd of people stampeded. Screams were heard as people rushed away from the corpse.
¡°My God!¡± Rachael exclaimed.
Jerry her up and said, very softly to her, ¡°If you want to live, follow me.¡± Shocked and bewildered, Rachael obeyed, her large brown eyes wide with fright.
Jerry headed down the pathway towards an alleyway. He turned to Rachael. ¡°Stay here.¡± he said.
He walked to the alleyway while the crowd was still hysteric and spotted him! The sniper with the violin case!
The man spotted him almost simultaneously. He reached for his sidearm but Jerry had already drawn his. A single bullet from the gun hit the man¡¯s skull and blew it away, the already suppressed shot silenced further by the noise the crowd was making. Jerry then searched the man¡¯s body.
Jerry ran back into the pathway and grabbed Rachael by the arm.
¡°Where are we going?¡± she asked. Jerry didn¡¯t answer. He was too busy looking for the cars the killers had. He saw them moment later. He opened the door of the closest car, the Chevrolet. He looked around. No one had noticed.
¡°Get in. Please.¡± Jerry said.
¡°Are you crazy? No! Whose car is that?!¡± Rachael yelled back.
Jerry closed his eyes. ¡°Please.¡± He repeated again. ¡°I don¡¯t want anybody else innocent to die.¡±
Rachael stopped for a moment. ¡°What does this have to do with you?¡±
¡°Long story, Rachael. I¡¯ll tell you when you get in.¡± Jerry said.
Rachael reluctantly obliged. Jerry slammed the car door closed and took the car keys he had gotten from the sniper out of his pocket.
¡°Where did you get those?¡± Rachael asked. Jerry didn¡¯t reply. Instead, he started the engine and drove.
¡°My God. You can drive! How did-¡± Rachael was shocked.
¡°It¡¯s part of the story.¡± Jerry said.
He turned around and saw the black Porsche coming towards them.
Rachael had seen it too. ¡°Shit!¡± She said.
Jerry didn¡¯t reply. He stepped on the gas pedal and the car went faster. Driving through the busy street at breakneck speed sure wasn¡¯t going to be one of his favorite things to do.
Finally, he made it out of the Shopping District and realized he was on a narrow, long road. Surrounding it was the desert.
He turned around and saw that the killers were still on their tail. He looked up and saw the huge, wooden, crudely-painted sign.
WELCOME TO HELL¡¯S ACRES!
YOU ARE TRAVELLING ON HIGHWAY 51.
HAVE A NICE DAY.
Underneath the words were two huge grinning skulls.
1/27/2006 8:22:04 AM
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