He leaves his house in a furious mess. A loud bang rings throughout the neighborhood. He flies down the steps leading to his door, and runs to his car. The handle’s broken, so he reaches in the window and opens it from the inside. Tires screech as the car pulls out of the driveway, and onto the city streets. It’s 2 a.m.
His red Mustang is a total junker. It has a door handle missing, and a large crack running down the rear window. The passenger side is riddled with dents, and the paint is starting to chip. It’s definitely not the best looking car on the block, but it’s his. And he needed its speed anyways, not its looks. He’s cruising along at a steady pace until he reaches the highway. Exhaust flashes out of the muffler, and the Mustang gallops into the night.
The client is supposed to be waiting for him outside of an abandoned factory. He turns off the headlights, and creeps up to the spot. Ten minutes pass. His blood starts to simmer. “That old bastards going to pay” he mutters. He sets the car in park, and shuts off the engine. A sudden silence surrounds him. Darkness crawls out of the warehouse, wrapping the Mustang it its cloak. He suddenly feels terribly anxious. There’s a knock on the window.
He almost jumps straight through the roof at the sound. Leaning over to roll down his passenger window, he notices the client’s height. They’re terribly short.
“Hello,” said the Client.
“Get in,” he responds.
The Client swings the door open, and throws his backpack on the ground.
“What are you doing out so late, kid?” he inquires, realizing this is no midget. The Mustang comes to life once more, and the job begins.
“Just got lost,” responds the Client.
No more questions are asked. This was a job, not social hour. They speed out on to the highway, and head towards the bridge. He couldn’t care less about what this kids deal was; the Client needs to cross the bridge just like everyone else, and he was going to get him there.
For awhile things are going smoothly. The Client isn’t speaking, just like he likes it. They’re still making good time too, despite the ten minute setback. The Driver sees the beginning of the bridge in the distance, roughly a quarter mile away. Suddenly, they’re being run off the road by a black Tahoe. The Driver brakes, and clips the Tahoe on it’s bumper, sending it spinning off the road. This wasn’t his first rodeo. He slams on the gas, and they peel off towards the bridge.
The bridge is blocked off like usual, but there’s no time to do this job the neat way. The Mustang slams through the wood barriers as they hit the final stretch of their journey. The Driver is redlining the Mustang, pushing it to its limits as he tries to outrun the mysterious attackers. Looking in his rear view mirror, he sees four black Tahoe’s on his tail. They’re gaining fast, but once they reach the other side of the bridge; they’re in the clear. The Driver turns to look at the Client. He’s sitting in silence, seemingly unaware of their situation. Maybe he didn’t quite understand their peril, or maybe he already knew their end.
The first two Tahoe’s to reach them pulled up on either side, and tried to sandwich them in. It was a simple enough tactic for the Driver to avoid, but it meant braking and losing precious speed. He struggled with this decision when the Mustang began to groan, and slow down on its own. Adrenaline shoots through the Driver. His last job, and he was going to end up on the morning news.
“Do not fret,” said the Client. “We will make it.”
“Easy enough for you to say, kid!” yells the Driver as he reaches over, and pulls a gun out of the glove box. A Tahoe slams into them from behind. The Client doesn’t flinch. The Driver turns around, and begins firing. Five loud cracks of lightning fly out the barrel, and shatter the rear window. Two of the bullets make contact with the Tahoe’s driver, sending the vehicle spiraling out of control. It flips over on its side, and rolls into a second Tahoe.
“It’s our lucky day!” hoots the Driver.
The Mustangs engine is still groaning, slowly but surely coming to a stop. They’re halfway across the bridge now, and the smell of freedom wafts through the Drivers nose. He reloads his gun. The final stretch was upon them.
The Driver grabs his bag from the backseat, and reaches inside. He pulls out a grenade, something he had been saving for a moment such as this. The pin drops to the floor. He checks his mirrors, and sees the two remaining Tahoe’s pulling up to try and box him in again. The Driver grips the emergency brake. Before their pursuers have a chance to act, the Driver swings the Mustang around, using up the last of it’s momentum. The leading Tahoe slams into the Mustangs front bumper, setting off the driver side airbag in the process. With his left hand, he grips his gun, and shoots out the front window. A grenade goes flying through the air. It lands on the leading Tahoe’s front windshield, cracking the glass. A fiery explosion rocks the bridge. A tomb of flames springs up in front of the Mustang, covering their pursuers in eternity.
The airbag deflates, and returns the Driver his sight. The Client has remained unfazed throughout the whole ordeal, seemingly bored with it all.
“Come on,” said the Driver, grabbing his bag and stepping out of the car.
The Client got out of the car in response, but didn’t speak. He grabs his backpack, and throws it over his shoulders. They walked in silence to the end of the bridge.
Upon arrival, the Driver pushes open the gate blocking their exit, and lets the Client through.
“What a relief,” groans the Driver. “I felt like the whole world was on my shoulders.”
The Client turns to the Driver, his young face illuminated by the street lamps. He stares deeply into the Driver’s eyes, taking a direct path to his soul. The Driver is frozen. He can’t seem to move, this child’s grip on him is strong. A wave of emotions overcomes the Driver, sending him to the ground in tears. The Client bends over, and lifts the Driver’s chin with his hand.
“You had on your shoulders not only the whole world, but Him who made it.”
He rose up again, no longer a child in the Driver’s eyes, and vanished.
