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azombiewritesTitle: A Murder Hunt
- Sequel to ‘A Murder Mystery’
Rating: PG Bad Language
Fandom: The Magnificent Seven
Category: Four Corners Detectives AU
Main Characters: Ezra and JD
Disclaimers: The guys are owned by CBS, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment Group, and The Mirisch Corp.
Notes: The April 2005 Challenge (the Mystery Challenge) - offered by Jesfrealo. Write a story where a mystery plays a key role in the story. Have one or any combination of the guys be the detective(s). It can be funny or serious and in any open universe. Extra points if you make an unusual pair of the guys work together to figure out the mystery (so not Chris and Vin or Buck and JD...). Have fun!!
Summary: Detectives Standish and Dunne hunt for a killer
Spoilers: None
Author's note: A BIG thank you and a bear hug to the person who nominated this story for a 2008 & 2009 MoM award!
Warning: Josiah Sanchez is the bad guy in this story!
Part Four
With the car’s police lights flashing, Dunne shifted into second, third, then fourth, and floored it. Sanchez was now at least four car lengths in front of them but the distance began to shorten when the SUV reached a speed that exceeded the Jeep.
Dunne clenched his jaw in anticipation as he watched the Jeep head straight for an intersection that held a red light.
Sanchez exploded into it and drove safely through to the other side.
Just as the SUV was about to go through the same red light, a green Ford Explorer suddenly entered the intersection from the left and Dunne had to swerve around it to avoid a collision. Alternating between the clutch and the accelerator, he changed through the gears to compensate for the lack of speed. Once the car was back on track, he shifted back up to fourth and bore down on the accelerator.
Up ahead the Jeep Wrangler was weaving through traffic, causing the other drivers to press down hard on their horns, expressing their road rage toward the driver in the blue Jeep. When they saw the flashing blue and red lights, some drivers obeyed the road rules and moved their cars out of the way.
Others continued to move forward.
Right into the path of the oncoming SUV.
Dunne pressed the heel of his right hand against the horn and held it there. A blue Chevy jerked to a stop, bucked forward and jerked to a stop again – its driver indecisive about what he should be doing. He finally came to the correct decision and reversed the Chevy back into the car behind it.
Dunne hit the brakes, stopping the SUV before it hit the Chevy. He then slammed the gears into reverse before releasing the clutch and hitting the accelerator. The car skidded backward for a short distance before it stopped. The sound of the gears grinding back into first caused Dunne to grimace in pain.
In the distance, he could see the Wrangler taking a left turn at the next T-Junction. He pressed the accelerator to the floor and drove around the Chevy.
The sound of a Police siren indicated that back up was on its way.
Without using the brakes, Dunne shifted the gears back into second to slow the car down before entering the turn. Once the car entered the corner, Dunne shifted back up through the gears and the SUV raced toward the Jeep.
A marked police cruiser – driven by Officer Jack Hollman – sped past the SUV and within a few seconds, came up behind the Jeep. Hollman pushed the right front corner of his car up against the space between the rear wheel and the rear bumper of the fleeing Jeep. He then turned toward the Jeep and simultaneously stepped on the gas.
The Jeep Wrangler spun out of control.
“Shit!”
Dunned slammed his foot against the brake pedal. The sound of tires screaming in self-defense filled his ears.
When he realised he could nothing to stop the collision, he took his foot off the brake – the last thing he wanted to do was break his ankle.
There was no room left to maneuver the SUV. It hit the passenger side of the Jeep head on.
Dunne felt a flash of pain before he lost consciousness.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0
Sanchez saw his opportunity and took it with a heart-felt thank you. Without the slightest hint of hesitation, he pulled the gun from the waistband of his trousers and fired a shot through the car’s windscreen. Safety glass exploded, shattered and fell like hailstones onto the dashboard. He then fired two more shots toward the police cruiser – it had stopped a few meters away from the Jeep – causing Hollman to seek protection by lying face down on the front seat when the bullets punched holes, the size of grapes, into the side of the cruiser.
With the determination of a man with nothing left to lose, Sanchez exited the Jeep and headed around the front of his car, toward the crippled SUV, firing shots at the cruiser as he ran. When he reached the passenger side of the SUV, he grabbed the door handle with his left hand and pulled.
Nothing happened. The door refused to open. At some point, Standish had locked the door.
Sanchez didn't allow such a small problem to alter his plans. He covered his eyes and fired his gun. The bullet shattered the window, entered the glove compartment and settled itself amongst the other debris that hadn’t seen the light of day for many months. Sanchez reached in, unlocked and opened the door. He couldn’t help but laugh at the semi-conscious figure before him.
Blood leaked from a cut on a forehead that was leaning forward; leaving a trail so thick, it almost covered the right side of Standish’s face. Saliva and blood blended as it dripped slowly from partially opened lips. Sanchez couldn’t help but notice that the Detective’s body seemed to shake almost violently with each intake of breath.
After retrieving the gun from Standish’s holster, Sanchez unclipped the seat belt that was holding the man upright. He then pulled Standish from the SUV, and allowed him to fall into a heap on the ground. Bending forward into the car, Sanchez saw that Dunne was leaning against the steering wheel in a state of unconsciousness. He wasn’t happy with ‘unconscious’; he wanted Dunne dead, just as much as he wanted Standish dead. With his gun pressed against the back of Dunne’s head, he began to apply pressure to the gun’s trigger.
A shot fired in the air reminded him of the police officer he had mistakenly thought was still in the cruiser. He glanced up and saw the uniformed officer running toward the driver’s side of the SUV, his gun raised and shouting a warning. Sanchez smiled, aimed his gun higher and fired through the open window of the driver’s side door. The bullet soared threw the air and brushed past the officer’s right ear with a few inches to spare. The man dropped immediately and began to crab crawl towards the SUV.
Sanchez knew he was running out of time. He withdrew from the car, grabbed Standish by the back of his jacket, hauled him to his feet and wrapped his left arm around the smaller man’s throat. A grunt of what he assumed was protest, told him that Standish was becoming more aware of his surroundings.
Standish’s five foot eight inches in height didn’t give him a lot of protection – very little in fact – but the threat he posed toward the Detective, would be enough cause for the police officer to pause in his actions.
He began to walk backward, dragging Standish with him toward one of the many vehicles that had stopped to allow it’s occupants to watch the scene with morbid fascination.
“Let him go, Sanchez!” Hollman yelled.
Sanchez answered by firing his gun – a silent count in his head told him he only had a few bullets left. If he had the time or the opportunity, he would switch guns. He continued to move back toward the nearest car.
“For God’s sake . . . shoot him.”
Taking his eyes off the SUV, Sanchez looked down at Standish and said, “You talking to me or him? Because if you’re talking to him . . . he can’t hear you.” He watched as Standish opened his mouth to repeat his words. “Say anything and I’ll kill the next person I meet.”
Hollman fired another warning shot into the air. The gunshot echoed with the sound of a Police siren. Sanchez realized he had even less time than he had thought. “Take another fucking pot-shot and I’ll kill Standish, right here and right now!”
“Give it up, Sanchez,” Hollman stayed out of sight behind the SUV; getting shot on his wife’s birthday would not be a good thing. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Do you guys get all your lines from the cop shows on tv?”
“Yeah we do, a video of ‘Starsky and Hutch’ is included in the Training Manual.”
“Unbelievable,” Sanchez muttered to himself as he took another step backwards. “I was living in Green Acres.”
He quickly glanced over his shoulder and saw what he needed. A frightened teenage boy driving a brand new 4-door Toyota Camry. His grip tightened around Standish’s throat – he could feel the man’s weak attempts to grip his forearm – as he made his way quickly to the car. When he reached the Camry, Sanchez pulled Standish around to the other side of the vehicle, keeping the car between himself and the police officer behind the SUV. Sanchez then watched as another police cruiser joined the first. The officer he knew as Vin Tanner practically leapt from the car. He couldn’t help but notice that Tanner carried a sniper’s rifle, and his body illustrated the confidence of a man who knew how to use it.
Sanchez knew he was in deep shit.
He had to go now, and he had to go quickly.
“Standish, get in the back seat. Now!” He could feel the hesitation through the Detective’s body language. “If you don’t get in now, I’ll kill the fucking kid!”
When he felt Standish nod under his forearm, he let him go. With cheerful satisfaction, he watched Standish open the door and then carefully crawl into the car. Sanchez quickly followed him into the back seat.
The boy, who would fail to live long enough to reach his eighteenth birthday, tried to protest. “Hey! You can’t--”
“No one asked you, kid, so shut the hell up and do as you’re told.”
Sanchez knew that while Standish was awake he would be a threat – even in the condition the man was in – so he grabbed the back of Standish’s head, slammed it into the passenger door window and permitted Standish to collapse back down onto the seat beside him. Now that the Detective was incapable of doing anything, he wouldn’t have to worry about him.
“Hey, what’s your name?” Sanchez noticed the kid had twisted his body into a position that would allow him to see what was happening in the back of his father’s car.
“Dan Stone.”
Sanchez leaned forward, pressed the muzzle of the gun against Stone’s neck and said, “Start driving, Dan Stone.”
With a sudden dread of fear and a short leakage of urine into his underwear, Stone turned around and did as Sanchez ordered. But the fear caused his brain to freeze – he forgot to apply pressure to the accelerator after taking his foot off the clutch.
The car stalled.
Stone took a deep breath, and in his mind’s eye, went through the instructions on how to start and drive a car – again. He managed to turn over the engine on his second attempt and with his foot pressed against the accelerator, he slowly let out the clutch. The car shuddered forward. Changing into second, the car jerked, then continued to move forward without further protest.
Sanchez was too busy staring at the red dot dancing across his body to care about the way Stone was driving. Gripping the side of the seat in front of him with the fingers of his left hand, he pulled his tall frame further down into the seat and leaned over as far as he could go. His jacket and shirt had ridden up his back as he moved and he could now feel Standish’s warm breath against the skin of his lower back. The feeling caused a twinge of excitement to run through his body.
The excitement turned to disgust when he heard the police sirens; they were following him. Now he was fucking angry.
The jingle of a cell phone’s ring tone broke through the surrounding noise of engines and police sirens. Drawing his eyebrows together, Sanchez listened to what he thought was the theme song to ‘The Magnificent Seven’. It sounded like it was coming from his back pocket.
Standish.
It had to be Standish’s phone.
Sanchez twisted his body into a very uncomfortable position and with most of his weight resting on his elbow he began to search through Standish’s coat pockets. A wicked smile crossed his features when he felt the cold metal steel of handcuffs. Leaving the cell phone to continue its insistent ringing he pulled the cuffs out of the pocket and held them up in front of his eyes.
Grateful for the upper strength that would make his next task easier; Sanchez reached behind Standish’s prone form and pulled the smaller man’s left arm up behind his back. Using one hand, he closed a cuff around the thin wrist and let it drop back down. In a matter of seconds, Standish’s right arm joined the left behind his back, both arms now secured within the confines of the handcuffs.
Sanchez felt the car slow down. “What the hell are you doing?”
Stone’s simple answer of corner satisfied Sanchez enough to stop him from shooting the guy in the back of the head.
“Just make sure you stay ahead of them.”
Straightening his now aching back, Sanchez glanced out of the car’s back window. Anger filled his entire being at the sight of the three police cruisers following the Camry.
Where in the hell did the third one come from?
Ignoring the anger he felt, he returned to searching Standish’s pockets for the cell phone that had failed to stop ringing. He pulled at the coat in frustration, tugging the shirt out of Standish’s trousers, revealing the pale skin beneath. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of a small scar above Standish’s right hip. Sanchez touched the scar with gentle fingers, sending a tingling sensation up through the appendages into his arm. Snubbing the feeling, he pulled the shirt down, covering the flesh and continued his search for the phone. His anger was growing at his lack of success and when he was ready to explode, he found it. The caller ID caused him to smile.
Flipping the phone open, he put it to his ear and said, “Call them off, Larabee.”
“I can’t do that.”
“I have two hostages . . . I don’t need both of them.”
“Then let them go.”
The calm confidence in Larabee’s voice sent a shiver of doubt through Sanchez’s spine. “I can’t do that.”
“Then we’ve got a problem, Sanchez.”
“No, you’ve got the problem, Larabee.” Sanchez tapped the barrel of his gun against Standish’s hip. “I assume you ran the plates of this car, found out who the owner is . . . you know how old the kid is?”
“Turned seventeen last week,” Larabee admitted.
“Do you want to be responsible for his death?” Sanchez looked up at the rear view mirror and saw the reflection of Stone’s brown eyes; they were full of fear. With Stone’s eyes off the road, the car began to veer to the right. Stone realized what was happening and turned his eyes back towards the road, turning the steering wheel until the left front wheel was running along side the white line in the center of the road.
“His death wouldn’t be my responsibility.”
“What makes you think that, Larabee?”
“I won’t take responsibility for the action of others.”
Sanchez shrugged. “Your actions will result in their deaths.” When there was no reply he continued, “If you don’t call your men off, I’ll murder a seventeen year old boy. If you call them off, I won’t hurt him, I’ll even let him go.”
“How do I know that you’ll let him go?”
“I’m a man of my word, Larabee.”
“And Standish?”
“Him, I’ll keep for a little while longer.”
“Is he dead?”
“No . . . I can’t play with him if he’s dead”
“But you’re going to kill him.”
“Not straight away.”
“I can’t let you go.”
Sanchez smiled. “How about I give you a choice?”
“No.”
“You’re not making this easy, Larabee,” Sanchez growled into the phone.
“It’s not my job to make it easy for you.”
“Then I’ll make it easy for you,” Sanchez leaned forward and pressed the barrel of the gun against the back of Stone’s head. “I’ll let the boy go--”
“I already told you . . . no.”
Sanchez continued as though he hadn’t heard Larabee’s answer. “And I give you my word that I won’t kill Standish. Not right away . . . I’ll keep him alive for, say . . . five hours. That’ll give you a chance to find him before I kill him.”
“You like your games, don’t you, Sanchez.” There was no change to the tone of Larabee’s voice, it was strong, steady and held as much confidence now as it did before.
“This game will give you a chance to get your man back alive . . . and that’s what you want isn’t it? Two live hostages instead of two dead ones.” The silence told Sanchez that Larabee was thinking about his offer. “Five hours, Larabee. My word that he will live for another five hours.”
“And I’m supposed to take the word of a killer.”
“You don’t have a lot of choice in the matter.”
Sanchez smiled when he heard another voice in the background – someone was arguing with Larabee. Someone else was making the decision.
“Your word, Sanchez.”
“My word.”
“You let Dan Stone go . . . and I’ll call them off.” There was anger in Larabee’s voice, but Sanchez wasn’t sure where Larabee was directing that anger – at him or at the man who had made the decision for Larabee.
“You made the right choice.”
“Just so we understand each other, Sanchez . . . I didn’t make the choice, and when I find you, I’m going to--“
Sanchez disconnected the call; he wasn’t interested in listening to empty threats. He pressed the palm of his hand against Standish’s hip, pushed himself into an upright position and leaned back against the seat. Sanchez smiled when the sirens became silent. A glance over his shoulder told him what he wanted to know.
They were letting him go.
Sanchez looked down at the bloodied face of Detective Ezra Standish . . . and smiled.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five
Master Fan Fiction List
- Sequel to ‘A Murder Mystery’
Rating: PG Bad Language
Fandom: The Magnificent Seven
Category: Four Corners Detectives AU
Main Characters: Ezra and JD
Disclaimers: The guys are owned by CBS, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment Group, and The Mirisch Corp.
Notes: The April 2005 Challenge (the Mystery Challenge) - offered by Jesfrealo. Write a story where a mystery plays a key role in the story. Have one or any combination of the guys be the detective(s). It can be funny or serious and in any open universe. Extra points if you make an unusual pair of the guys work together to figure out the mystery (so not Chris and Vin or Buck and JD...). Have fun!!
Summary: Detectives Standish and Dunne hunt for a killer
Spoilers: None
Author's note: A BIG thank you and a bear hug to the person who nominated this story for a 2008 & 2009 MoM award!
Warning: Josiah Sanchez is the bad guy in this story!
Part Four
With the car’s police lights flashing, Dunne shifted into second, third, then fourth, and floored it. Sanchez was now at least four car lengths in front of them but the distance began to shorten when the SUV reached a speed that exceeded the Jeep.
Dunne clenched his jaw in anticipation as he watched the Jeep head straight for an intersection that held a red light.
Sanchez exploded into it and drove safely through to the other side.
Just as the SUV was about to go through the same red light, a green Ford Explorer suddenly entered the intersection from the left and Dunne had to swerve around it to avoid a collision. Alternating between the clutch and the accelerator, he changed through the gears to compensate for the lack of speed. Once the car was back on track, he shifted back up to fourth and bore down on the accelerator.
Up ahead the Jeep Wrangler was weaving through traffic, causing the other drivers to press down hard on their horns, expressing their road rage toward the driver in the blue Jeep. When they saw the flashing blue and red lights, some drivers obeyed the road rules and moved their cars out of the way.
Others continued to move forward.
Right into the path of the oncoming SUV.
Dunne pressed the heel of his right hand against the horn and held it there. A blue Chevy jerked to a stop, bucked forward and jerked to a stop again – its driver indecisive about what he should be doing. He finally came to the correct decision and reversed the Chevy back into the car behind it.
Dunne hit the brakes, stopping the SUV before it hit the Chevy. He then slammed the gears into reverse before releasing the clutch and hitting the accelerator. The car skidded backward for a short distance before it stopped. The sound of the gears grinding back into first caused Dunne to grimace in pain.
In the distance, he could see the Wrangler taking a left turn at the next T-Junction. He pressed the accelerator to the floor and drove around the Chevy.
The sound of a Police siren indicated that back up was on its way.
Without using the brakes, Dunne shifted the gears back into second to slow the car down before entering the turn. Once the car entered the corner, Dunne shifted back up through the gears and the SUV raced toward the Jeep.
A marked police cruiser – driven by Officer Jack Hollman – sped past the SUV and within a few seconds, came up behind the Jeep. Hollman pushed the right front corner of his car up against the space between the rear wheel and the rear bumper of the fleeing Jeep. He then turned toward the Jeep and simultaneously stepped on the gas.
The Jeep Wrangler spun out of control.
“Shit!”
Dunned slammed his foot against the brake pedal. The sound of tires screaming in self-defense filled his ears.
When he realised he could nothing to stop the collision, he took his foot off the brake – the last thing he wanted to do was break his ankle.
There was no room left to maneuver the SUV. It hit the passenger side of the Jeep head on.
Dunne felt a flash of pain before he lost consciousness.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0
Sanchez saw his opportunity and took it with a heart-felt thank you. Without the slightest hint of hesitation, he pulled the gun from the waistband of his trousers and fired a shot through the car’s windscreen. Safety glass exploded, shattered and fell like hailstones onto the dashboard. He then fired two more shots toward the police cruiser – it had stopped a few meters away from the Jeep – causing Hollman to seek protection by lying face down on the front seat when the bullets punched holes, the size of grapes, into the side of the cruiser.
With the determination of a man with nothing left to lose, Sanchez exited the Jeep and headed around the front of his car, toward the crippled SUV, firing shots at the cruiser as he ran. When he reached the passenger side of the SUV, he grabbed the door handle with his left hand and pulled.
Nothing happened. The door refused to open. At some point, Standish had locked the door.
Sanchez didn't allow such a small problem to alter his plans. He covered his eyes and fired his gun. The bullet shattered the window, entered the glove compartment and settled itself amongst the other debris that hadn’t seen the light of day for many months. Sanchez reached in, unlocked and opened the door. He couldn’t help but laugh at the semi-conscious figure before him.
Blood leaked from a cut on a forehead that was leaning forward; leaving a trail so thick, it almost covered the right side of Standish’s face. Saliva and blood blended as it dripped slowly from partially opened lips. Sanchez couldn’t help but notice that the Detective’s body seemed to shake almost violently with each intake of breath.
After retrieving the gun from Standish’s holster, Sanchez unclipped the seat belt that was holding the man upright. He then pulled Standish from the SUV, and allowed him to fall into a heap on the ground. Bending forward into the car, Sanchez saw that Dunne was leaning against the steering wheel in a state of unconsciousness. He wasn’t happy with ‘unconscious’; he wanted Dunne dead, just as much as he wanted Standish dead. With his gun pressed against the back of Dunne’s head, he began to apply pressure to the gun’s trigger.
A shot fired in the air reminded him of the police officer he had mistakenly thought was still in the cruiser. He glanced up and saw the uniformed officer running toward the driver’s side of the SUV, his gun raised and shouting a warning. Sanchez smiled, aimed his gun higher and fired through the open window of the driver’s side door. The bullet soared threw the air and brushed past the officer’s right ear with a few inches to spare. The man dropped immediately and began to crab crawl towards the SUV.
Sanchez knew he was running out of time. He withdrew from the car, grabbed Standish by the back of his jacket, hauled him to his feet and wrapped his left arm around the smaller man’s throat. A grunt of what he assumed was protest, told him that Standish was becoming more aware of his surroundings.
Standish’s five foot eight inches in height didn’t give him a lot of protection – very little in fact – but the threat he posed toward the Detective, would be enough cause for the police officer to pause in his actions.
He began to walk backward, dragging Standish with him toward one of the many vehicles that had stopped to allow it’s occupants to watch the scene with morbid fascination.
“Let him go, Sanchez!” Hollman yelled.
Sanchez answered by firing his gun – a silent count in his head told him he only had a few bullets left. If he had the time or the opportunity, he would switch guns. He continued to move back toward the nearest car.
“For God’s sake . . . shoot him.”
Taking his eyes off the SUV, Sanchez looked down at Standish and said, “You talking to me or him? Because if you’re talking to him . . . he can’t hear you.” He watched as Standish opened his mouth to repeat his words. “Say anything and I’ll kill the next person I meet.”
Hollman fired another warning shot into the air. The gunshot echoed with the sound of a Police siren. Sanchez realized he had even less time than he had thought. “Take another fucking pot-shot and I’ll kill Standish, right here and right now!”
“Give it up, Sanchez,” Hollman stayed out of sight behind the SUV; getting shot on his wife’s birthday would not be a good thing. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“Do you guys get all your lines from the cop shows on tv?”
“Yeah we do, a video of ‘Starsky and Hutch’ is included in the Training Manual.”
“Unbelievable,” Sanchez muttered to himself as he took another step backwards. “I was living in Green Acres.”
He quickly glanced over his shoulder and saw what he needed. A frightened teenage boy driving a brand new 4-door Toyota Camry. His grip tightened around Standish’s throat – he could feel the man’s weak attempts to grip his forearm – as he made his way quickly to the car. When he reached the Camry, Sanchez pulled Standish around to the other side of the vehicle, keeping the car between himself and the police officer behind the SUV. Sanchez then watched as another police cruiser joined the first. The officer he knew as Vin Tanner practically leapt from the car. He couldn’t help but notice that Tanner carried a sniper’s rifle, and his body illustrated the confidence of a man who knew how to use it.
Sanchez knew he was in deep shit.
He had to go now, and he had to go quickly.
“Standish, get in the back seat. Now!” He could feel the hesitation through the Detective’s body language. “If you don’t get in now, I’ll kill the fucking kid!”
When he felt Standish nod under his forearm, he let him go. With cheerful satisfaction, he watched Standish open the door and then carefully crawl into the car. Sanchez quickly followed him into the back seat.
The boy, who would fail to live long enough to reach his eighteenth birthday, tried to protest. “Hey! You can’t--”
“No one asked you, kid, so shut the hell up and do as you’re told.”
Sanchez knew that while Standish was awake he would be a threat – even in the condition the man was in – so he grabbed the back of Standish’s head, slammed it into the passenger door window and permitted Standish to collapse back down onto the seat beside him. Now that the Detective was incapable of doing anything, he wouldn’t have to worry about him.
“Hey, what’s your name?” Sanchez noticed the kid had twisted his body into a position that would allow him to see what was happening in the back of his father’s car.
“Dan Stone.”
Sanchez leaned forward, pressed the muzzle of the gun against Stone’s neck and said, “Start driving, Dan Stone.”
With a sudden dread of fear and a short leakage of urine into his underwear, Stone turned around and did as Sanchez ordered. But the fear caused his brain to freeze – he forgot to apply pressure to the accelerator after taking his foot off the clutch.
The car stalled.
Stone took a deep breath, and in his mind’s eye, went through the instructions on how to start and drive a car – again. He managed to turn over the engine on his second attempt and with his foot pressed against the accelerator, he slowly let out the clutch. The car shuddered forward. Changing into second, the car jerked, then continued to move forward without further protest.
Sanchez was too busy staring at the red dot dancing across his body to care about the way Stone was driving. Gripping the side of the seat in front of him with the fingers of his left hand, he pulled his tall frame further down into the seat and leaned over as far as he could go. His jacket and shirt had ridden up his back as he moved and he could now feel Standish’s warm breath against the skin of his lower back. The feeling caused a twinge of excitement to run through his body.
The excitement turned to disgust when he heard the police sirens; they were following him. Now he was fucking angry.
The jingle of a cell phone’s ring tone broke through the surrounding noise of engines and police sirens. Drawing his eyebrows together, Sanchez listened to what he thought was the theme song to ‘The Magnificent Seven’. It sounded like it was coming from his back pocket.
Standish.
It had to be Standish’s phone.
Sanchez twisted his body into a very uncomfortable position and with most of his weight resting on his elbow he began to search through Standish’s coat pockets. A wicked smile crossed his features when he felt the cold metal steel of handcuffs. Leaving the cell phone to continue its insistent ringing he pulled the cuffs out of the pocket and held them up in front of his eyes.
Grateful for the upper strength that would make his next task easier; Sanchez reached behind Standish’s prone form and pulled the smaller man’s left arm up behind his back. Using one hand, he closed a cuff around the thin wrist and let it drop back down. In a matter of seconds, Standish’s right arm joined the left behind his back, both arms now secured within the confines of the handcuffs.
Sanchez felt the car slow down. “What the hell are you doing?”
Stone’s simple answer of corner satisfied Sanchez enough to stop him from shooting the guy in the back of the head.
“Just make sure you stay ahead of them.”
Straightening his now aching back, Sanchez glanced out of the car’s back window. Anger filled his entire being at the sight of the three police cruisers following the Camry.
Where in the hell did the third one come from?
Ignoring the anger he felt, he returned to searching Standish’s pockets for the cell phone that had failed to stop ringing. He pulled at the coat in frustration, tugging the shirt out of Standish’s trousers, revealing the pale skin beneath. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of a small scar above Standish’s right hip. Sanchez touched the scar with gentle fingers, sending a tingling sensation up through the appendages into his arm. Snubbing the feeling, he pulled the shirt down, covering the flesh and continued his search for the phone. His anger was growing at his lack of success and when he was ready to explode, he found it. The caller ID caused him to smile.
Flipping the phone open, he put it to his ear and said, “Call them off, Larabee.”
“I can’t do that.”
“I have two hostages . . . I don’t need both of them.”
“Then let them go.”
The calm confidence in Larabee’s voice sent a shiver of doubt through Sanchez’s spine. “I can’t do that.”
“Then we’ve got a problem, Sanchez.”
“No, you’ve got the problem, Larabee.” Sanchez tapped the barrel of his gun against Standish’s hip. “I assume you ran the plates of this car, found out who the owner is . . . you know how old the kid is?”
“Turned seventeen last week,” Larabee admitted.
“Do you want to be responsible for his death?” Sanchez looked up at the rear view mirror and saw the reflection of Stone’s brown eyes; they were full of fear. With Stone’s eyes off the road, the car began to veer to the right. Stone realized what was happening and turned his eyes back towards the road, turning the steering wheel until the left front wheel was running along side the white line in the center of the road.
“His death wouldn’t be my responsibility.”
“What makes you think that, Larabee?”
“I won’t take responsibility for the action of others.”
Sanchez shrugged. “Your actions will result in their deaths.” When there was no reply he continued, “If you don’t call your men off, I’ll murder a seventeen year old boy. If you call them off, I won’t hurt him, I’ll even let him go.”
“How do I know that you’ll let him go?”
“I’m a man of my word, Larabee.”
“And Standish?”
“Him, I’ll keep for a little while longer.”
“Is he dead?”
“No . . . I can’t play with him if he’s dead”
“But you’re going to kill him.”
“Not straight away.”
“I can’t let you go.”
Sanchez smiled. “How about I give you a choice?”
“No.”
“You’re not making this easy, Larabee,” Sanchez growled into the phone.
“It’s not my job to make it easy for you.”
“Then I’ll make it easy for you,” Sanchez leaned forward and pressed the barrel of the gun against the back of Stone’s head. “I’ll let the boy go--”
“I already told you . . . no.”
Sanchez continued as though he hadn’t heard Larabee’s answer. “And I give you my word that I won’t kill Standish. Not right away . . . I’ll keep him alive for, say . . . five hours. That’ll give you a chance to find him before I kill him.”
“You like your games, don’t you, Sanchez.” There was no change to the tone of Larabee’s voice, it was strong, steady and held as much confidence now as it did before.
“This game will give you a chance to get your man back alive . . . and that’s what you want isn’t it? Two live hostages instead of two dead ones.” The silence told Sanchez that Larabee was thinking about his offer. “Five hours, Larabee. My word that he will live for another five hours.”
“And I’m supposed to take the word of a killer.”
“You don’t have a lot of choice in the matter.”
Sanchez smiled when he heard another voice in the background – someone was arguing with Larabee. Someone else was making the decision.
“Your word, Sanchez.”
“My word.”
“You let Dan Stone go . . . and I’ll call them off.” There was anger in Larabee’s voice, but Sanchez wasn’t sure where Larabee was directing that anger – at him or at the man who had made the decision for Larabee.
“You made the right choice.”
“Just so we understand each other, Sanchez . . . I didn’t make the choice, and when I find you, I’m going to--“
Sanchez disconnected the call; he wasn’t interested in listening to empty threats. He pressed the palm of his hand against Standish’s hip, pushed himself into an upright position and leaned back against the seat. Sanchez smiled when the sirens became silent. A glance over his shoulder told him what he wanted to know.
They were letting him go.
Sanchez looked down at the bloodied face of Detective Ezra Standish . . . and smiled.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five
Master Fan Fiction List