Zero Identity

Chapter 1: Pull the Trigger

Chapter 1: Pull the Trigger

"This is Blackthorne to Skimask! I've been made! I need an extraction. Now!" I commanded evenly into my transmitter.

"Copy that Blackthorne. Extraction in two minutes. Get out of there." A familiar voice buzzed back. A gunshot rang behind me, but I kept running. I pulled my blond wig off and took a sharp right into a dark corridor filled with doors as an idea formed in my mind. I threw the wig I was holding, on the floor. Working quickly, I unzipped my black leather jacket and went another two doors down from where the wig was and dropped it on the floor too. I took to a brisk walk and went to the next door and opened it wide; wide enough to make it look as if somebody had opened it in a rush to escape. I heard the bouncers now, their growing voices yelling something in Russian. 

From what Russian I knew, I figured that one of my pursuers had commanded that the team split up. Someone was bound to take this corridor. So instead of going through the door I opened, I kept going until I reached the last door at the very end of the hall. The door was locked, but I knew it before I tried the knob. Grabbing a hairpin from the beginning of my braid, I stuck the end in and jimmied the knob. I took a short glance down the hallway. There was a dark, looming shadow of a large figure. I jiggled a little more desperately as the shadow grew darker and wobbled faster. Finally, I heard a satisfying click. I made it into the dark, unknown room just as the bouncer turned the corner. I forced my breath to steady itself as I watched the bouncer from the tiny, grime covered glass window on the door. He saw my wig first, then my jacket and then took a moment to study the scene, straightening up while positioning his gun more securely. He peered into the wide open door and finally stepped in.

Like a moth to a flame.

Breathing a sigh of temporary  relief, I turned around, only to realize that I was not alone. As quietly as I could I shifted against the wall, trying to find a light switch of some sort, but someone beat me to it. The lights flashed open, blinding me momentarily. I heard the swift sound of a gun cock somewhere behind me. Slowly, I turned around. There, standing by the very obvious light switch was a man. He was seemingly in his mid fourties with a grubby face and cold, beady eyes. His doughy complexion was pinched, ruined forever by an unwelcoming scowl. He held a gun in a hand covered with rings, double on some fingers. The man's weight bulged against his cheap dress shirt and the stench of cologne clouded my nostrils.

           There was no way of me getting by without his gun going off which would ruin my chances of getting by unnocticed. A low, gutteral growl escaped from the man's throat. Surely a defense mechanism.

"Who are you?" He demanded, his coarse voice rang out through the hollow room. His voice hinted at a fading Russian accent. I swallowed, my throat dry from excitement. He took a step forward settling the tip of his gun awfully close to my chest. When I didn't reply, he cocked his head to the side.

"I'll ask you again one more time. Who are you and how did you find this place?" His voice was nearly a whisper. I stayed silent, my eyes locked on his. He sneered then pressed his gun against the sheer cloth of my blouse. His eyes challenged me to speak, to say something, anything.

"WHO ARE YOU?!" He yelled furiously when his frustration got the better of him. I calmly lifted a finger and brushed away the single speck of spittle that had landed on my face during his outburst.

"You know," I said finally, the tone of my voice even.

"If you yell like that again, I may just suggest where you should take your little and gun and shove it." And that was the last thing I said before he pulled the trigger.