Morally Ambiguous (Lo longer being updated)

Chapter 5

The van was confiscated straight away and I had just about enough energy left in me to stumble back to my sedan. The key turn turned again and again but the bloody useless thing just refused to work. I swung the door open violently and slammed my fist hard down on the bonnet. I retreated back to the stained, pock marked seat and turned again. The engine spluttered into life, its old age really taking its toll.

The city was dark now, and a thick, white fog smothered the streets. Squinting, I tried my best to see through the claustrophobic fog, my headlights too dim to illuminate much more than ten feet in front of me. Lucky for me, not many people were on the road at nine o’clock at night. I’d been waiting so long for the ambulance, just to stitch up my leg and take away the bodies. Then a questioning from the patrol officer before I could get on my way.

At least I could get back now, for some r and r, a little bit of peace and quiet. Except for my wife Sarah that is. She’d complain about how I shouldn’t be so dangerous, I’ve only just got back and all that other bull. Going out and getting stabbed was still a damn sight better than spending my afternoon with her. Shit, the girls down in the precinct canteen could cook up a nicer meal than her too, even if it was just jacket potato and baked beans. It least it didn’t taste like my wife’s food, either bland and boring or tasting of dog muck. At least there was a little variety there though.

I revved the engine and coursed through the city streets like blood through veins, weaving in and out of alleys to get back to the station quicker. I knew these streets like the back of my hand; you had to when you were on the beat, roaming around searching for crime. There was seldom a car to be seen at this hour so I had no trouble swerving in and out of side streets. I moved own a gear and slowed, knowing how close I was to my destination. It was all well and good speeding and driving like that away from prying eyes, but the last thing I wanted was for another cop to see it and drop me right in the shit. I couldn’t handle another bit of time off work; I’d probably drink myself to death.

Turning my headlights to dipped, I merged onto a busier road and continued for a mile before I reached the precinct car park. A quick three point turn and then I reversed back into my reserved space. A pretty handy perk of the job, I’d say. I slammed the door as I stepped out but it wouldn’t stick. The rubber lining had obviously been displaced in my wife’s little “accident” and now the bloody thing won’t shut. I lined up the door and held it as close as I could before kicking into the side. It gave in and locked in place but now the alarm was ringing.

I locked my car with the wireless electronic key, dispelling the ringing alarm, and headed on inside the station. Everyone glanced over at me as I swung open the doors a waddled inside, grin on my face and clutching my wounded leg. They all looked worried, a little apprehensive. Everyone just dropped what they were doing and stared at me, looking empathetic towards me. I had no idea what it was about so ignored them and sat down at my desk to check my mail.

Sifting through once again, someone tapped my shoulder. I didn’t know his name, but I’d seen him around the precinct a few times. I think he was a detective too, probably in another department though. He spoke softly, almost whispering, and in a childlike tone. It was the same voice parents used to finish off bed time stories as their kid drifted off.

“Elijah, the boss wants to see you. There’s some bad news.”

Bewildered, I logged off and limped up the stairs, my wound aching a little. I grabbed for my hip flask but felt its light weight and remembered that I’d swigged it all earlier. I still had some painkillers though, and they helped a lot. The pain pulsed through my skin as it faded from the magic little pills. Whatever people said about the chemicals that go into them, they do their damn job, and bloody well too.

I reached the chief’s office and opened the door, peering in to see if he was there. He was sitting at his desk, shuffling through files and papers. Two glasses and a bottle of good Scotch sat on the table, luring me in to their warm embrace. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw me and motioned for me to sit down. I did as I was told and sat in place as he poured me a finger of scotch. He slid it across the table to me and began to explain the situations, while I slowly sipped at the whiskey.

“I assume that they’ve told you there’s some bad news, correct?”

I nodded, curious as to what on earth it could possibly be. He continued his explanation.

“At about six o’clock this evening, the mob broke into your house and took Sarah. I’m sorry to be so blunt, but I don’t want to beat around the bush with this. It turns out that one of the people you shot during the incident with your old partner, god rest his soul, was a mob bosses son. We don’t know how but they found out who you were, where you live and your family. We believe they have taken her to a warehouse out at the docks. I can’t give specifics because I don’t want you going off on your own, and we simply can’t spare enough men to rescue her now. Give us a day and we’ll get her back. Please understand, it’s not that we don’t want to, we simply just don’t have the manpower.”

I was completely and utterly overwhelmed. Even after all the little digs and the complaining, she was still my wife. The bastards were holding her and I wasn’t allowed to go after her? I was having none of that. I pushed the chief aside and grabbed the files from the table, before sprinting out onto the main office floor. He tried to give chase but he was too old, not fit enough to catch up. I high tailed it down to the armoury, requisitioned a couple of spare clips for my glock and sprinted out into the cold night air once again.

The engine was on its last legs as I pulled out and drove, the petrol meter flashing a red light. Bollocks, this was going to cost me a bomb. A mile or two up the road, I hopped out and filled up my tank and walked in to pay for the gas, but the shopkeeper eyed me suspiciously. His eyes moving down my body, he saw the pistol tucked into my belt. He made a grab for a phone and I dived into the car. Screw paying for it, staying out of jail was a much bigger concern for me.

As I drove, I flicked through the myriad of files I’d snatched from the chief. Most of them were profiles of senior mob members, drug dealers and the like. Me and my wife were mixed amongst them too. But at the bottom, I found what I was searching for. An address for the warehouse. I scoured my mind, desperately trying to figure out where it was. I recognised the name of the street, there’d been an incident there before. Then it came to me.

I J turned and head off to the east. I didn’t know what these mobster scum were expecting, but if it was a trap, I was definitely going to spring it. And in spectacular fashion too. But what they definitely won’t expect is the world of shit and pain they would be in when I brought their little hideout down on top of them.