BULLET-CITY

Part-8

        Laura froze when she heard the door open and a familiar man's voice filled the room. The footsteps made her jump, but she held still. It was not long before she could see the feet of the man who stood close by. The man bent down and picked up the trash can by the desk and emptied it into a larger bin. He whistled to himself as he exited the room.
Laura breathed out a sigh of relief as she methodically put the items back into the hidden compartment under the desk where she imagined they were originally placed. Slowly she emerged from underneath the desk and cautiously exited the office. The radio played on.

                                                                                                            --

        The two men on the radio in Bruce's office spoke comically to each other.

        "Whoo-wee, Bob!" said one newscaster to the other. "That mad bomber sure is a crazy one."

        "You said it, Ike!" replied Bob.

        "However, I'm not sure who's crazier. The man with the bomb, or the detective who saved the hostages while still managing to blow up the bank."

        "Ha-ha! Too true, Bob! Although what is up with all  of the shoot-outs lately. I mean we have street gangs, but nothing ever this drastic. This so-called Revolver fellow is turning our beloved suburb paradise into some sort of Bullet City. Heck! If even the cops are crazy, who's gonna save 'Bullet City' now?..."

                                                                                                                  --

        Vince shook his head in disbelief as he read the carbon copy paper in his hand. There was no need to look where he was going because he knew exactly where he parked in the law office buildings. He never bought a permit or ticket to park. The trick was not to get caught, and to be sure to never park in the same place twice. Vince stopped in front of his navy blue 1987 Pontiac Firebird and searched for his keys. Instead, he spotted something on his windshield.

        "Six-hundred dollar fine, really?!"

        Vince crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it behind his shoulder. After adjusting the duct tape that held the front bumper on, he licked his finger to wipe a smudge off the side mirror. He tossed some fast food wrappers off the seat to make room as he sat. After putting in a Joe Satriani cassette tape he turned the key.

        Silence.

        Vince attempted again.

        Silence.

        "Come on, girl. Pleeeeease?" he pleaded.

        His gentle coaxing ritual soon turned into a blitz of obscenities, then tearful apologizing, and ended with Vince repeatedly honking the horn with his head.

        Searching his vest pocket he pulled out his Dynatac 8000, and began to dial. A 'no signal' sign read across the green screen. Vince opened the car door to try and get a better antenna location. The sound of metal scraping metal echoed through the parking lot as he closed the door and walked a few feet from the car.  Still no signal.

        He didn't want to, but his last resort was to go back 'there,' the law offices, or lesser known by its true name, Hades. Vince growled to himself as he made the long trek back to the 'building of shattered dreams'.
A small smile crept across his face as he imagined himself striking his zippo lighter and throwing it into the seat of the car. He imagined the heat and smell of the smoking rubber as the metal beast went up in flames.

                                                                                                                   --

        It was one o'clock in the afternoon and it took all of Laura's will power to keep cool about what she had seen earlier in Mr. Grey's desk. She had been sick in the bathroom on and off throughout the day.
        Several people came up to her and commented on how pale she looked. Even Johnny swaggered back and offered her his sleeve to wipe her sweat. Finally, Laura came to the reality that it was inevitable, she would have to go home. Marcie, one of the assistants from the next-door offices offered to cover her so she could go home and sleep.

        Laura quickly cleared her desk and packed her bag. She didn't want anyone else to talk to her and she certainly didn't want any more stupid, obvious comments like "You don't look so good," or, "Are you okay, honey?" The sooner she could get out the better.