Protecting Bedlam: Who Gave That Moron a Gun? Part 3

Previously on the latest tale of Cassidy & Lloyd.

(If you want, buy their previous rampages for $2 by clicking on the covers below.)

Cover by Jon Hunsinger

Cover by Jon Hunsinger

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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“This better be worth nearly dying for.”

“Stop complaining. You only slipped once.”

“Damn eggplant being in my way.”

“I warned you it was there.”

“Well, that would have helped if I was paying attention.”

“In that case, fuck you and give me a lift.”

“Now, I’m just thinking about ballerina sex.”

The pair freeze when they hear shouts and a single gunshot from their right, the brothers briefly coming into view below. Riding motorized chairs down the staircase, the four men are too relaxed to notice their prey is nearby. Cassidy waits for them to be out of sight for a minute before gently patting Lloyd on the shoulder. Bracing his and clinging to the craggy stone, he lets her climb up his back and onto the ledge. She snaps her fingers to let him know that the coast is clear and moves to the side to give her friend space. Within seconds, the serial killer is next to her and gleefully French kissing the stable ground. Unsure if they are safe, Cassidy nods her head toward the nearest building and signals for her partner to stay low. There are no bushes or trees to hide behind, so they creep forward on all fours and keep an eye out for enemies. Neither have a plan for if they are spotted, the drop from the cliff sure to either kill them or leave them easy prey for the brothers.

Reaching the side of the lodge, Cassidy and Lloyd press against the wall and inch toward an open garage door. Music drifts from inside, but it is repeatedly drowned out by somebody working with power tools. A spray of sparks flies into the open air, the sight making Cassidy even more worried about her baby. The mercenary nearly loses her temper when a familiar tire bounces out of the building and off the cliff. Peeking around the corner, she is happy to see her jeep in a well-stocked garage. To her relief, four new and superior tires have been put on the vehicle, which is still sporting a massive dent on the door. The dome is back in place and has been cleaned to look like new, the fluorescent light bouncing off its pristine surface. Grease-covered legs are sticking out from under the jeep, which is on four ramps instead of the nearby lift. Wearing only goggles, boots, and underwear, the young man slides out and hurries to a bench for another tool.

“I’m sorry about throwing away your tires,” the mechanic says to the vehicle. He tenderly runs his hand along a new bumper, which has been put in place of the battering ram. “Two of them blew in the crash and we need to make sure you have a matching set. I’ll do my best to restore your front too, but the twins really did a number on it. Told them not to connect the chains to the ram, but whatever. You’re beautiful like this too. Wonder what stories you can tell considering who owns you. Is it true that you made it through Nebraska being chased by several gangs and a tornado?”

“And a Half-Dead,” Cassidy replies as she presses a nail gun to the young man’s head. She waits for Lloyd to close the garage door, the tracks shaking as if they are about to fall from the ceiling. “Thanks for the tires, but I’m taking my baby back. My friend and I are getting out of here before your bosses return. Don’t give me any trouble. How do I get out of this place anyway? The big door opens to a cliff.”

“All I ask is that you don’t shoot me like this because you don’t want to get parts of me on the jeep,” the young man states, thinking it is a real gun at his head. He keeps his head down even after Cassidy lowers her weapon, his body rigid and tense. “The way out is that wall, which swings out to the main garage. This is only the repair dock. By the way, you won’t get very far in your jeep. Her door is still badly damaged, so the armor on that side is weak. Parts of the undercarriage are loose and broken, which means they can come off if you get into a chase out there. That’s if you can get her running because I haven’t worked on the engine yet. I had my hands full taking off the ram, fixing the wheel wells, and putting on new tires. As you can see, I’m alone here. By the way, my name is Reese. Used to be Grease, but Gordon thought it was too similar to his name.”

“I’m noticing a distinct lack of calling for help,” Lloyd mentions from where he is rummaging through their gear. Feeling the start of a suspicious headache, he grabs a pen and piece of paper to make a list. “Judging by how those idiots operate, I’d say they don’t have many friends among the staff. Please lay the dirt on us, which is a horrible expression now that I think about it. At least when you’re fighting for your life. What are the chances Gordon accidentally shoots the others?”

“He wouldn’t dare point his gun at Johnny and Thomas,” Reese says, turning around to face Cassidy. Realizing that he is in his underwear, he covers himself with his hands and hurries to a discarded jumpsuit. “Most of us don’t like the brothers. They’re not mean, but they’re fairly callous about our fate. Only the ones who are treated well and get preferential treatment like them. I’m loyal because they let me work in the garage, but not enough to tell them about you being here.”

Walking to the damaged door, Cassidy runs a finger around the edge of the dent and kisses the dangling side mirror. She heads for the back and picks out every scratch, the thought of a new paintjob making her heart sink. Coming to the rear, she tries to open the trunk and finds that it is stuck in the damaged frame. Only one of the lights has survived the accident, the others already removed by the mechanic. The mercenary is torn between crying or screaming at the sight of her damaged baby. She is about to take some aggression out on one of the discarded tires when Lloyd jams a piece of paper into the back of her pants. Whirling around, Cassidy tries to slap her friend, but ends up decapitating a cardboard cutout of herself. The decoy flops to the floor and she stares at it while taking the crumpled list out.

“Can you and Reese get your baby drivable and meet me at the Wyoming border?” Lloyd asks in a mellow voice. He licks his lips and bounces from foot to foot, his bloodlust twisting his face into a ghoulish mask. “You heard him say that he was working alone. I think you would be more useful here, kid. It’s obvious that you’re very angry and won’t be thinking straight out there. Mistakes will happen in that situation.”

“I’ll be calm and I’ll have some guns, which they won’t expect,” Cassidy says, refusing to be left out of the fight. The eerie stare she receives from Lloyd causes her hand to go for where she typically keeps her stun gun. “I get it now. You want to hunt alone this time. Are you having one of your episodes?”

The serial killer flexes his fingers and reaches for his machete, the movement disturbingly slow and precise. “More or less. These punks claim to be hunters, but they’re an insult to the term. A true hunter is a predator that will make your blood run cold. Not that I plan on going full psycho on them. They aren’t worth it. So many games that I want to play with the brats that I don’t even know where to start. Promise me that you’ll bring me everything on that list? Even better if it comes in a basket.”

“Okay, I’m going to risk my neck by telling you how ridiculous this is,” the mercenary replies, holding her ground. She does not flinch when Lloyd grabs her by the neck, his grip no tighter than a decorative choker. “We both know you won’t do that, so you’re going to hear me out. I don’t want to stop you from killing or spoil your fun. All I ask is that you be cautious because you’re outnumbered and outgunned. We don’t know if they’re using gear to help see in the dark or if Johnny was lying about the landmines. This ridiculous list you gave me doesn’t put me at ease either.”

“I can get all of that without raising suspicions,” Reese interjects while looking over Cassidy’s shoulder. The mechanic shies away from Lloyd, the serial killer’s unblinking gaze unnerving and cold. “First, there aren’t any traps out there. The Custers lost two daughters, an uncle, and about six other relatives to landmines and beartraps. So, Johnny had us clear the area three months ago. As for the repairs, they’ll be easy if we focus on the engine. Besides, killing the brothers means you can come back here. Nobody will bother us while we finish and make sure your baby is in top condition. I doubt the others will care if you take advantage of the lodge for a few days.”

“Do you have a hot tub?”

“And a video game arcade.”

“All you can eat buffet?”

“More or less since nobody can stop you.”

“Then it’s time to get my murder on . . . Sort of.”

About Charles Yallowitz

Charles E. Yallowitz was born, raised, and educated in New York. Then he spent a few years in Florida, realized his fear of alligators, and moved back to the Empire State. When he isn't working hard on his epic fantasy stories, Charles can be found cooking or going on whatever adventure his son has planned for the day. 'Legends of Windemere' is his first series, but it certainly won't be his last.
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24 Responses to Protecting Bedlam: Who Gave That Moron a Gun? Part 3

  1. L. Marie says:

    Awww. Grease/Reese seems nice. Cassidy and Lloyd should adopt him. He’d make a nice mascot 😀

    Like

  2. Excellent Charles. I think Reese would make a great road mechanic.

    Like

  3. Pingback: Protecting Bedlam: Who Gave That Moron a Gun? Part 4 | Legends of Windemere

  4. Reese is popular, so do your thing 🙂

    Like

  5. Very enjoyable. I also like this Rease guy, maybe you could make him some kind of genius inventor somewhere down the road, Cassidy and Lloyd could occasionally meet up with him and get some unique weapons. Just a thought

    Like

    • Maybe. Although, there’s an expert mechanic and inventor from the first book too. I’ll have to look over Reese and see what I can do. There’s always the chance that he’ll lose his appeal and charm if I put him in non-jeep situations.

      Liked by 1 person

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