Showdown

Oct 01, 2009 18:56

((Wasn't certain if I should even post this, but now changed to public.))

Bullets whizzed through the air around them as Myra, Cliff and Harry huddled down below a low brick wall. The firefight was a fierce one, and while their Chief was making quick work in a building across the road, they were outside, dealing with the hired crews armed to the teeth.

Myra had escaped the building and found shelter, with Cliff and Harry nearly crushing her as they dived to the same shelter. Hawkeye was around a corner a little further behind them. Considering the situation, his position was better than theirs as they hunched down low, their heads peppered with brick dust. Cliff handed Myra one of his guns, the larger caliber would put down a thug faster than her little Walther could. They all looked at each other nervously, wondering what kind of resistance the Chief was facing. Finally there was a break in the typewriter-like racket of bullets, and Cliff and Myra popped over the edge of the pock-marked wall, firing withering shots at the crew. Only the big guns were exhausted, smaller handguns aimed for them now. Stationary, it was hard to keep them from aiming well, but effective shots from the agents forced enough of the heavy weaponry to hold back as they tried to reload under fire. Their clips ran dry. Ducking down, Harry and Hawkeye took the next volley, buying time for Myra and Cliff to reload.

Harry and Hawkeye’s guns clicked, empty, and Myra popped over the edge of the stoop, Cliff’s shoulder against hers. They opened fire, and then heard the deafening racket of the Tommyguns again. Myra and Cliff dove to cover, but both of them hissed as they hit the ground. Harry curled close to the ground, more brick dust filling the air, as holes were punched through the thinning barrier. Hawkeye had not missed the sprawling dives that Cliff and Myra had made, and once he had the opportunity, he provided cover as the trio dragged themselves back to Hawkeye. They had lost ground, but could still fight. Cliff’s right arm dangled as he leaned around the corner of the building, firing avenging shots. Myra pressed a hand to her side, waiting her turn until Cliff moved aside, and taking over his low position.

Thankfully neither suffered from profuse bleeding, but by the end of the night, it was enough to leave them both beyond exhausted. The Chief had made it out, and helped load the wounded agents into Moe’s cab. Moe drove a class hack, and kept a decent speed without jarring the occupants. The Shadow had returned to the scene to oversee the cleanup, but the four agents and Moe were left to get care. Harry had brick still in his hair and was working to clear it out without sprinkling more on the others.

“Hey, Harry.” He stopped shaking the dust off and looked up at the driver.

“Yeah Moe?”

“You make any more of a mess of my cab, you’re cleaning the back seat there.” Myra and Cliff gave a wry smile, they all knew they’d already stained the back seat as the cab pulled up to a place Myra was unfamiliar with. “Alright, here’s the Doc. He knows you guys are coming.” The four agents worked their way to a door in a small alley on the side of the building, and were admitted without even a knock at the door. Myra had never been to Sayre’s, and she looked around at the small back room they found themselves in. It was almost like a field hospital, with all the equipment and stockpiled items. She wondered if The Shadow came here for help when he occasionally needed it.

Cliff was first to receive care, mostly because the bullet was still in his arm, and he gritted his teeth as a needle administered an anesthetic. Sayre was an artisan at his craft and Cliff sat still while the bullet was removed, and the wound sterilized and closed. Cliff stood from the chair, and motioned for Myra to take her turn as he held his arm gingerly. She approached Sayre, who knelt down to look at her wound. He uttered a few cryptic noises as Myra stood still. He cared for her through-and-through wound much like Cliff’s before sending them out with instructions to take care of the injuries.

Moe was waiting in the cab, towels down on the seats to keep their previous mess from becoming any worse as he drove the agents around, dropping them off at locations near enough to their apartments, for them to covertly make their way home, hopefully without getting noticed.

Myra watched Moe’s cab drive off, with only Harry left in the front passenger seat before starting along the back alleys that would lead her to her apartment. Her directions had been to keep in bed for a few days with minimal exertion. The bullet had missed vital organs, but it had still done enough damage to take her off duty for a little while, and make her head dizzy from the pangs it sent as she walked. She wondered what the Old Tiger would make of this story.

30s, writing

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