Chase. Gun shop. Agent / The Nerd, Session Four

C. J. was gazing at the black SUV on the side street and smoking a cigarette, absent-mindedly. A dark figure could be seen sitting behind the wheel. Suddenly, a group of three cars appeared in the street and raced towards him. C. J. started the Impala in a hurry and hit the road too. He flicked his cigarette out of what had been the passenger door and then turned left in the direction of the beach. The unknown pursuers followed at his heels. C. J. put the pedal down and made a sharp turn in an alley between the buildings. The tires rumbled and the old vehicle whined.

Two of the minions followed C. J. into the alley while the third one continued to drive along the street. The guy right behind C. J. pulled out an SMG, opened the window and shot a burst of bullets at him. C. J. swore out loud and jerked the steering wheel back and forth in order to make the car swirl, knocking over a couple of garbage cans on the way. Another burst of gunfire followed. Steel clanked loudly and the Impala’s rear window shattered. C. J. drove out of the alley and came to the empty, nocturnal beach.

The big moon shone in the sky as the other minion was drawing closer to him. C. J. loaded the shotgun on his lap, aimed through the broken rear window and blasted before the driver behind had time to react. The windshield of the pursuer’s car cracked and forced him to slow down. Meanwhile, the third guy had caught up with them and sped up next to C. J. For a moment, they flew side by side down the deserted beach. The minion pointed an SMG through the window and C. J. steered his car to the left just when a cluster of bullets swept through the air. The side window of the Impala fell to pieces but C. J. was left unharmed. He bursted into hysterical laughter and shot back at the car beside him, blowing its window into bits. The minion retreated quickly from his side.

C. J. was struggling to keep the car under his control. The rear was swinging wildly as he attempted to steer and soon he realized that one of the tires had gone flat. He headed toward the waves while one of the minions fired a good dozen bullets at the back of the Impala. Thick smoke began rising up into the air and C. J. raced to the pier. The rear view was now filled with pitch-black smoke so he merely kept on pushing the pedal down and hoped that his car would hold together for the last few hundred feet. Then, he reached the end of the pier and went flying down to the ocean in an impressive arc, like a living human torch.

The car gulped large amounts of water and started to sink rapidly. C. J. exited through the open doorway and swam back up to the surface. He saw two minions standing on the pier out of the corner of his eye and started paddling out in the ocean. Soon a gunshot echoed through the area and the water around him was turning red from blood. The waves pushed C. J. fast beneath the surface. As he drowned, he hoped that his body would remain undiscovered.


A gun shop by the beach. C. J. went through the goods that were displayed on the shelves and picked out a bulletproof vest. He also decided to replenish his ammo supply. A woman in a red baseball cap was serving him behind the counter, smiling. She thanked him for the purchases and added:

“You look like a guy who takes his security seriously. I’ve got real dollars here, you know. Or maybe you’re more interested in trying a Desert Eagle in .44 Magnum. Wipes out the officials too, effectively.”

C. J. shook his head and stepped away from the counter.

“No need really. We’re on the same wavelength, I believe,” he replied.

“Right. Have a good one,” the clerk said cheerfully.

Without her knowledge, she had given C. J. an idea. Having exited the gun shop, he grabbed his cell phone and paid a visit to the federal police’s website.


An agent in a blue aloha shirt sat at the table opposite C. J. They were having coffee together at a terrace in the downtown. The agent had introduced himself as Jefferson just a moment ago. Somehow, C. J. felt like they were all called Jefferson, Anderson, Carlson, and the like. Unexpectedly, Jefferson addressed him again which caused him to startle.

“So, you’re saying that these folks are conspiring against the government somewhere down in…”

“Laguna Beach,” C. J. repeated.

“And just to be frank, have you got any kind of proof of this?” Jefferson asked and took a slow, sensuous sip of his coffee.

“At the moment, just a solid lead. This big guy with an afro, who goes by the names of Rat King, Buzzo, and Morpheus, among others, shows up in Malibu most evenings to have a heated debate with the local gang of loafers. The guy’s trying to start a resistance movement of some sort, maybe even to launch a strike against the establishment for all we know. And believe me, I’ve heard that guy talking. The other night, I sneaked up on them in Laguna Beach and they literally smoked me the fuck out!”

“I see,” Jefferson said indifferently. “Anyway, you need to come up with something more concrete than that if you want our help. It’s not like we can chase every petty thief and angry citizen out there, you know.”

C. J. was about to argue with him but then just pursed his lips and nodded in agreement.

“Alright, sir.”

“Lemme know if it turns out to be something bigger,” Jefferson added.

“Will do.”

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