Despite the burning in his lungs Falcon continued to run for his life, Trent was gaining on him. “This is what I get for not being patient,” Falcon panted. He made a run for his car, bullets were flying as he dove in the front seat of his sleek, black BMW that was now pierced with bullet holes. He jammed the keys in the ignition, and his tires spit gravel as he stomped on the gas.
After hours of driving in circles to make sure he was not followed, Falcon pulled into a McDonald's drive-threw and ordered a double cheese burger. “Oh. . . what the heck,” he thought, “I got shot at today. . . I think I deserve an extra large fry and a small pop. I'll run an extra ten miles tomorrow.” While he waited for Sally to sack his order, he pulled out the file on Trent Allred and looked over it for the hundredth time.

TRENT ALLRED
PROFILE: Male, Caucasian, height 6'7”, weight 290, short brown hair, green eyes, nose ring (like a bull), former street fighter.
CHARGES: Assault, theft, attempted murder, and various counts of rape.

Falcon paid for his food, and drove straight to the office. Bob looked up from his computer, as Falcon slumped into the chair across from his desk. “Judging from the look on your face,” Bob exclaimed “I take it you didn't bag him.” Falcon glared at the ceiling “NO! But how was I supposed to know he had a 9 millimeter hidden in his jacket!” “So . . . you found him?” “DUH! He emptied a whole round into my car.” Falcon growled. “So . . . what ya gunna do Creed?” As Falcon stormed out, he called over his shoulder, “Ain't got a clue. See ya boss.”
As Falcon approached his car he noticed a note stuck under his windshield wiper.
He cautiously looked around, unfolded the paper and read, “Tag. . . you're it.” At the bottom of the note, an arrow was pointing down. Confused, Falcon crouched down to look under his car. “OH HELL!” he exclaimed as he turned to run. The force of the explosion knocked him off his feet and sent him flying through the front window of the police station. Debris rained down for a good two blocks. When the dust cleared, Falcon looked around to see if anyone else was hurt, and then checked himself for missing parts. Nope, everything was intact...not good, but intact.
Somewhere in the debris Falcon located his ringing phone, he didn't recognize the number “Falcon Creed here?” “ah . . . Creed. . . so you're not dead.” “Trent?” Falcon asked, “yes Creed it's me, you know Creed you're starting to become a nuisance.” “same here!” Falcon exclaimed. He could hear laughing in the background as the line went dead.
Falcon decided to go to his parents house because it was within walking distance.
His mom greeted him at the door, “Sweet Daniel's elbows! What have you done to your beautiful face?” “Hi mom.” “Oh Harold, come look at your son's beautiful face!” “Don't baby the boy, Mildred, he's 23 years old, he can handle himself.” “Thanks dad.” “No problem. Us guys got ta stick together.” “Hey my car um . . . kinda blew up so . . I was wondering if I could . . use yours?” “isn't that the forth car you've destroyed this year?” his mother asked with concern. Falcon looked at his hands and mumbled, “fifth.” His dad threw him the keys to his blue pickup, “shit boy take care of her!” With her hands on her hips, mom scolded my father, “Now Harold, don't use that kind of language around our boy!” “I have to have some freedom in this house woman!” Their bickering continued as Falcon shut the garage door behind him.
Falcon drove back to the police station. He picked his way past the clean up crew, then filed a report on the incident. He then set off to find Trent Allred.
Falcon traced the call he got from Trent, back to a warehouse in Milwaukee. He figured it would take him an hour and a half from Chicago. He packed his weapons and set off to Milwaukee.
Once Falcon arrived at his destination, he parked his car behind the warehouse, he secured one gun in his belt, the other in his shoulder holster, he then walked cautiously around the side and paused as he heard voices. “Trent, you don't understand! Falcon Creed will find you. He always gets his man!” Falcon did not know that voice but then he heard Trent “oh ye of little faith.”
Falcon took in his surroundings, figuring escape routes, possible weapons, and hiding places.
After he placed small explosive devices around the warehouse he carefully wired speakers outside. Falcon pushed a button and sirens blared over the speakers. He then yelled into a megaphone, “YOU ARE SURROUNDED! LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS! HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEADS!” Trent's assistant did the unthinkable, (yes, he wet his pants).
Falcon popped out of the shadows pointing his gun at the duo. “Man . . that's embarrassing.” Mr. Incontinent started to spill the beans as Trent grabbed for the gun he had laid down to silence his blabbing partner.
Falcon rolled his eyes “Oh shut up you big baby!” he then kicked the gun out of Trent's reach. Trent dove after the spinning gun, and Falcon instinctively stomped down on his outstretched hand. Trent let out a painful yawl, then reached out with his other hand, grabbed the gun and turning slightly to the right. Before Falcon could react, Trent had already taken aim and pulled the trigger. A blinding pain shot through Falcon's left thigh and he fell to the ground. Trent rose and pointed the gun down at Falcon. “You thought you could beat me?! Look at you! You're pathetic!” “Ya well I'd rather be pathetic than dead” Falcon huffed. Trent smiled and said “well you're going to be both! Say Good bye!” Falcon looked to the side of Trent, and smiled “good bye” A look of surprise crossed Trent's face as a bullet pierced his hand, knocking the gun from his grasp. Cops rained down on him.
As Falcon was sitting in the ambulance a doctor was patching up his leg, he turned to Bob “We need to disable the bombs.” Just then Falcon looked up to see the rookie holding the detonator. His warning was lost in the sound of the explosion, he watched in horror as a portion of the back wall collapsed onto his father's truck. “Well . . . that's six.”

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 12.09.2011

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