Deadly Silence (complete) Chapter 167

“Hold up. You’re saying that guy is a cop?” It was almost too crazy to believe, which was why Jacques couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Yes. He’s part of the organized crime unit; been a pain in our ass for…” Gilbert stopped talking, and his son watched him ball his free hand into a fist. “…eight years now.”

“What did you just realize?” He prodded, feeling lost when it came to what was going on. Yes, a dead detective was bad, but *they* hadn’t been the ones who killed him.

“Nothing,” his father replied.

“Not part of my job?”

“Exactly.”

The sound of gunshots reached them and they exchanged looks. It would be a while before the full cavalry arrived; the only reason they’d come with so few numbers was because they couldn’t chance Vivian getting moved to another location. If that happened… Jacques didn’t want to think about it.

Back in the corridor, they caught a glimpse of men in the lunchroom. There had been a large window pane, spanning the length of one wall, that looked out onto the production floor; the gun fight that’d broken out had shattered it into oblivion.

“I don’t know them,” Jacques whispered, meaning he didn’t recognize either of the gunmen they were sneaking up on.

“Neither do I,” the old man confirmed as he slipped around Jacques, taking the lead.

There were more than just the two gunmen in the room. Five others were watching the doors for movement. Fortunately for Gilbert and Jacques, the angle they’d come down the corridor was in a blind spot.

A quick hand signal from the old man, and Jacques raised his gun, aiming at the two who were otherwise engaged, and emptied what remained of his magazine. Without looking away from his targets — only one of whom he managed to hit in a vital spot — he quickly switched the now empty magazine for one of his spares.

While he was busy with this, Gilbert had brazenly stepped into the lunchroom. The first three bullets found their target with ease; the remaining ones missed as the others had begun to move for cover.

As Jacques stepped into the room, he was just in time to witness Gilbert shoot one man between the shoulder blades as he made to escape, body falling to prop a door open. That left two who managed to make it out with their lives. “Split up?” He inquired, looking over at his old man, who looked grim.

“No choice,” Gilbert finally replied as he switched out his magazine for a new one. “Keep count of your bullets. Backup should arrive within the next five minutes, if we’re lucky.”

“Got it.”

Stepping over the body that was so kindly holding the door open, Jacques found himself in another corridor, though this one was much shorter. It led to a balcony that circled the warehouse portion of the building. From above, he couldn’t see much of the floor through a sea of crates, both broken and whole.

Looking to his left, then right, Jacques caught sight of someone sliding down a ladder twenty feet away. Taking careful aim, he pulled the trigger twice. The bullets hit the floor a few feet from his target, but that was fine. Keeping them on their toes would do for now.

The guy below returned fire before disappearing into the sea of crates.

Following their lead, Jacques imitated how they’d slid down the ladder. It gave him a shot of adrenaline as his hands cupped the sides of the ladder, his boots doing the same until just before he hit the ground, when he tightened his grip and shoved his feet between the rungs. He skipped the last two rungs by jumping off, drawing his gun again as he began to make his way after his quarry.

Checking around corners was a pain in the ass. Jacques didn’t have the training his father did, or, hell, most of the other guys employed by Mr Devreaux. As a runner, he had a gun license and went to target practice a couple times a month, but this was way above his pay grade.

Peeking around another corner, he’d barely managed to duck back as a shot tore through the edge of the crate near where his face had been moments ago. *Fuck, fuck, fuck.*

As he gathered his courage to step around the corner and return fire, Jacques checked his magazine again and noticed there were droplets of blood on the floor. Had he actually managed to hit the guy from the balcony? Or had he been injured during the fight in the lunchroom? Thinking back, he couldn’t remember seeing a trail of blood before this, but did it really matter? If the guy was injured it just made things easier.

“Might as well give up,” Jacques called out. “We got more guys coming in. There won’t be anywhere for you to run.”

Silence permeated the air, leaving him feeling unsettled.

“I know you’re injured. It won’t take long for me to find you and put a bullet in your head. Why not just give up? I’ll spare your life if you don’t make me play hide and shoot.” His offer was met with two shots sent in his direction. Jacques let out a loud sigh. “Alright, fine. Let’s do this the hard way.”

During his little monologue, Jacques had pulled himself up onto the crate he’d been using as cover. Walking through the maze of crates like a Neanderthal would be like playing a game on a higher difficulty setting than necessary. Even without training, Gilbert’s son knew having the higher ground was always an advantage.

As he crept along the top of the crate, being careful with his foot placement — he didn’t want to accidentally fall through — Jacques eyed the spot where he believed the shots had come from. Peeking over the edge, he couldn’t stop the smirk that grew on his face; the guy was directly below him, back against the crate when he wasn’t chancing a glance around the corner.

Compared to the others, this guy was well dressed — almost as much as the Curator had been — though his clothes were now in need of a wash. The suit he wore was torn in a couple places and covered in dirt. Jacques couldn’t tell where the guy was injured from his vantage point, but that didn’t matter; he was about to injure him even more.

Taking aim, Jacques exhaled slowly before pulling the trigger. The man below let out a shout as the bullet buried itself in his shoulder, blood soaking through his suit in seconds.

After he confirmed the hit, Jacques jumped down from above, landing on top of the man feet first. Together they slammed into the ground. Not my best idea, the runner admitted to himself as he rolled off the man and raised his gun. “I wouldn’t move if I were you.”

Something about this man made him feel on edge. It might have been the expensive the suit, or how offended the guy looked at being taken down by a lowly runner; there was just something that made Jacques hesitate on pulling the trigger a second time.

“You’ll pay for that,” the man snarled as Jacques relieved him of his gun, back-up gun, and a sticky pocket knife.

“You should take better care of your toys,” Jacques said, slipping the blade into a back pocket. After pocketing the magazines from the guns, he tossed the weapons themselves to the side, now useless without ammo. “They won’t last if you leave them dirty like that.”

“Do you know who you’re messing with?”

Jacques crouched down and looked the man in the face, seeing for the first time that one of his eyes was a bloody mess. Had someone managed to shoot this guy in the face without killing him? If so, that was impressive. “A cyclops, from the look of it. Or, maybe a pirate?”

Noticing the tightening of the muscles in the man’s neck, Jacques pressed his gun to the guy’s forehead. “By all means, attack me. Give me a reason.” They stayed like this for nearly a minute before the man finally let out a noise of frustration. “Good. Now, get to your feet. Slowly. Very slowly.”

Jacques took a step back, keeping his gun pointed at the man as he rose to his feet.

“Got a name, cyclops?”

“…Richard.”

“Very fitting. Well, Dick, interlace your fingers behind your head, like a good boy, and let’s get going. We’re heading back the way we came, except we’ll be using the stairs this time.” Jacques twitched his gun to the left twice, indicating the direction they would be taking.