KMC Forums - Midnite Ride

“Stop the car.”
The chauffer did as he was told. The cold, hard-as-rock voice made his spine shiver. He had been delegated to drive the man in the back around by his boss. The chauffer was not used to driving the larger stretch limousines, but he was doing decently so far. As it was, he hadn’t even seen the man’s face, only heard his voice. He, the passenger, was a shady character, with his collar drawn up to chin height and a preference to keep his face in shadow. That un-nerved the chauffer even more than the voice. He was used to showy celebrities going between clubs, or raucous high school students that hired a limousine for the prom, not some shady, quiet six footer who seemed as if he had just had a bad day at the police force.
The voice though. It was like an evil calm, like someone who was talking about the end of the world, but knew they would live. It wasn’t a high pitched squeak, nor was it a low grumble. It wasn’t evil, but it wasn’t warm. It was just there. A bodiless form, with no bias. Just…there.
The stranger had directed him through most of New York City, up Broadway, across 7th Ave, into Queens, back to the Bronx, Brooklyn, all over. He never told the driver to stop, he never got out, he just drove around town. Finally, He told the chauffer to stop. It was near Battery Park, the chauffer thought. Must have been around three in the morning, because there was absolutely no one around. Not even cops. But then another figure stepped out from behind a tree, into the light. This guy was dressed in a pinstriped suit, wearing a cavalier hat. He looked like a mobster right out of the forties or fifties, the chauffer thought. He had slicked-back blonde hair that looked so hard that you could take a rock to his head and the rock would crack in half. He stood at average height, and had a light build. He opened the backdoor himself and got in.
“Howzit goin’, Jimmy?” the new rider asked. He had a thick Brooklyn accent, and his voice was slightly nasal. The other, “Jimmy” the chauffer assumed was his name, did not vocally acknowledge the newcomer. He just said “Drive.” The chauffer conformed. He did not know where to drive, and Jimmy didn’t seem to want to give him any directions, so he just drove. After a few minutes, he heard the flicking of a lighter, and then smelled cigarette smoke. The Brooklyner spoke.
“Did you get him?”
“Yeah, I got him,” the shady character said. “But it wasn’t easy.”
“That so? Whadid he do?”
“He knew it was coming. Had a decoy.”
“But you got him, right?”
There was a rustle of clothes, and the chauffer saw the stranger point to his leg, then his gut with two fingers, and then his head with one.
“Bit too much, doncha think?”
“No. The bastard deserved it for making me run ten blocks.”
The Brooklyner shrugged.
The chauffer had a faint idea about what they might be talking about…But surely not. These two seemed a little creepy, but they wouldn’t have done that.
There was silence for a few more blocks. And then,
“Turn into that parking lot,” said the cold voice.
It was an unlit lot, with only a few cars in it. The neighborhood, the chauffer saw, was a rather run-down place. There was a sigh.
“Pity,” the Brooklyner said, “He never even asked a question.”
The chauffer assumed they were talking the man they had been talking about earlier.
“Yeah.” said the cold voice. “Good at taking orders, too.”
The chauffer was confused. The cold voice was now complimenting the “bastard”?
“You don’t think we could…?”
“No, unfortunately”, Jimmy said, but the chauffer could detect no remorse in his voice.
That was when the driver looked in the mirror and saw the silencer on a pistol barrel right next to his ear.
The next second his brains were on the windshield.