Act Four
Scene Two
Sub-Scene One
The killing has never ended.
In the motel room, Elliot
repacked his bags, which had never been unpacked since he arrived. He had worn
the same suit fora few a few days. And another, and the previous one was in the
laundry. The Treasury covers the accommodation and meals, but not the laundry.
Not even the bullets you
fire. They supplied the gun and a standard clip, while the rest is yours to
cover. If you lose the gun, you replace it with your own gun.
Elliot looked at the
revolver he had worn on his shoulder holster. It was the S&W Model 1905;
six bullets chambered were the issue at his graduation. He had fired the
revolver many times in the range but never once in action. It was not necessary
then.
In his assignment, he
carried the Col, a, a M911; recoil-operated, semi-automatic pistol
chamberethe.45the.45 ACP cartridge. It was given to him by his uncle, who was
previously in the military.
“Elliot, in the line of
work, you may need the firepower to kill the one shooting at you.” The uncle,
who served in battles during the last Great War, passed him the gun. “It saved
my life then and will do the same for you as we are the untouchables.”
Elliot picked up the gun and
weighed it in his left hand. It was manageable with the seven bullets clip, and
it gave him confidence in the swagger to meet the gangs. He had practiced
lifting the jacket by the side of the holster towards the mirror. It was
supposed to intimidate the other then.
The other item he holds on
him was the knuckle bus, which is, fitted and designed to be worn around the
knuckles of the human hand as is was made from brass. He kept that handy in the
right-side jacket pocket for fast access. He practiced hitting the wooden
doors, but stopped when his knuckles ached. It was another item handed to him
by his uncle.
“It saved my life when in
close combat with the Huns. I broke some jaws with it.”
The brass lends weight to
the item and is and is designed to preserve and concentrate a punch's force by
directing it toward a harder and smaller contact area, resulting in increased
tissue disruption or fracturing the bones on impact.
“Once I broke the puma’s
snort with it.” That was probably an exaggeration by the uncle, who never left
the wheelchair at the home after the war.
Elliot heard the knock on
the door. He was not expecting anyone, and with ‘Best’ dead, no one would visit
him or know he was there. He grabbed the M1911 and walked to the door. He
stopped a few feet away and took a sideway to the door. The bed was facing the
doorway, and where he was standing was next to the wooden closet. He stomped
his feet several times and then stopped.
The bullets that riddled the
door fired from the Tommy gun. The.45 bullets made some holes in the door and
impacted through to hit the bed frame. The shooter then kicked the door and
rushed.
“Fuck!” It was the surprise
expression on the shooter when he stepped in before Elliot shot him in the
right side of the chest and groin. The shooter went down, groaning, but the
trigger on the Tommy was still pressed, and the aim was towards the bed. The
bed was soon creaking from the bullets impact.
“Dan!” The backup shooter
peeked in and saw Elliot there with the smoking gun. “He killed Dan. I …...”
Elliot had rushed to the
other far wall for cover when the second shooter pelted the room with the
double-gauge shotgun in the closet. That was a wild two shots, and the shooter
was without any ammo. When he was reloading, Elliot stepped forward and shot
him in the chest with his third bullet. He fell backwards toward the corridor.
“Arghh……”
Elliot, on reflex, crouched
down when the third shooter took to fire wildly into the room from the doorway.
The shooter was aiming the shots from right to left and back. He then leaned on
the outside wall and called the second shooter.
“Move it, Shelby. We are
done.”
“Help me with Dan. We cannot
leave him here.” The one named Shelby held onto his guts with his left hand,
trying to pull Dan along. The third shooter leaned in and took another shot of
bullets to deter Elliot. Then he assisted Shelby in dragging Dan out. Elliot
remained crouched, listening to the sound of the assailants retreating. He then
sat down on his haunches, and the shakes came to his hands.
Elliot Ness had just fired
his gun in killing and survived a shootout.
“I …….” Elliot’s shakes
reached his chest, where his heartbeats were fast. He dropped his gun and
grabbed his knees towards his chest. He heard the sirens in the distance, but
all that mattered then was to remain stupid.
“A word of stupidity when in
a shootout. You do not think and fire; you fire and continue firing till it's
over. Then you may think,” The instructor had reminded him. “The bullet is not
your friend. It is to ensure you shoot it at the other. If you think, you are
stupid.”
Stupidity also comes with
fright.
It took the coppers an hour
to arrive, and when they did, they reported back that Elliot was still alive.
“There goes my dollar on him
being dead.” That was the comment from the desk sergeant. The report was later
filed as a shoot-out at the motel, with no dead bodies seen or found. One
Treasury agent survived miraculously. There were no witnesses, and the case was
considered close.
However, two days later,
another funeral was held for an officer who was shot dead on duty.
“Detective Daniel Dobbins
was...” The captain read the eulogy then.
It was while Elliot was
released from the infirmary. He stepped off the infirmary steps and stood on
the sidewalk. A T-Ford stopped before him.
“Agent Ness, Mark Antony
would like to see you.” Elliot was handed the hood to place over his head.
Romans do it their
way.
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