MEET RED-TIE

The look on the man's face when Red-Tie had pulled out his gun still brought a smile to his face. The businessman had proceeded to lunge the door open and cower in the nearest building, shouting at the top of his lungs. Since the keys were already in the ignition, Red Tie only had to turn the key, and he was off!

After picking up No Tie, he had proceeded to guess the route the two FBI cunts had taken, basing his deductions on his vast knowledge of the city and his partner's account of what had happened.

But he realised how futile it was after three minutes of driving. A black sedan in New York was as common as the name John Smith.

Just then, as Red Tie was secretly starting to despair, three police cars swept past him in the opposite direction, their sirens on full blast, wailing down the street.

It took only an exchanged glance between No Tie and Red Tie and an affirmative, confident nod.

Red Tie was good at deductions. His mind was on overdrive. If the FBI was being helped by other authorities, then it would be by no other than the New York Police Department. The fact that these cars had showed up right after Mr Carter and the agents had left indicated a high possibility that they were responding to a call for help from someone who was already engaged in an act of danger. And yes, it was New York City. Crime rates were some of the highest in world. But in Red Tie's experience, coppers didn't send three vehicles unless it was something really, really urgent. Like a high-speed chase. His chances were good.

Red Tie was good at deductions.

He made a sharp U-turn and raced after them.

MEET NICK

Nick hadn't ever driven this fast in the city. He was driving erratically, weaving in and out of lines and passing red lights frantically.

It had taken him a few minutes to find Mr Carter, but Nick's guess had proven right. Mr Carter had taken the main boulevard, and it had taken no time to spot his damaged car. Mr Carter was going fast and Nick had a hard time keeping up with him.

The next chain of events happened so quickly, and was so immediate, that it was absolutely inevitable. As Nick approached another intersection, he grilled another light, dodging cars in his way, his eyes fixated on his target. Which was why he didn't notice another vehicle arriving his way. A white van, incoming on Nick's right, had seen a green light and gone for it, not stopping for precautions.

The collision was catastrophic.

Nick's car was halfway through the crossing when his right flank was hit by three tonnes of torque and metal speeding at sixty-five kilometres per hour. Nick's car was pushed laterally through the intersection, the bender of the van crushing his passenger door. The two vehicles, entwined, screeched across the road, the van dragging the car along. They eventually bumped the sidewalk, which was where they separated. The van bumped into a tree a few feet away. As for Nick's Lexus, it just flew over the curb and crashed right through the display window of a bakery, only coming to a halt once it had slammed into the counter of the shop.

The police later that day would receive two different reports.

One would be a medical file from the nearest hospital, that had accommodated an unconscious individual who had been inflicted with very serious injuries and had lost a lot blood, and sent to the ER for intense emergency treatment.

The other would be a detailed autopsy from the nearest morgue.

Nick's name would be presented on the latter.

His cause of death, as a police detective later that day would find out, would be a result of "severe spinal cord injuries". In other words, Nick had died on impact.

As for the owner of the bakery he had crashed into, who had been forced to close down temporarily, he had demanded pay for material damages to his insurance, since Nick couldn't pay back for damages. Money went into refurbishing the entire establishment and the insurance company even agreed, upon forceful request from a very angry client, to pay for all the bread and croissants that had been wasted due to "an unfortunate car accident" earlier that day.

MEET BLONDIE

"The suspect is in a grey Mercedes. The car is damaged and most of its windows are blown out. The suspect­­­—"

The police scanner was going wild, mostly with repeated messages from command about the missing vehicle, all rebutted with negative replies from other cops on-duty.

Blondie was screeching across a corner, Brunette still strapping herself in. The police scanner blurted something out.

"Dispatch, this is Officer John McClane. A Mercedes matching the suspect vehicle's description spotted on 6th Avenue. I repeat, I have a possible vehicle sighting. Please acknowledge."

Before even dispatch could respond, Blondie ripped the talkie from the scanner.

"Officer McClane, follow the Mercedes now! Follow it but do not engage! Do not engage! Suspect is armed and dangerous. We're on our way."

With that, Blondie threw the talkie away and pedalled the accelerator even faster, while the a very confused Officer McClane confirmed with dispatch the authority this crazy lady had over him. Dispatch threw out the location:

"Possible location of suspect vehicle: 6th Avenue. All available units head there ASAP."

MEET MR CARTER

Mr Carter was quite sure he had lost them. He had been driving for nearly fifteen minutes now, and the others were still a no-show. With that, he let a loose a small sigh of relief. It had gotten a little hot back there. Damn, he had lost his best man. But he didn't feel guilty for leaving him behind. Mick had done his job. Now Mr Carter needed to make sure his bodyguard hadn't died in vain. He quickly fished in his pocket and grabbed his phone. He put a number on speed dial and put the phone on speaker. After two rings, a dismembered voice picked up on the other end.

"Yes?"

"Leo, I've got a problem. I haven't got much time, so listen to me carefully. I'm injured and I need a new vehicle. Mick's dead, so I'm on my own."

"Jesus. What happened?"

"A transaction went wrong. I managed to grab what I wanted and get out of there. I think I've lost them now. But I'm rocking a damaged vehicle and this city's congested with cops. I'm gonna need your help. I'm calling in a favour, buddy."

The voice on the other end didn't hesitate.

"Come to the garage. You know where it is. Take the back entrance and meet with Gerard. I'll meet you there in twenty minutes. And make sure you're not being followed."

"See you there."

However, during that brief, thirty second phone call, Mr Carter had allowed himself to put his guard down, and his reading of his surroundings had considerably diminished. Which is why he didn't notice Blondie's sedan racing down the street. He also missed the car angling its wheels towards his back bumper. Just as Mr Carter was about to hang up, he was violently slammed forward. The hit was so brutal that his head hit the steering wheel, hard. Dazed, he lifted his head and fought for control of the steering wheel with every ounce of energy and concentration he had left. He managed to drive a couple tens of metres before he slammed into a lamppost on the left lane. His airbag deployed, whooshing into place and cushioning his head trajectory, which had decided to go in for another steering-wheel hit. Mr Carter lay there, his head melting into the airbag, groaning in pain, his head groggy, trying to look outside. It was only when he saw Blondie and Brunette step out of the car that he started to panic.

MEET BRUNETTE

Brunette couldn't believe it. Mr Carter's Mercedes lay in a smoking wreck next to a truck. The collision had worked. Blondie had rummaged around in the trunk and had pulled out their back-up guns. Brunette and her partner now held brand-new Glocks, taking cover behind their sedan and aiming them at Mr Carter's vehicle.

Officer McClane, who had originally called it in, and who had been 'inconspicuously' following the vehicle, halted further ahead and got out of the vehicle, mirroring Blondie and Brunette, hiding behind his car.

As if right on cue, three police cars entered the avenue, sirens flashing and wailing, surrounding the crashed car. The police cars had barely stopped when officers jumped out. They took out their weapons and got into position. One man was shouting. Blondie and Brunette recognized him instantly: Sgt. Blake Garner. The two female FBI enforcers were more than unhappy about this. Brunette fumed. He couldn't follow goddamn orders. And now he was putting lives in danger and trodding all over their operation. But since the policemen were already in position and had the situation somewhat under control, Brunette realised that this meant that they also had some sort of authority. So her and Blondie just stayed behind the car, guns still pointed. They would intervene later. No one was going to steal their arrest, their achievement and, eventually, way down the road, their promotion into the higher echelons of the Bureau. Brunette was still glad that they had caught him. Once they took charge of Mr Carter, her superiors would be pleased.

It's over, she thought. We busted him. It's over.

MEET MR CARTER

Mr Carter struggled with his seatbelt, managing to wrench it free. Grabbing one of his guns, he weakly opened the driver's car door and spilled out onto the asphalt, heaving for breath. He at looked at his stomach. A shard of glass had imbedded itself in his abdomen, it looked quite deep. He tried to take it out, only to feel a shock of pain. He grunted, leaving it where it was. His arm still hurt like hell. But he would deal with his injuries later. He had another problem on his hands. Racking the slide of his gun, he crawled to the back of the car, slowly peaking behind the corner, only to be met with a lot of other guns pointed at him a hundred meters away. He quickly ducked back down. A few seconds later he heard loudspeakers address him.

"Sir, this is the NYPD! We have you surrounded. Do not attempt to fight back, or we will be obligated to shoot! You need to drop your weapon and put your hands on your heads. Put your hands on your heads and step away from the vehicle!"

At this point, Mr Carter's mind could only scream: SHIT!

"Sir, put your hands on your heads and move away from the vehicle! This is your final warning!"

MEET RED TIE

Red Tie heard the commotion before he saw it. He been following the cops for five minutes, racing along behind them. He had briefly lost them on a corner, but once he had reached it, he found the three police vehicles plus one — he had no idea where the extra cop car had come from — at a halt down the street, surrounding a car that had crashed into a lamppost. Sounds of shouting on a loudspeaker could be heard. Red Tie was, for a brief moment, worried. How could he take down all these police officers? He counted nine of them in total. But then he noticed that they were in two separate groups, one of four and the other of five, hunkered behind their cars. Since Red Tie was behind them, they would have zero protection on his side of attack.

The time to act was now.

Red Tie glanced at No Tie.

"Guns ready?" he asked.

No Tie nodded.

Red Tie put the car in gear and screamed down the street towards the group on his left. When he was halfway through, one policeman turned around, startled by the sound. When he realised what was happening, he opened his mouth to shout a warning.

But by then it was already too late.

His shins came into contact with the Jaguar's front bender, instantly breaking under the pressure deriving from the velocity of the car. The cop was thrown over the windshield, thudding to ground. Red Tie didn't stop. The three cops in front of him were all run over by the car as well, Red Tie rolling over them, the last one slamming onto the bonnet and cracking the windshield. By then the group of cops on the right stopped what they were doing to investigate the noise. It was only when they realised that some cops were down, deformed and dead that they changed their direction of aim. No Tie then proceeded to open his door and simultaneously fire both his and his partner's Uzis at the policemen, strafing the remaining cops. They didn't stand a chance. They went down instantly, blood splashing all over the white and blue paintwork of the NYPD patrol cars. No mercy was shown, no lives were spared. Everyone, including Sgt. Blake Garner and even Officer McClane, were killed, with extreme prejudice and ruthless efficiency.

No Tie didn't stop firing until both the guns clicked empty.

MEET BLONDIE

All the events happened in some sort of photographic reel. Everything she saw happened so fast they looked like images, or screenshots of a scene from a movie. The first shot was of another car entering the avenue right where the officers had come. The next shot was of the car ploughing into the officers. The third shot was of the remaining policemen on the ground, their bodies riddled with bullets. The last shot, and the one that shocked her most, was of the two cop-killing perpetrators stepping out of the car. She saw Red Tie retrieve his gun from No Tie, only to crouch behind the police cars. A plethora of emotions paralysed her. She couldn't think properly. How had they found them? Had they followed them? Or had they followed one of the cops? But the dominant emotion seemed to be anger, since just then she felt an explosion of rage within her. Those two London criminals had massacred eight policemen in the line of duty with no remorse. She was going to make them pay. And she wasn't taking any chances. If it came to it, she was prepared to kill.

MEET NO TIE

No Tie glanced at his boss. Red Tie was signalling Blondie's and Brunette's sedan parked down the avenue. He pointed to No Tie and the right-hand side of the car, telling him to move forward. No Tie nodded. But as he soon as he moved forward, he was shot at not from the sedan, but from the crashed Mercedes. He quickly ducked back down to avoid Mr Carter's furious firing.

"Die, you British fuck!" he shouted. "Come here! I'll fuck you up!"

Red Tie spotted him and fired back. Mr Carter ducked, but didn't come out of it unscathed. The rounds hit his right shoulder. Screaming, he dropped his gun and fell back down.

No Tie looked back at Red Tie, who just nodded. Time to finish Mr Carter.

He moved forward, crawling beneath the top of the cars, still staying hidden from Blondie or Brunette, and crouched up behind the last police vehicle. The position of all the cars made a rag-tag, incomplete semi-circle, with a gap from Mr Carter car to the one he was currently behind.

He counted slowly to three.

One... two... three!

He jumped and whipped his gun out to his left, where Mr Carter was lying, firing wildly. His bullets eventually his target, and Mr Carter's head was blown open, splattering No Tie's already blood-soaked shirt with little pieces of brain matter. No Tie then took cover and threw away his Uzi, which had run out of bullets. He picked up Mr Carter's Smith and Wesson and waited.

One down, two to go.

MEET BLONDIE

"I'll take the guy with the red tie. You just cover me alright?".

Blondie nodded. She had just seen Mr Carter get his face blown off. So now it was just the four of them left.

Brunette passed Blondie and placed herself to Blondie's right. As soon as she ran, Blondie came up and fired two bullets at No Tie, and two at Red Tie, rhythmically switching her angle of fire. Brunette kept on running until she reached the first police car. Blondie ducked back down and reloaded. Last magazine.

Brunette was crouching around and was about to turn the corner. Blondie was covering her approach, her gun scanning the cars.

There was a strange, inexplicable silence around them. For once, in New York, you couldn't hear the buzz people's conservations, or the rush of cars right next to you. It was silent, the city itself merely observing the climactic show of violence happening this very instant.

At that instant, Blondie noticed a flash. No Tie was coming back the way he had come. Her eyes widened. Brunette couldn't go up against both of them.

"Come back!" she shouted. "Come back, it's too dangerous!"

But her warning made no difference. At that instant, No Tie emerged from the left and Red Tie from the right and they both fired at Brunette at the same time. She had no escape, being boxed in from the two sides. Blondie screamed as Brunette's body convulsed violently, reacting to every bloody impact. She fell, her weapon clattering to the ground, blood spraying everywhere.

She was dead before she hit the ground.

Blondie reacted quickly. She ran out of her cover and fired at No Tie, the closest target, and fired three shots at his head. The last shot hit home, the round neatly piercing his skull and exiting the other side. No Tie flopped to the ground next to Brunette.

Blondie continued sprinting and slid behind Mr Carter's car, a few of Red Tie's bullets whizzing past her head. The gunfire ceased. She heard some scrambling not too far away and then: "It doesn't have to be like this, young lady!" shouted Red Tie. "Just let me walk away and no one else gets hurt."

Blondie faked a laugh, although it was more of a furious snarl at this point. "There is no one else left to hurt, you son of bitch!" she shouted. "You killed my partner. You killed them all!"

"I didn't mean to! Look, I know why you're doing this. I work for some very powerful people. If you let me go, I will make sure you get that promotion, or a pay raise. Whatever it is—"

"SHUT UP!" screamed Blondie. "I will fucking massacre you!"

There was silence. And then, a faintly audible: "Alright then."

Blondie, crouching, moved forward on her hands and knees. Then, getting an idea, she suddenly turned direction. She had previously come in from the right. So this time she was going to try and flank him from the left. Still staying behind the body of the car, she ran behind the lamppost it had crashed into. About ten metres away lay the first police vehicle. She crouched, holding her breath. Her ears picked up no sound. Checking one last time that the coast was clear, she flitted between the two cars, rapidly covering the gap. She quickly crouched again, her ears on high alert, listening for any sounds. Footsteps, scraping, a gun cocking.

Nothing.

She continued crawling on all fours, gun out in front of her. She was approaching the middle police vehicle, where she had last seen Red Tie. She took a deep breath, steeling herself. In a sudden burst of speed, she jumped around the corner—

There was nobody there.

She frowned. He had been here a moment ago. Had he flanked her the other way? She continued, turning the next corner.

Empty.

She started to wonder if Red Tie had gone all the way to the other side, having had the same idea as she had. She guessed he must be behind Mr Carter's Mercedes.

At that point though, Blondie heard running right behind her. She whipped around—

Bullets hit her legs and lower abdomen. Screaming in pain, she went down. She couldn't feel her legs anymore. All she could was look up on the ground, staring ahead of her. It was Red Tie, chucking his empty Uzi to the ground, walking calmly towards her now that she was hit, and, if Blondie wasn't imagining it, with the hint of a smile on his face. It was a malicious smile, a predator's smile when it knows that its prey has been trapped.

Blondie had trouble breathing. Her vision was a bit cloudy and blurry now. She was bleeding out, and quickly. With her hands she squeezed a few of her wounds shut as well as she could, but the blood seeped right through her fingers. She couldn't tell where her gun had gone.

She could just about make out Red Tie talking to her, but it sounded as though he was speaking from far away.

"My darling", he echoed.

He chuckled.

"You should have taken that easy promotion."

His shoes were right in front of her now. Slowly, he leaned down.

"Why do you American wankers have to be so bloody complicated these days?"

Blondie saw his hands moving, and moved her eyes towards them. Her body was instantly paralysed when her eyes came upon the object Red Tie was holding.

A combat knife.

He unsheathed it and held it up to the sun. It glinted a little.

"Such a shame," he said. "This was a family gift to my friend. And you killed him." Then, looking at Blondie straight in the eyes, he said: "Only fair to avenge him with his own weapon."

And before she knew it, Blondie was begging. She was surprised. She had never thought she was the type to beg before her final moments. She had never considered herself a coward. But right now, bleeding and injured on the ground, with no one to help her, she found herself begging for her life to this criminal.

"Please," she whispered. "Please... don't kill me. Please, I'll do anything. Help me—"

The knife stabbed her face three times. The first time it fractured her skull, the second time it went clean through her left eye and the final time it managed to slide right into her head. 

When Red Tie was done, he didn't even bother taking the knife out. He walked over to Mr Carter's car and opened the trunk. He grabbed everything: bags, packets and suitcases, and dumped them near a shiny red Chevrolet. He smashed open the window and hotwired the car. A few minutes later he was good to go. Checking that all was loaded into the trunk, he put on his seatbelt and drove away, leaving behind the scene of the massacre as if he had left his house on a routine morning road trip. He didn't look back. The only thing that followed him was the echo of sirens approaching.