Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Sex, Substances, Sin, Salvation ❯ I - D - Fate is a Surrounding Police Force ( Chapter 4 )

Sex, Substances, Sin, Salvation

How these 4 `s' words are intertwined.

By Masamune Reforged

WhenShootingStarsFall.com

Disclaimer: Don't own any of the characters, they are the property of Bandai, Sunrise or someone else, but not me. I use them for no-profit whatsoever, but for entertainment's gain.

Warnings: Yaoi (lots of pairings- primarily 1x2 and 3x4- lemons later, but nothing more than shounen-ai for right now) cursing, drug use, violence, angst, insanity, cameos, AU, lunacy, sanity.

 

Part D of “Fate Works at a 24/7 Convenience Store”, Page I in the s4 arc.

“Fate is a Surrounding Police Force”

Trowa's POV

 

I knelt down on the floor to duck out of sight or at least confuse the cops as to who their sights should be on. This might be the end for me, I thought. I'd never faced more than three police all on my own. I was surrounded. No exits except the front door. Trapped.

 

“THERE IS NOWHERE TO RUN.” The megaphone voice boomed out. “YOU CAN SAVE YOURSELF A LOT OF TROUBLE BY SURRENDERING QUIETLY.”

 

“You should just listen to him,” The blonde, probably most upset about how dirty his designer clothes were getting on the shop floor, advised me.

 

“Shut up,” I spat, meaner than I probably should. “What do you care?”

 

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

 

Of course I understood, but I wasn't going to get up and answer them. One thing I'd learned about these city cops was that they were no braver than the ones out in the country. They weren't about to run in and risk their necks for some nobody store clerk. They'd even draw it out, get overtime pay if they could. Shucks, out on the plains it was different. Everybody knew everybody, had gone to school with that nobody store clerk or wanted to court the owner's daughter. Maybe brave wasn't the word.

 

“THIS IS THE METRO CITY POLICE...”

 

But, ya know, it sure was a long way out to the country...

 

I ignored the blaring ruckus of the megaphone. I stayed low and tried to come up with a plan. I had time; those cops weren't going to storm the place or nothing, not just yet. But I was still worried, as I had cased the joint for a few days prior and hadn't seen any doors other than the front. Maybe I could make a break for it out the front before too much backup arrived? I didn't have many options. I could sit here and stew for awhile longer or jump out into the fire and...

 

That was it.

 

“This building has to have emergency fire exits.” I turned towards the cashier. He was still standing, quivering in terror. “Where are they?”

 

“F-fire exits?” He stuttered.

 

I wondered if anyone had ever told him what to do in case of an emergency. I wondered if he'd ever thought about the risk he was taking every night, all alone, an easy target in this store, completely isolated in the Financial District, everything else locked up long ago when the last of the suits left their high profile, big time offices. Shit, they probably didn't even let him keep a shotgun.

 

“I-I-”

 

“This place has to have emergency exits,” I tried not to scare him any worse. I needed him to be able to remember a way out of this building.

 

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement. The Asian in the business suit was standing up. He had held me up by being such a hassle, carrying a gun and acting so strangely calm. He'd struck me as familiar as well... He acted like one of the true underworld folk, not just a two-bit crim like me. I had almost no doubt that he was a seasoned pro.

 

“What are you doing?” I asked him. I aimed at him, my arm resting on my knee as I pointed the nozzle straight at him. Was he crazy? Standing up like that in the middle of all this… Obviously not military trained...

 

“I'm getting out of here.” He didn't even look at me, just patted some of the flakes of dirt and grime off his suit. His eyes were focused on the cashier. The dark blue Prussian orbs glinted with malice and exhilaration. His thin lips were pursed in an even thinner smile, like a slit from ear to ear. “Try to stop me.”

 

He walked over to the cashier, who looked around nervously. The pimply-faced kid looked back from me to the Asian, to me, to the Asian. Then he turned to run.

 

“Waaghh!” he let out a cry. The Asian gangster, they call them Yakuza or something like that, had leaped at him like a pole cat on a fledgling bird. A steel paw gripped the back of the cashier's shirt and a lump of skin from his neck. The other hand took a firm hold of the jaw, ring finger and thumb lodged in the hinges of the mouth. He forced the cashier to look into his eyes.

 

“Where is the fire exit?”

 

“Igh- Igh-“

 

“I can't hear you.” Mercilessly tightening his grip, he leered.

 

“Ing a gase'ent.” The cashier was hardly able to breathe, let alone speak.

 

The Yakuza let go and the cashier fell to his knees, coughing and sputtering. The monstrous Asian turned towards me and said, “Give me back my gun.” He went on, as if it were obvious, “I never usually help out small-time guys like yourself, but I'm not having a nice chat with the cops either.” Then he added, “With two of us, it'll be easy.”

 

“We'll have to hurry.” My answer came automatically.

 

A knowing nod trying to bridge the silence, the Asian's unblinking eyes whispered a secret signal that was just as, if not stronger, than any spoken word.

 

-Not like I want to do this, but we're on the same team now-

 

I bit my lip slightly as I returned the gaze. Okay.

 

His mouth spread into a thin, stony smile, white teeth just flickering slightly, lips taught and fiery blue eyes smoldering:

 

-Cross me and you're dead.-

 

I let out a thin stream of breath. Okay.

 

“Come here.” The Yakuza gestured, fist clenched around the gun's butt, towards the blonde. “You're coming with me.”

 

“No,” I said. “He's my hostage.”

 

“WHAT?-” The blonde began to protest.

 

“Shut up!” I pointed my pistol straight at the pretty blonde boy. Gosh, he was something to see. His body instantly tensed and he looked around incredulously.

 

Those sparkling blue eyes accused me. -That's not fair!-

 

Life's a bitch.

 

“You can't be serious. Please don't-”

 

“Shut up.” I removed the gun's safety pointedly.

 

And at the end, you die. And so it goes.

 

“You're my hostage. You've obviously got cash, probably some moneybags' kid. The cops won't even want to risk singeing one of your little blonde hairs. You're coming with me whether you like it or not.”

 

So please cooperate and maybe we'll all see tomorrow morning. Okay?

 

The blonde nodded. He looked small and scared, cranky and wanting to go to bed. His face was scrunched up in a plea for sympathy or special favor. His full, glossy lips even pouted tenderly.

 

-I hate you! Just leave me alone.-

 

The branding hot sting of shame and guilt simmered in my chest. I felt like a monster, sweating under the hood and mask. Did I really have to get innocent people caught up in all of this? The landlord was threatening eviction again, and on top of that I owed my weed dealer. This had come right on top of my wrecking my taxi cab, essentially meaning I earned nothing for the next three months or more. Maybe there was another way…

 

“Stop dolling over him and let's get moving,” the dark haired Yakuza spat. Then he pointed to the trashy-looking youth with the ridiculously long braid. “You're coming with me. Don't try anything funny.”

 

The braided guy put up his hands like a the cat about to eat the bird and said, “Wouldn't dream of it.”

 

Staying low, I crawled over to the blonde, asking, “What's your name?”

 

“Quatre Winner.”

 

“WINNER?” The braided youth gawked. Damn, he had some sharp ears. “Like THE Winners? The richest family since the Rockefellers?”

 

“Stop squawking!” The Yakuza slapped the grungy boy's head. “You don't talk or move or breathe without my permission, understand?”

 

Nostrils flaring, eyes flashing, the braided boy nodded, whispering something I couldn't catch. Whatever it was caught the Yakuza by surprise, because his mouth opened to speak in reply. But he stopped himself.

 

“I'm coming with you too.” The Chinese guy, Wufei Chang, looked up from the floor, where he was writhing slightly, like a pig in mud. His eyes were distorted. I was curious to try whatever shit he was flinging on. “I'm not staying around for the cops.”

 

“Just one minute,” the Yakuza said. He looked at the cashier.

 

There was murder in his eyes.

 

-end Trowa's POV.

-end part D of Page I in the Sex, Substance, Sin, Salvation arc.

-feedback to MasamuneEHS@hotmail.com Hope you liked.

 

Next: “Fate is a Good Witness Protection Program”