― Dennis Vickers
showdown or takedown?
A lot goes through your mind when you're waiting to die. Okay, that may sound maudlin, but there were snipers on the cliffs and here I was, a sitting duck lying in a boat waiting for the firing to begin.
I don't like being helpless despite what Tess or Sarah might think. And I don't like lying on my back in a sail boat hoping the bullets won't pierce the wooden sides, when I'm sure they will.
And I don't like relying on Sarah to rescue me because the gaps in her plan may end up putting holes in me.
And it was so stupid. All I wanted was a little communication―she could have even tried sky writing for all I cared, but I guess that was just too much to ask.
The sun was going down in the west and my back was aching from lying on the wooden floor of the boat.
I had no idea of the time but figured it was past seven―maybe later.
There was no way I could endure another two hours of being cramped, waiting until it was dark enough to slip away. If I was going to die, at least I was going to mitigate my pain.
I drew up the anchor, while still remaining partially concealed and positioned myself to start the motor―the sail was still unfurled and the lines secured. Maybe my pursuers would pass on shooting at a moving target.
The motor cranked and I opened it up, hoping for the element of surprise.
It crossed my mind to zig zag as I headed toward the boat slip but at this point if these guys were going to fire I would have already heard shots.
I made land and quickly winched the boat onto the trailer, intending to hop into the SUV and quickly pull away.
But just as I finished securing the trailer, two dark figures emerged out of the gathering gloom.
My heart sank. There was no place to run.
"Catch any rays?" a female voice called out.
As the two approached I see I could just make out Sarah and her partner Ross Parrish.
"What the hell!" I blurted out. "They could be watching."
"We are being watched, " Sarah sung in her mocking voice, "but the lookout is our informant."
A wave of relief swept over me and I began trembling and felt weak.
"We need your SUV," Ross says suddenly.
I mutely hand over the keys.
"Oh, and take off your shirt," Sarah adds.
"Are you joking?" I hiss, shocked by her cavalier attitude.
Ross intervenes. "She's serious, We need to switch shirts and I'll also need to wear your Blue Jays cap."
I felt uncomfortable peeling off my tee shirt with Sarah staring, but I complied.
"How am I supposed to get home?"
"You like to jog at dusk," Sarah smiles sweetly.
"Arghh! Whatever..." I shout, exasperated.
I stomp away, hearing Sarah's muffled comment and Ross' guffaw.
I hate that girl sometimes.
I take my time walking home. My back is sore and legs cramped from contorting myself to lie flat in the boat for four hours.
As I round a bend in the road I see blue and red lights flashing ahead. When I get closer I can see Ross and Sarah and two men that the police have taken into custody.
"What happened?" I ask as I approach them.
Sarah deadpans, "Oh, you just missed your welcoming committee, but we substituted for you."
"She hid in the back of the SUV," Ross explained, "and the stalkers mistook me for you. They intended to shoot you execution style in your vehicle. They're mob members freelancing a hit. Their car was stolen and they had another parked a few blocks away so they could switch cars and get away. They'd never be tracked."
"Lucky me," I say bleakly, taking in the scene of what would have been my end.
"Look on the bright side,"Sarah smiled sweetly, "you look okay without a shirt."
"Just okay?" I ask.
"Take the compliment, Guy," Ross laughed, "She has high standards."
I was still shaking but feigned being okay, the same way I fake everything.
I felt sick and wanted to throw up but I joked as if it were nothing.
It was something though, but me? Yeah, I was nothing―unless you count being a fake.