Run, Fatty (Part 2)

After narrowly escaping the clutches of his deadly enemy, Devereux Stent, Warren Collit and his small band of body guards take refuge in a seemingly safe hotel.

Everyone lurched to the right as the Humvee screeched onto the highway, earning itself a few honks from some peevish city-goers trying to make their way home.
Brendan Archer grinned at the rear view mirror.
“Looks like we’ve made it, Sir,” he said to the wheezing, overweight man in the back seat.
Warren Collit didn’t even attempt to return the smile. He was absolutely spent and he sighed as he glimpsed the dark sweat patches on his navy blue dress shirt. His stomach bulged against the seat-belt as he struggled to withdraw a hanker-chief from his back pocket, forcing the two men either side of him to squish themselves against the windows.

“I certainly hope so,” he said as he tiredly wiped his face, noticing Archer glance back at him.
“Where to now, Sir?”
Collit looked out the window and watched the drab brick buildings go by in a blur.
“Anywhere. I don’t care, I just want to get as far away as possible,” remembering the vivid image of Devereux Stent’s smoldering eyes.
A few minutes before, Collit and his five-man team of body guards: Archer, Blak, Troy, Keep and Locke, had barely managed to escape an office building as Stent’s men had stormed it. And although they had eluded him and came out unscathed, the message was clear: Stent wanted Collit. Alive.

As they drove on, the sun continued to set, throwing a burnt orange blanket over the city.
"Sir, can we please decide where to stop for the night?" inquired Archer, his hands lazily grasping the steering wheel. This was answered by a noisy yawn from Keep, his face revealing a gaping hole. Collit looked skeptical.
"And where do you propose we stop? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I doubt any motels will let you stay considering you have weapons and look like a bunch of bank robbers. Even if we do manage to find a willing motel, who's to say that they won't report us as soon as we fall asleep?"
Keep made vicious chopping motions with his hands.
"'Cause we're the fantastic five, Sir."
The Humvee was silent. Keep looked up, realized, coughed awkwardly and looked out the window.
Archer rolled his eyes.
"Sir, I'm sure we can bribe them. Then we can tell them that if they decide to report us to the authorities, we'll rape their grandma or something like that."

Collit patiently rubbed his throbbing temples. He had hired a group of lunatics, pure morons. He had been convinced that Archer, being the leader of the group, would be the most mature. He'd been wrong, as usual. This, he found, was becoming a common annoyance.
"Archer."
"Yes, Sir?"
"Get me to a f*****g motel."
"Yes, Sir." He slowly increased his pressure on the accelerator, the flawless black Humvee powering off, glinting in the last remaining light.

As they rolled up to the nearest motel, Archer glanced at the door man.
"Alright, you guys go in, hand over the cash and secure the building. We have no idea if we've lost them or not."
The others began to unstrap themselves and filed out the car, the door man eying them up suspiciously. Blak strode towards him, chest puffed out.
"Afternoon,"  he nodded, taking note of the mans name: Vincent. "We'd like a room, please."
He could see the door man trying to conceal his curiosity.
"You're the Army?" he pointed to Blak's stripes.
"No. As I said before, we just want a room."
"I'm afraid we don't allow weapons of any kind within the building," Vincent said as his gaze shifted to Archer returning from the Humvee, several bags strung over his shoulder.
"We don't have any weapons."
"Don't play me for a fool, I know that anyone donning that kind of clothing would no doubt be carrying a weapon and I refuse your request for a room."
Blak scowled and reached into his vest, the door man flinching as he withdrew a paper envelope.
"Calm down, Vincent, I'm not going to shoot you," Blak snorted as he fiddled through the contents. "Will this amount suffice?" as he handed over a large amount of cash.
The door man's eyes widened.
"Uh, yeah. Sure, I guess. I'll, uh, find you a room right away." Then he turned away, still flipping through the notes as he disappeared through the main doors.
They chatted idly between themselves until Vincent returned.
"Room 416," he said as he threw the keys.
"Cheers."
Blak caught them and nodded to the rest of the team.

They looked around their room. Peach coloured wallpaper and flowered curtains, fluffy carpet and embroidered bed sheets.
Locke gagged, "What the hell, man. If we give you a couple a' thousand dollars, you give us a room. Not a f*****g elderly home! Seriously, I oughta' smash his little wrinkly-" Archer was glaring at him.
"Locke, shut it. We're only going to be here for as long as it takes for Mr Collit to decide what he wants to do." They both stole a look at Collit who had just finished rummaging around in his ear and was looking at whatever was on the tip of his finger, an unsatisfactory look on his face.
"...Right," the corners of Locke's mouth turned downwards. "I'm off for a piss then," with a last glance at Collit, Locke headed off to the bathroom. Archer sighed deeply and looked around. Troy was lounging on the couch, his mouth hanging open. Keep was bent over the rooms only television, furiously pressing buttons. Collit, still digging around in his ear, pulling out only God knows what. Blak was sitting at the table, quietly checking his equipment. At least one of them was doing something productive. He sat down across from him, the small wooden chair creaking under his weight.
"So, you also think they haven't given up?"
"If you don't mind me saying, Sir, that's a stupid question." He didn't look up. "Mr Collit's obviously done something to piss them off and like everyone says, Devereux's like Satan himself when someone crosses him. They'll find us soon enough, and in this s**t hole, it'll be hard work getting out alive."
Archer looked up at this, a worried look on his face. Yeah, he expected Stent's men to find them eventually, but not this soon. This would certainly be a problem.
"Guys, reload your guns and check your s**t. We're expecting company."

Slowly the streets lost their brightness, people gradually began to disappear, leaving only litter and hungry stray animals. The streetlights flickered and buzzed in the blackness, trying vainly to illuminate their surroundings. In the motel room, the team kept vigil throughout the night, each taking their turns as lookout before drifting off to sleep.
Watching Keep vanish into the bedroom, Locke sighed. This was so boring. Why couldn't they be hired by some guy who was always chased by angry mad men? But no, they had to get stuck with the fat one. This was the most action they'd gotten in over two years and Locke was thoroughly disappointed.
He proceeded to explore the rooms complimentary magazines, commenting to himself on some woman's dress. A few minutes later, his head snapped up and tilted to the side. He could've sworn that he'd heard something. He snorted quietly to himself. It was four in the damn morning, besides, there was no way that they'd have found them already. Another sound. Locke turned his gaze upon the door, hand reaching towards the table for his gun, and he slowly advanced towards it.

Carefully he leaned towards the peephole, ever weary of an enemy gun waiting on the other side. Nothing. He swore quietly to himself. It might be nothing, but Collit was paying quite a lot to make sure they kept his a*s alive. If they failed this time, not only would they fail to receive this months pay, they would most probably be dead. He swore again and tip-toed over to Blak, who was spreadeagled on the couch, and began poking him insistently in the neck.
Blak started to fidget.
"Mmph. Ugh, piss off you little-" Locke's hand was over his mouth and instantly his eyes flashed open, alert. Locke nodded at the door and then gestured towards where the others were sleeping, indicating that Blak should wake them.
Blak nodded and tapped his wrist mike. Contact must be kept at all times. Locke confirmed and slowly opened the door, which groaned loudly. Blak whirled around and glared at him, Locke smiling apologetically before quietly closing the door behind him.

The hallway was long and filled with small crevices in the wall, probably for cleaners. It was completely silent as Locke crept down towards the stairwell, listening for signs of the enemy. Reassured, he stepped into the stairwell and began his journey down. The grey walls closed around him as he began his decent, the smell of wet dog hanging limply in the air. He passed floor after floor, checking through the small windowed doors. Everything was still, as it should be. No sight of anything suspicious. Or any people, thought Locke.

As he reached the ground floor, he opened the door an inch before peering through. The lobby was deserted, the steady whir of the air conditioning unit the only sound. Scanning the length of the room, he began to mentally b***h-slap himself. He had walked all the way down here for nothing, and there was obviously no gun-man here.
Just to be sure, he checked the exits. Their small display screens blinked a steady green. He sighed, Blak was gonna' be pissed. As he made his way back to the stairwell, the main desk caught his eye.
The light of the computer sat blazing out at an empty seat. Curiosity got the better or him and he reached out a hand and swiveled the desktop around. He scoffed; datelove.org. He laughed again as his eyes found the user name: Vincenator87. The Doorman's getting steamy, he thought, a childish grin playing on his face.
As he reached over for the mouse, he felt his hand make contact with something. He flinched as it shattered noisily on the tiled floor and all at once, a strong smell of coffee wafted towards his nostrils.
"S**t."
He walked around and took a look. The floored coffee was expanding by the second, weaving around sprinkles of a broken ceramic mug. He swore again and bent to pick up the littered pieces, shouting out as he did so.
"Hey, Vincent! You there? Sorry about your drink, man. I'll buy you another-"

The black leather shoe poked out from the darkness that was the underside of the desk. Slowly Locke grabbed his flashlight and aimed it at the blackness.
Click.
"Oh, f**k."
Blank unseeing eyes stared back, open wide in surprise from a whitening face. A clean crimson slit covered the length of the former doorman's neck, blood drooling down the front of his black suit. Locke felt the body's hand. Still warm. Instantly he leaped over the desk and sprinted towards the stairwell.

He took the stairs three at a time, his pace increasing as he passed the first floor. Somewhere in the hotel, elevator doors slid open.


Back in the room, everyone was wide awake, eyes keen. Archer hovered impatiently by Troy's shoulder as he hacked into the security system, his fingers blurring over the keys of his mini laptop.
"Sir, none of the entrances were breached and all the hallways are stark naked." Troy sighed as he continued to type. "That stupid queef sniffer, Locke, is probably playing some prank on us. Stupid prick." On the other side of the room, Blak's hand flew to his ear, and after a few rushed replies, he turned to the others who looked on expectantly.
"Doorman's dead."
Archer slammed his fist into the wall, leaving an ugly dent.
"Wake Collit and get him outta' here." Within seconds, Keep appeared in the bedroom doorway, a drowsy and disheveled Collit in tow. Collit squinted around at the team preparing their things then shuffled clumsily over to Archer.
"Oi," he yawned. " What're you doing? We just got here." Archer gave an exasperated sigh and stood, hefting two heavy duffel bags over his shoulder.
"They found us, okay Sir? They're in the hotel already and we barely have enough time to get our s**t together. I was lazy, and now there's a chance that we might not get out of here alive."  He held up his hands to stop Collit from interrupting. "Which is why you need to get the f**k outta' here," and he jerked his thumb in the direction of the front door.

Collit just gaped but then the KA-CHINK of Blak's gun urged him onwards. As he reached out for the door handle, he felt it turn slowly in his grip and he looked downwards, puzzled, as it continued to turn the full way round.
Click.
Collit's nose caved in, splattering the rest of his face with blood as the door flew open full force. Collit was knocked back into Blak and they both went sprawling in the centre of the room, Collit groaning with a hand plastered to his face whilst Blak struggled desperately beneath him.
Everyone dropped what they were carrying as their hands whipped up their pistols.
"Guys-Woah!" Locke threw his hands up and skidded to a halt. Archer's eyes widened.
"Locke!"
"Yeah, I know. Sorry for the late notice-" Locke's eyes bulged, blinked once, and then he collapsed forward, a bloody spot flowering through his wavy blonde hair.
The assailant snickered and the fire extinguisher made a dull metallic thump as it was dropped to the floor. The team reacted and made to raise their weapons.
"Don't even think about it." The deep voice emanated from (ironically) a pale, lanky man. In his left hand, which he held high above his head, was a small shiny black object.
Archer glanced at it.
"Is that a-"
"Yes, it is a detonator and," he unstrapped his black vest to reveal several sticks of old-fashioned dynamite.
Keep frowned in disgust. "Oh, so now they send a bunch of s**t-crazy kamikazes?" he said while giving the bomber a bitchy "up-and-down" look.
The tall man just smirked and turned his deep brown gaze on Archer.
"Mr Brendan, please refrain from pulling out that crossbow of yours," nodding his head at Archer's right hand which had disappeared. Archer scowled and his hand flopped back to his side.
"How do you know my name?"
"Ahh, Mr Brendan Timothy Archer. I know much, much more." A sly smile crossed his face. "For example, young Penny and your unborn child."
"No," Archer whispered.
"Oh yes, Brendan. So have you picked the name yet? Donna or Lilly?"
"B*****D!" his hand leaped for his gun. But as fast as Archer was, the bomber was faster. Before Archer could react, the bomber jammed his thumb down on the detonator, a sadistic grin upon his face.

The explosion shook the building but no major damage was done. Inside the hotel room however, it was a completely different story.  When Archer saw the bomber smile, he threw himself to the floor, the others also following suit. A second later, an enormous heat wave smashed over them. The windows exploded, showering them with their remains. The front door was blasted to smithereens and then silence. Blessed, blessed silence.

Slowly Archer raised his head and flinched inwardly when a rather large piece of the ceiling fell on his head. He searched for the bomber and coughed when the smell of burnt human flesh reached his nose. Instead of a human being where the bomber once stood, there now lay a large blackened hunk of seared flesh, smoldering away.
Archer turned his head away and caught sight of Blak who face down in the corner of the room. Carefully weaving his way around the debris, he turned Black over. He was sporting a bloody gash on his temple and his neck was slightly burnt but otherwise, he was fine.

"You alright?" It was Keep, holding his blackened, blistered hand close against his chest.
"Yeah. How about your hand?" Keep looked down at it.
"Eh, just hope I don't lose it. Everyone knows I can only wank with my left hand." Archer shook his head but grinned nonetheless. They then salvaged the rest of the team and sat them against the couch, examining their damage.
Blak: K.O, minor head injury.
Troy: Minor facial injuries, shrapnel to the stomach.
Keep: Badly injured left hand.
Locke: K.O, minor head injury, burns to the back of the head, neck and legs.
As he rested Locke's head back on the couch, he smiled evilly to himself. He would be bald for a few weeks but the little s**t deserved it for arriving so late. The bald patch on Locke's head suddenly reminded Archer of something. So he put up a hand and ran a couple of fingers over his eyebrows. S**t. Definitely gone.
"Ahahah! You've got no eyebrows!" Keep was on the floor in hysterics, one hand pointing at where Archer's eyebrows should have been.
Archer scowled, leaned over and punched him in the arm. Keep gasped in pain.
"Argh! Don't punch the cripple, Brendy!"
"Shut your face. And don't call me Brendy." He paused and Keep raised his eyebrows in question. "Where the f**k is Collit?"
And so the two of them searched the rooms one by one. When it seemed like they would never find him, they did. Behind the bedroom wardrobe. As Archer stared down at the crumpled figure of Warren Collit, he slowly and deliberately rubbed his face. 

Collit: K.O, no injuries, fainted and pissed his pants.
Keep nudged him savagely in the ribs and he grunted, clutching his side and glaring at Keep. But then with his good hand, Keep pointed towards the lounge. Sure enough, once Archer had slowed his breathing, he could hear the sound of careful feet trying to avoid the pieces of rubble. Footsteps that were headed towards them.

They both reached for their guns but felt only empty holsters. S**t. They had lost them in the blast. Archer scanned the ruined bedroom before his eyes lit up. He then reached into his boots and pulled out two glinting gambler's knives, handing one to Keep. They waited a while and then Archer raised his fingers and began the countdown.
Three fingers.
Two fingers.
One finger.
Nod.
In perfect synchronization, they both burst from the room but stopped as soon as they saw who stood before them.
Once again in an immaculate Armani suit, the ice blue eyes observed them from a face lined with a satisfied grin.
Devereux Stent.

Archer and Keep immediately lowered themselves into a crouching stance, the edges of their knives glinted dangerously in the remaining light of the last surviving lamp.
"You're unarmed. Don't think I won't try to kill you," Archer hissed.
Stent chuckled lightly. "Mm, I know you wouldn't do that, Mr Archer." His eyes twinkled with mischief.
"What makes you so sure?"
"Ah, you wouldn't want young Penny to get hurt now, would you?" Archer's eye's narrowed.
"So that piece of s**t was working for you," he spat as he took a step forward. Then he felt Keep's hand rest lightly on his shoulder and stopped. Stent's eye's were cold.
"You have a good friend, Mr Archer."
"Cut the crap, Stent. What do you want?"
"You know what I want."
"Collit?"
"Mhm." He studied his nails and took no notice of Archer's strained face.
"Then why do you need Penny?" Stent shook his head.
"Because, Mr Archer, I gave orders to my men that if I didn't return within the next 15 minutes with Warren in my possession, that they could pay your little honey-bunch a visit." More teeth.
"So we give you Collit and you let Penny go?" Archer could feel Keep's worried eye's on him and could barely hear his voice as he whispered in his ear.
"Brendy, are you sure about this? I mean, what if he's lying?" Archer didn't take his gaze of Stent as he replied. "No way am I sure. But I have to save Penny."
Keep nodded and patted his arm reassuringly.
"Alright, Stent. You got yourself a deal. Bring Penny here now, and we'll give you Collit."
"You are in no position to bargain, Mr Archer. And unfortunately, keeping you and your team alive would present a lot of future problems for me and obviously, I would like to avoid that." He grinned wolfishly as he pulled out a gun. Archer turned and sprinted for the door. Nearly there, he could hear Keep's feet pounding behind him. Suddenly a searing pain shot through his left side and he stumbled to the floor. As he pulled himself onto his elbows, through the dimming light, he saw Keep's concerned face appear. Then he was gone.

Archer turned his head and Keep was there, a bloody hole in his left shoulder, lifeless eyes staring back at him.
He rolled onto his back and his hand searched out his wound. He lifted it to his face to find it covered with his blood. Then a foot collided with his stomach and he roared in pain. Once the intense stabbing had lessened to a dull throb, he pried open his eyes and looked up at Stent, who loomed over him.
"Still alive are we, Mr Archer?" He shook his head. "Tsk tsk. Your friend there was a good boy, went down quick and easy. You, however, are going to need another."
Archer could barely see anything and he willed his eyes to stay open. He tried to speak but all that came out was a painful croak. He tried again and was a little more successful.
"You lied."
"Ah, but I never agreed not to harm you. That wasn't part of the deal." He paused as he glanced out the window, the rising sun leaving an eerie glow over his face. "Well anyway, must be off. Things to do." He pointed his gun down at Archer.

"Wait-"

BLAM.

The head of the former body guard flopped to the ground, blood draining from a gaping, fleshy wound in it's neck. Stent glanced down at his now red-speckled pants and frowned, bending down to check the body's pulse. Happy, he turned and trekked towards the lounge where the remaining body guards lay broken, gun hanging at his side.

Somewhere in the small bed-ridden town, a dog barked as three loud gunshots echoed into the dark. Some several hours later, a whimpering room cleaner made a call to the authorities to report a set of grisly murders. Soon after, a small group of white-suited men made their way into the building and it wasn't long before the media caught wind and arrived in a horde, crowding around the outside of the hotel, waiting with bated breath.

As the first pair of white suits made their way out wheeling the body bags out one by one, cameras began their steady rhythm of flashing lights.

"From what we've discovered, it looks like a mass homicide. Five men dead. All aged early to late twenties. Murdered from bullet wounds from point blank range to various parts of the body. ID's have not yet been determined." The reporters fired questions, their insistent and whiny voices filling the early morning air. The superintendent raised his hands for silence and gradually, the mess of noise ebbed to a dull grumbling. "People, please. We still don't have anything to go on, but we're trying our best. It's only been a couple of hours since the crime scene was discovered. All you guys can do is go home and get some rest. We'll have more information for you later today."

There were non-content mutterings as the reporters grudgingly dispersed.

Away in a morgue, an examiner watched his breath as it came in puffs of white mist while he wheeled the body of one Christopher Keep to the operating table. After he shifted the cold blue body to the metal slab, he turned to his CD player and searched for Symphony No.5. 

God, he loved classical music. 

As the music blared around the small room, he swayed over to the body and picked up his scalpel. Leaning over, he eyed the pale skin, and pressed the instrument down.

Outside the mortuary, the classical music masked the frightened scream of an examiner as the body he was about to cut writhed on the table. 

Just meters away in the freezer, several pairs of eye's flickered open, wide and very much alive. 

Author's Note

Again, like last time, ignore the fact that I need paragraphs. I've probably got more than a few grammatical errors, so don't judge me. Also, there might be (will be) bits that don't make sense. Since it's like, 3 am in the morning, my skim-proof-reading has most likely failed. Again, don't judge.
AND I KNOW. IT'S JUST ABOUT THEM GOING TO A ROOM. REAL BORING. I KNOW I KNOW I KNOW.
All in all, just tell me what you like and what you don't like and what I should change.
Cheers :D