The M class infiniti sedan was fairly opulent compared to the transport Yuri was used to schlepping around in. Russian army cargo trucks did have a certain caché which seemed to hang around them like the smell of gunpowder after a firefight, but the aesthetics were definitely lacking. The jet black transport seemed sleek and modern as if it could find its way in any business district, but it might of seemed a bit out of place in the industrial seaports of Yokohama, especially considering it was the car of a man who thought elaborate transport was a camel still capable of mating. Though its dark exterior did make it hard to pick out of shadows in the dimly lit docks, and a lower profile was always a good thing. The windows almost matched the inky exterior, impossible for any prying eyes to see in, and equally difficult for any captive eyes to see out. Not that the interior had any hint of being a prison, the gloomy paint outside led to a supple beige leather interior, easing the weary traveler into a realm of comfort that is so often needed. This fact was doubly true for a grizzled Russian who had become all too familiar with the smell and consistency of moldy potatoes. Right now the two men lethargically slumped in there seats, their vertebrae composing an almost perfect italicized interrogation mark. The sweet aroma of treated cowhide pleasantly lifted the pain away, ironic considering the horrific end the bovine had met with. Nestled gently between the two men in an aftermarket console was a brilliant bottle of Stolichnaya vodka adorned in blue and white, framed by two empty glasses and a bucket of ice. "It's always nice to know that some Americans know the difference between the blue and the red labels," Yuri said through a grin.
"With our line of work, it's suprising pure ethanol doesn't run through our veins," replied Jack, the musical clinking of ice agains heat treated silica the only noise aside from their voices.
The clear liquid was poured hastily into to container for potables, seeming so similar to water, yet leaving a faint residue on the surface of the glass to hint at its stickiness. The Russian raised the glass bringing it to rest between him and the light on the interior roof of the car, letting the artificial photons refract through the various forms of carbon, calcium, hydrogen, and oxygen. Just as it seemed he was to break into a Shakespearian soliloqy, he flashed a smile at Jack and downed the alchoholic beverage. The great thing about vodka, undoubtedly so if it is of premium quality and properly chilled, there is no burn that you associated with the rapid consumption of whiskeys. "I hate to rape such a seren environment with coarse language Jack, but what the fuck was that?," pondered Yuri aloud.
"To be honest, I don't rightfully know. I came down here cuz some crazy-ass Yakuza promised me some military grade guidance chips, and guess who's name floats to the top of the hit list pile whilst I am here?," a boney finger extended from a hand wrapped around the other glass of vodka that Jack had swiftly prepared as soon as Yuri was done, "yours."
A hit? The russian's mind reeled to try and wrap itself around the idea that someone that had enough clout and whom he hadn't killed wanted him dead. One thing was for sure, with the information and slick setup of his demise, Yuri knew that there was plenty of financial backing in the lethal operation. Pick up a package, head back to the office, then do some paperwork, that was all that Okinawa was supposed to be, not death by pungent pommes de terre. He poured another drink, there were hundreds of questions he was wanted to ask Jack, but he needed to clear his mind. There was something he was overlooking, and it was right in front of him, but he couldn't quite focus in on it.
"Listen, I hate to barge in on this Russian mental yoga introspection crap, but we got company," interrupted the gruff American.
The tint had diminished the headlights of the following car so much that Yuri had failed to recognize that he was being followed. As his eyes adjusted, he could barely make out some figures leaning out of the windows. The muzzle flare and gunshots made it a lot easier. The car lurched as the driver swerved to become a more difficult target, yet one thing that a spy learns in the early course of his training is to never spill his beverage. As soon as the potent potables were safely stowed away, the two men ducked down to avoid the gunfire. "Too cheap for bulletproof Millnan?"
"Goddamnit, if I knew I was gonna have to spend so much time saving you Russian sumbitches I would have stayed in Cuba and gotten cirrhosis from too many tropical beverages.."
Jack reached near the top of his seat and pulled, revealing a fairly quick, but awkward access to the trunk. "Besides, you can never have too much trunk space..., grab that tube right there."
Yuri had to laught as his fingers found a firm grip on the telescoping metal tube that was the LAWS rocket. He never would have figured something that very nearly ended the life of his co-passenger would be so fortuitously available in the trunk of his car. He looked up and and thanked the car manufacturers that they had installed a sunroof in this model. Very bad things can happen when you fire a rocket inside a car, things like death and the agonizing pain that proceeded it. Yuri liked it best if they were avoided. "Open it now!," he barked at the driver.
He stayed down until it had completely opened. Why was it they always seemed to open more slowly when one is under durress? When all was ready, the Russian took a deep breath, flashed a wry grin at Jack, and then sprung up through the roof like a switchblade. Time seemed to grind to a halt as Yuri extended the rocket and shouldered it. Whether it is through genetics or livers as hard as the communist hammer and sickle, the vodka had done little to reduce the speed of Yuri's target acquisition. You always had to aim a little bit low to make sure the projectile didnt fly over the target, as the target is coming towards you at a fast clip. He held his breath as he depressed the trigger. The shadows which had encroached upon this nighttime chase were sent scattered by the plume of flame that lance forth from the tube, the squeals of the tires silenced by the deadly shriek of the rocket. There was a bried moment when all was still, and the terror was tremendous in the following car. Yuri's hair was still being blown back from the explosion of the following car when he descended back into the infinity. Such antics made him as giddy as a teenager, and the stunt seemed more like riding in a limo with the sunroof open than dispatching an enemy. Distancing your emotions and rationalizing death, such were the ways in the world of espionage.
Sic Semper Tyrannosaurus
Dave
I was at : 4244 NW 76 Terrace, Gainesville, FL 32606,
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