G. I. Joe Fan Fiction ❯ The Gunner and the Grease-Monkey ❯ Chapter 3

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

GI JOE Season 3 : episode 1
“The Gunner and the Grease-Monkey”
Chapter 3
Outskirts of Paris - 1247 hrs
“What kind of car did you say this was again?” asked RoadBlock.
“Peugeot,” said CoverGirl.
“Well I'm glad you're driving. I never could get used to driving on the wrong side of the road the way they do here.”
“You know the saying Marv's, 'When in Rome...'”
“According to the map you need to make a right at the next light...So why didn't you get a real car?”
“This is a real car: Peugeot makes race cars.”
“It doesn't even have a horn.”
“Yes it does, but they don't put them on the steering wheels, its on a wand in the steering column. You push it in like this:”
“Yuck, even their horns sound backwards.”
“Next time I'll rent an American car,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I just thought you'd want to expand your horizons a little.”
“Yea, but with my palette, not my wheels.
“Here we are. This is the Gaschot residence at the end of the street.”
By the time RoadBlock and CoverGirl arrived at the household of Marius Gaschot, it had already been over run by DGSE agents. Inside agents were deployed scanning every section of the house with various detection devices. They came upon Agent Evrard in the living room giving instructions to one of the technicians. When Evrard saw RoadBlock and CoverGirl enter, he motioned them to come over.
“It is good to see you again,” said Evrard.
The overly friendly tone of the greeting gave RoadBlock the impression that it was directed solely towards CoverGirl. When Evrard approached closer, he noticed that CoverGirl tended to retract uncomfortably every time Evrard stood next to her. He dismissed the subtle exchange with the understanding that Parisians and Americans have different views regarding the concept of ”personal space”.
“Do you mind bringing us up to speed?” RoadBlock said to Evrard, in the hopes that the diversion would give CoverGirl some breathing room.
“But of course, this is the home of Marius Gaschot, the registered owner of the pistol we found at the crime scene. He was CEO of TSX Telecom - one of the largest telecommunication companies in France. He died last month when he lost control of his vehicle and collided head on with a trolley. We have yet to find any evidence linking him to Cobra. We've already checked outside and downstairs. We're going to check upstairs and in the attic before packing it up.”
In the next room, Dr. Metier could be heard arguing with a woman. CoverGirl entered the room to investigate; they were yelling at each other in French so she couldn't understand what they were saying.
“Is there a problem?” she asked Metier.
“No,” Metier replied,” This is the widow Gaschot. She is just saying how distraught she is over her husband's death thats all.” He left the room, checking his pager, to leave the woman sobbing quietly on a nearby sofa.
“Thats not what she said,” said RoadBlock, suddenly appearing behind CoverGirl. She jumped at the sound of his voice. “Sorry I didn't mean to startle you.”
“Thats ok. So what did she say?”
“Something about her husband having an affair.”
“I didn't know you could speak French. But I guess it makes sense if you went to school here.”
“I'd rather our French friends didn't know. I never fully trust spooks.”
“Why don't you have a chat with the widow. I'll join the others and keep them out of your hair.”
CoverGirl went back to the main room. Evrard and the other agents could be heard shuffling around upstairs. Metier was outside on the porch smoking a cigarette. She was about to sit in a corner chair when suddenly a young agent came running downstairs, almost stumbling as he entered the room.
“Mademoiselle, you are wanted upstairs! We've found something!” the agent exclaimed.
CoverGirl grabbed Metier and they followed the agent upstairs into the attic. They saw Evrard standing at the foot of a hole in the attic floor.
“I found this false floor,” Evrard said. “When I removed the floorboards it revealed this secret compartment. I think what you find inside will be of interest.”
CoverGirl and Metier stood on either side of Evrard and looked apprehensively into the hole. Their eyes widened in recognition of what they saw: a uniform hermetically sealed in plastic bearing the Cobra sigil. The uniform itself was the distinct color of crimson.
“...Siegie,” CoverGirl said under her breath.
“What does this mean?” said Metier, almost too afraid to have asked.
“Crimson Guard - Cobra's elite troopers,” replied CoverGirl. “Tell your men not to touch anything else, this place could be booby-trapped. I recommend an immediate evacuation until Hazmat and the bomb squad have a chance to sweep the attic.”
“I agree,” said Evrard.
“Make it so,” ordered Metier.
The agents proceeded to exit the house. CoverGirl stood by the car waiting for RoadBlock. He was the last to come out with the widow, apparently he had been consoling her. He led her to the car, sat her in the backseat, and joined CoverGirl around the front of the vehicle.
“So I hear we've found us a Siegie,” he said.
“Uh huh, it just keeps getting better and better,”she said, shaking her head. “Did you get anything out of her.”
“Yes, Metier needs to learn that you attract more flies with honey than with vinegar.”
“He's probably under stress. Can you imagine trying to get this project off the ground only to have to deal with Cobra right out of the gate?”
“Perhaps,” he responded absentmindedly.
“So what did you find out?”
“They'd been married for a year and a half. Everything was going great until a week before he died. He got a phone call in the middle of the night and ever since started acting paranoid. His behavior was so erratic that she thought he was having an affair. When he died a week later, she believed that his death was not an accident. She hired a private investigator to look into the circumstances surrounding his death. After their second meeting, the PI disappeared. She believes that he has been killed as well.”
“So we're back to square one.”
“Not exactly, at their last meeting the private investigator gave her this number. According to him, it's the phone number of the caller that spurred her husband's strange behavior. I checked with the operator on the land line, that number does not exist.”
“Of course it doesn't, that would be too easy,” she said sardonically.
DGSE Headquarter - 1654 hrs
The rest of the afternoon was filled with endless paperwork. CoverGirl looked wearily at the stack of papers that flooded her inbox. She was due for another meeting with Metier and Evrard in a few minutes. She decided to round up RoadBlock so they could go in together; she didn't want to risk being caught alone in a room with Evrard. He wasn't at his desk, so she walked around the office and found him alone in the conference room. She walked in, closing the door behind her.
“There you are,” she said. “What're you doing in here?”
“Sweeping the room for bugs. One of their tech guys said they check the office regularly, but with Cobra you can't be too sure.”
“Find anything?”
“Nope its clean,” he said, as he sat in a nearby chair.
“Man, if I have to file another report today I think I'll hang myself.” She started pacing nervously around the room.
“Please don't do that, that'll mean more paperwork for me. You just need a good nights rest.”
“I drank so much coffee today. I think I'm too wired to sleep.”
“So whats the story with you and Evrard?” He leaned back in his chair and clasped his fingers behind his head. “You two seem awfully friendly.”
“He's cute; he has nice eyes. But he comes on a little too strong for my liking.” She poked a finger through one of the blades of the mini-blinds and peeked out of the window. “I'm trying to be nice because we have to work together.”
“Just tell him you're not interested. He doesn't look the type to get bent out of shape over it.”
“I may have to do that,” she plopped herself in the chair across the table from RoadBlock.
Just then, Dr. Metier and Agent Evrard entered the conference room. Behind them, a forensic technician carried a box marked 'evidence'. He laid it on the table and left the room. Dr. Metier opened the box and placed the contents on the table: a Crimson Guard Uniform, a collection of passports, traveler's checks, encoded documents and computer disks.
Dr. Metier began, “this is what we've recovered from the Gaschot residence so far. I want to know everything there is to know about Marius Gaschot. We can start with his position in Cobra. What does a Crimson Guardsman do exactly.”
“Simply put the Crimson Guard are sleeper agents,” RoadBlock said. "They are experts in clandestine warfare. Cobra's version of a spook.”
“If this is true,” Metier said, “then why would Marius do something so stupid as to register his gun. Wouldn't he risk compromising his cover?”
“Not when you understand their SOP,” CoverGirl replied. “Siegies insert themselves into the upper echelons of industry and government until as such time as they are activated. They fight equally well on the battlefield as they do in the boardroom. However, until they are activated they stay under the radar. When they are in cover they are model citizens: church deacons, troop leaders, they follow the laws of the land.”
“I see your point CoverGirl,” Evrard said, “In France, we have strict gun control laws here. Although there are loopholes in certain situations, It would have been less of a risk to register the gun than to risk getting caught with an unregistered military caliber firearm.”
“Yes but these firearms are illegally modified, isn't that a greater risk?” said Metier.
“Not necessarily,” said RoadBlock. “You have to understand that these modification are not noticeable to the casual observer. In fact, I doubt that anyone outside of GI JOE would be able to spot one, since we have more experience with Cobra. A law enforcement official would most likely mistake it for the common VP70 model that its designed after.”
“So what you're telling me is the fact that a Cobra gun was found at the crime scene could be a coincidence,” Metier said.
RoadBlock replied, “Its certainly possible, but --”
“You said it yourself,” Metier remarked, “If these Cobras are so good at subterfuge it is certainly possible that a burglar could have broken into his house, not knowing who he was stealing from. He fences his haul on the black market, including the gun, and our Algerian assassin buys it because it can't be traced back to him.” He looked around the room to see if there were any objections to his reasoning. Everyone seemed to be in agreement so he continued, “Since there is no evidence linking these two events, we will conduct two separate investigations: Agent Evrard will continue to follow the Algerian lead, and you GI JOEs will continue with the Cobra connection.”
“Agent Evrard,” Metier continued, “What is the status of the Algerians?”
“We have nothing,” Evrard replied, “We increased surveillance of known Algerian spies, but there has been no chatter about the slayings. On top of that, we're starting to get pressure from the local authorities. We are soon going to be forced to release our findings to the Inspector General.”
“Wait until the autopsy reports come back,” said Metier, “be candid about the facts only, and make no mention of Cobra. That means you will make no mention of finding a murder weapon.”
“Understood,” Evrard replied.
“RoadBlock and CoverGirl, is there anything you need for your investigation?” Metier said.
“Well lets start with what else is in that evidence box,” CoverGirl responded.
“There were parts from an AK-47,” Evrard said, “but the more interesting items are some documents and computer disks. They are encoded so we are sending them to our encryption experts.”
“We can put MainFrame on that,” Roadblock said, “he has more experience cracking snake-speak.”
“Thank you, but our men are more than qualified,” Evrard pointed out. “Any data that doesn't compromise national security will be freely shared with you.”
“With your permission, we're going to need more access to you gun registration database,” said CoverGirl. “Assuming other Siegies will follow the same MO, doing a query of all people who have registered that brand of pistol should give us a place to start.”
“This is reasonable,” Evrard responded. “I will give GIJOE read-only access to our databases. If you need any other information CoverGirl, I will be more than happy to provide it.”
RoadBlock, noticed that Evrard's last comment made CoverGirl shift uncomfortably in her chair. He shot back, “thank-you Agent Evrard. I will be sure to do that.”
After the meeting, RoadBlock and CoverGirl remained behind to check in with BeachHead.
“Do you believe that coincidence theory?” CoverGirl asked.
“No, but maybe its for the best,” RoadBlock said, as he dialed the number to GI JOE headquarters, “not so many chefs stirring the pot.”
The line to BeachHead's office rang, “BeachHead here.”
“BeachHead this is RoadBlock and CoverGirl, we have you on speaker phone. We need some tech support.”
“Go ahead.”
“We need a list of all registered owners of VP70's in France.”
“Roger that, but thats a common handgun. You're gonna want to narrow those search params.”
“RoadBlock, what about the number you got from the widow,” CoverGirl added.
“Good thinking,” RoadBlock said. “BeachHead cross-reference the result set with those that have received calls from this phone number in the past 6 months. Be advised that this number may no longer be in service.”
BeachHead, after writing down the number responded, “If its Crimson Guard, then the number is probably spoofed. It won't do you any good to try to find the caller.”
“Thats ok,” CoverGirl added , “It should be enough to find a commonality in the result set, which is what we're after anyway.”
“Agreed, I'll put DialTone on it,” BeachHead said, “Where are you going to drop the raw data?”
“Have him Contact an Agent Evrard at this office, tell him its for CoverGirl.”
“Understood, anything else?”
“No, thanks Beach. We'll check in again tomorrow.”
Back in his Hotel Room, RoadBlock slumped out of the shower, it did little to soothe his aching muscles. He hasn't had very much sleep in the past 2 days and was looking forward to plopping in bed and drifting off. He laid in bed and could immediately feel his eyelids become very heavy. Suddenly he was jarred awake by a knocking sound. He wearily pulled himself from the warm bosom of the bed's embrace to answer the door. It was CoverGirl.
“Get dressed, we're going out,” She said, as she barged in.
“Excuse me?” he said, rubbing his eyes.
“Evrard called again, he invited me out to dinner. You know, the one where you guys claim that its to catch up on work, but its really a date in disguise.”
“Oh, you mean that doesn't work with you ladies?” he said with a smirk.
“Hardly,” she responded impatiently, squinting her eyes.
“I thought you were going to tell him that you weren't interested?”
“I did, but he's the type that thinks 'no' means 'try harder'. Its time to nip this in the bud.”
“So what do you want me to do, rough him up a little?”
“Of course not!”
“What then?” he said, yawning.
“I was hoping you could tag along and pretend to be my boyfriend?” she said meekly.
“I don't know Courtney, I'm tired."
“Aww, c'mon.”
“I don't want to.”
“Don't look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know what you're doing: biting the lower lip, the puppy-dog eyes...Its not going to work.”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” she said, sobbing afterwards.
“Now your crying? Thats a new low Courtney, even for you...ok...alright...I'll do it.” He held his hands up in surrender.
“Thanks Marvs,” she turned to walk out - her sobbing replaced by restrained laughter. “Be ready in half an hour. And for goodness sake, put on something sexy.”
“Yea ok, but I'm not paying for dinner!”
“I thought you said you didn't want to be my boyfriend.”
“Oh you're sooooo funny!”
Thirty minutes later, RoadBlock arrived at CoverGirl's room next door and knocked.
“Ok I'm ready,” said CoverGirl opening the door and joining him in the hallway. She was dressed in a deep ruby red leather jacket that hung down to her knees with black leather pumps that matched her purse.
“Thats a nice jacket.”
“Thanks, its one of the perks left over from my modeling days. Its so old thats its back in style. Darn it, my strap is loose again. Do you mind taking my jacket so I can fix it.”
She turned her back to RoadBlock. He took her jacket by the arms and was greeted with a faint whiff of her perfume - spurring him to inhale her scent deeply. Standing so close to her, he noticed how the soft lighting of the hallway picked up the highlights of her hair, giving it the color of caramelized cinnamon. The coat fell off her naked shoulders to reveal a black sequined evening dress that hung loosely halfway down her back, suspended by spaghetti straps. His eyes followed the contour of the silky fabric as it narrowed at her slender waist. It continued to fan out like an hourglass over her hips; clinging to her perfect form down the small of her back, and rounding out to the curve of her--
“Huh? What?”
“I said you can give me my coat back.”
“Oh right. Sorry.”
“Hey...were you giving me the 'elevator stare' just now?”
“What? No way, I just never saw you in a dress before.”
“What did you expect me to wear, my grease-stained mechanics overalls?”
“Now that you mention it, I kinda did. The last time I saw you on base you were hocking up lugees with the guys in the motor pool to see who could spit the farthest.”
“Oh yea I remember that,” she recalled, laughing afterward. “I won that you know; made it all the way to the Maulers.”
He joined in her laughter, “Seriously Courtney, I'm sorry about that. I feel like a jerk.”
“Its ok, lighten up Marvs,” she said as she took his arm on the way to the elevator. “This isn't going to be weird for you is it?”
“Naw, I can handle it. We're adults right?”
“Most of the time.”
“Just do me a favor and try not to walk like that.”
“Walk like what?”
“And the coat stays on...all night!”
2nd arrondissement - 1927 hrs
RoadBlock and CoverGirl arrived at Jacques Bistro without incident. Inside, Evrard already had a table reserved and was waiting. He smiled when he saw CoverGirl approach, but his expression changed to surprise when he saw that RoadBlock was with her.
“Hello Agent Evrard, I figured since we'll be discussing work, that I should bring RoadBlock along with me. I hope you don't mind.”
“Of course not,” Evrard said graciously, “the more the merrier.”
CoverGirl looked over the menu, she grabbed RoadBlock's hand tenderly, “So what're you in the mood for sweetie?”
RoadBlock kissed her hand gently, “I don't know puddin'. What do you recommend Agent Evrard? And don't try any funny business, I know what 'es-kar-gat' means,” he said, purposefully butchering the pronunciation.
“You should know better than I, you are a trained chef are you not?” Evrard said.
Now it was RoadBlock who was surprised. He made a mental note never to underestimate Agent Evrard again.
“So you two are together?” Evrard asked.
“Yes, he's my big strong Mandingo.”
“And she's so cute its a sin, she's my girl - my vanilla puddin'.”
“I see,” Evrard said before up from the table. “Excuse me, I must wash my hands before we order.”
When Evrard was out of earshot, RoadBlock and CoverGirl started to laugh.
“You laid that on a little thick didn't you, I think you broke his heart,” he said.
“No, I think he took that well.”
“Yea, but 'Mandingo'?”
“Did you like that one? I was holding it in all day.”
“It wasn't bad. But how did you like mine? I was proud of that one--”
“Nah, I wasn't digging it; its not you're best work.”
“Dang girl, you didn't have to be so quick with that retort. You could've at least acted like you were trying to spare my feelings.”
“Well I'm sorry, but it didn't rhyme - 'sin' with 'pudding' doesn't work.”
“Yes it does, you just have to play with it. Besides, it doesn't always have to rhyme.”
“Quiet, he's coming back.”
When Evrard returned, they ordered their meals. Although the evening started awkwardly, the three of them had an enjoyable time. Once the pressure was off, CoverGirl and Evrard seemed to hit it off. RoadBlock noticed that she didn't even cringe when Evrard placed his hand on hers as they laughed over a joke. After the appetizers were served, their waiter brought RoadBlock and CoverGirl their soup then left. Immediately afterward, an attractive waitress brought Evrard a plate of shellfish. RoadBlock watched her leave, then flagged down their waiter.
“Tell Gilbert that Marvin says he's slipping - he had the waitress bring out my friend's shellfish before his soup,” RoadBlock told the waiter in French.
“I am sorry sir,” replied the waiter, “I had to go back for his soup, I have it here. But I am confused as to who brought the shellfish; we have no waitress on the floor tonight.”
Just as Evrard was about to take a bite of shellfish, RoadBlock leaned over the table and grabbed his arm.
“Don't eat that!” he exclaimed.
“Marvs, whats gotten into you?” said CoverGirl.
“This meal is served, 'service a la russe',” he said.
In understanding, Evrard immediately dropped his shellfish.
“I don't understand?” said CoverGirl.
Service a la russe means that each course is served in a particular way and in a particular order,” said Evrard, “I should have gotten the soup next as you did, not the shellfish.”
“Sheesh guys, maybe she brought it to the wrong table.”
“The waiter said, there are no women on the floor tonight,” said RoadBlock. “With things the way they are now for us with Cobra and the Algerians it could be-”
“-poisoned,” CoverGirl interjected.
“I will call the Action Team,” said Evrard.
“No,” said RoadBlock, getting up from the table, “this could be our only chance. You stay here in case she doubles back. CoverGirl and I will tail her.”
RoadBlock and CoverGirl ran back to the kitchen. There was no sign of the waitress. CoverGirl heard RoadBlock speaking to one of the chefs in French. The chef pointed to a door in the back. She followed him through the back door. They followed the trail in the alley behind the restaurant. Staying in the shadows, they spotted the waitress across the street trying to get into a building that was hosting some kind of gala event. She showed the doorman a badge and was allowed to pass.
“She had this well planned, she could easily lose anyone trying to follow her in that crowd,” RoadBlock said. “It looks like an exclusive event, how do we get in?”
“Its a fashion show. I know how these things work, follow my lead.”
When they approached, CoverGirl had RoadBlock wait at the foot of the stairs where the red carpet began. Without explaining why, she had unbuttoned his shirt halfway, exposing his muscular chest. RoadBlock watched her as she talked to the doorman, but he couldn't hear what was being said. He was suddenly distracted by a camera crew focused on a well dressed couple who had just walked by. He thought he recognized them as celebrities, but couldn't remember their names. Suddenly, he was blinded by camera flashes from a wave of paparazzi that descended upon him. Disorientated, his muscled tensed as in anticipation of an attack; then ,out of nowhere, CoverGirl took his arm and began posing with the cameras.
“Don't just stand there, smile and wave,” she said as she led him to the entrance.
“Whats going on?” he asked, trying to keep up.
He didn't get an answer. As she pushed him past the doorman and went inside, she turned to the crowd and blew them a farewell kiss.
“Yea Champ!” the doorman cheered at them.
“Courtney, what did you do?” RoadBlock hesitated in asking.
“Oh that? Its nothing...I just told them that you were Marvin Hammler,” she said meekly.
“The Middle Weight Champion?! I'm going to get you back for this Courtney!”
The room was packed with celebrities and photographers who congregated around the runway, all waiting to give praise to their golden calf on an altar of fashion.
“Lets hurry up and get this done. I can't stand this place - frikkin' hypocrites,” CoverGirl said over the din of the crowd.
“I see the target over by the bar.”
The two of them split up, CoverGirl headed to the bar and RoadBlock circled around the other side. CoverGirl ordered a drink and sat on the opposite end - watching her target as she tried to blend in. A couple of guys then tried to hit on CoverGirl, blocking her view in the process. She was able to get rid of them, but when she regained a clear line of sight, she saw that the waitress was looking in her direction. Their eyes met for a split second before CoverGirl looked away, trying to pretend she didn't see her. But it was too late; when she dared to look again, the waitress had already left the bar and headed backstage. CoverGirl looked desperately into the crowd for RoadBlock, but he was nowhere to be seen.
She followed her and slipped backstage with the other models. The experience was surreal, a lifetime ago she was one of them: the money, the glamor, the adoration - it was as intoxicating as she remembered. She felt her stomach twist in knots, reminding her of why she left in the first place: because it was a world of surface without substance. She cursed herself for even daring to imagine herself back in front of the camera. She had a job to do.
Her quarry eluded her, who ever it was she was following was good - too good. She needed camouflage to become a part of this fashion jungle. She found the nearest rack and dressed herself like the surrounding fauna. She grabbed a mirror and touched up her war-paint for the hunt. She evaluated her improvised look: it was hardly vogue-worthy but that was okay; all she needed was a degree of verisimilitude. She stalked her prey behind the curtain to no avail. She was about to retrace her steps when she saw a model in the fashion queue that caught her eye. The third model from the end with the purple wig. She had to be the one: there was no way any self respecting designer would match that top with that skirt.
Before CoverGirl could ambush her, Purple-wig stepped onto the floor. Time was up; the hunt was over. She noticed a security team was converging on her position. She had to make a move now. She cut into the fashion queue and followed Purple-wig onto the stage. She was greeted with cheers and flashing lights as she strutted down the runway. She didn't know what angered her more: the exhilaration she felt from walking down the runway again, or the fact that her body remembered how to do it - she felt like a damn hypocrite! Purple-wig reached the end of the runway and turned around to go back. When she saw CoverGirl, she stopped in her tracks. The two women now stared each other down face-to-face.
CoverGirl rushed her and was greeted with a kick to the stomach and a left hook to the chin. The crowd cheered thinking it was part of the show. CoverGirl spat on the ground, grateful that there were no teeth mixed in the pool of blood and spittle. She was also grateful for the punch; it snapped her out of her stupor and reminded her of who she was.
She was so grateful that she thanked Purple-wig by digging the spike of her heel into her shin. She thanked her again by grabbing her hair and driving her knee into her face. And she thanked her one more time with an elbow to the jaw. But Purple-wig said you're welcome with a spinning back kick to the chest.
CoverGirl got her guard up in time to make the block, but the force of the kick knocked her backwards giving Purple-wig time to exit the stage. CoverGirl was helped to her feet by two security guards and escorted off the runway. On the way out, she spotted RoadBlock. He had gotten cornered by fans and was stuck signing autographs. When he saw her being thrown out by the guards, he went to go help her. She stopped him and pointed in the direction of Purple-wig. He saw Purple-wig slip out through the fire exit and followed her instead.
In the alleyway behind the studio RoadBlock finally caught up with Purple-wig. She had stopped to talk to someone veiled in a large menacing shadow. When she saw RoadBlock, she pointed at him before running off. A man stepped out of the shadows to face RoadBlock, blocking the way to Purple-wig.
“I suggest you let me pass, before I proceed to whup your ass,” RoadBlock said to the stranger.
He was a whole head taller than RoadBlock. Dressed in dark slacks and a double-breasted trench coat, he appeared unassuming in spite of his massive frame. His features were expressionless; his eyes were glazed as if they were staring at some distant object. RoadBlock never thought he would ever meet someone more aloof than LowLight. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to ponder on the subject. Purple-wig was going to get away unless he got rid of Mr. Aloof quickly.
RoadBlock rushed him with a punch to the solar plexus - leaning extra heavy into it, and twisting his knuckles with the punch for good measure. To his surprise, the punch was completely ineffective. To make matters worse, the extra 'body english' he put into the punch made it hang on its target long enough for Mr. Aloof to catch it in a vice-like grip. This guy was strong: the force of the grip tightened and RoadBlock could feel the radius and ulna in his forearm being forced closer and closer together.
Resolved to break free before his bones snapped, RoadBlock attacked his captors wrist with his free elbow - bringing all his weight to bear against it. His training told him that the larger muscles of the his upper arm should overpower the smaller muscles of his opponents wrist. The assumption proved correct; he was able to break free - barely.
Using the momentum put behind the wrist break, he continued to twist his body a full 360° to deliver a spinning backfist with his newly freed hand. More out of surprise than pain, Mr. Aloof stumbled backwards. Before he could regain his balance, RoadBlock charged him, grabbed his waist, and hoisted him over his shoulders to attempt a suplex. As he picked him up, RoadBlock was surprised at how heavy he was - deceptively heavy even for a man of that size. Miscalculating the weight, RoadBlock took too long to raise him into position. Before he could shift his weight to compensate, RoadBlock felt his legs buckle as a fist smashed into his back. RoadBlock fell to the ground grabbing his lower back as Mr. Aloof stood over him. He mused that this must be one of those fighting situations that BeachHead would refer to as, 'less that ideal'.
Between the waves of pain, RoadBlock thought he heard the sound of a car engine getting louder and louder.
When he heard the familiar car horn, he instinctively rolled backwards out of the way. The next thing he heard was the sound of 2000 lbs. of French steel smash into Mr. Aloof with a force sufficient to send him flying several feet like a rag doll into a nearby dumpster. The impact sounded like the gong of a bell and left a dent into the corroded steel of the empty trash bin. The driver of the car pulled up next to RoadBlock and rolled the window down.
“I told ya its a race-car?” said CoverGirl, with a smirk.
“Ok,” RoadBlock replied, “but I still don't like the horn.” He walked around the front of the car to inspect the smashed grill. “You know the bean counters aren't going to like this.”
“Don't worry, I paid the extra ten bucks for the damage waiver. Get in, I'll have Evrard send in the meat wagon for this guy while we go back after the girl.”
RoadBlock walked back around to the passenger side. He was about to open the door to get in when he noticed a strange reflection in the windshield. When he turned to see what it was, he could not accept what his eyes were showing him: the dumpster was flying through the air on a collision course with the car.
On pure instinct, CoverGirl put the car in reverse and hit the accelerator. The clutch screamed as it tried to engage the transmission. She managed to avoid the dumpster-projectile, but the car was still clipped at an odd angle sending it in a sideways skid.
RoadBlock looked towards the projectile's point of origin and there stood Mr. Aloof. RoadBlock felt anger swelling up inside him; if that dumpster had connected as intended, it could have killed CoverGirl. He made his way to this new enemy - ready for round 2.
Getting a sense of what RoadBlock was going to do, CoverGirl leaned out of the window to sit on top of the door. She screamed at RoadBlock from over the roof of the vehicle, "GET IN THE DAMN CAR...NOW!”
RoadBlock turned to her and met her glare - her eyes were not angry, they were pleading. That, and the pain in his back, made him heed the better part of valor. RoadBlock climbed in as CoverGirl furiously tried to get the car in gear to no avail.
“Whats wrong,” he said.
“I must have stripped the clutch; its stuck in reverse. Hang on!” she said as she hit the accelerator causing the engine to roar as they headed backwards down the alley.
“He's still coming.”
“I know.”
“Where are we going?”
“Where does it look like”
“Don't tell me you're going to drive through the highway in reverse?”
“Sure I won't tell you that. But you might want to buckle up anyway.”
“That doesn't inspire confidence!”
“Don't worry, I've driven through worse.”
“Yea but that was in a 10 ton Wolverine!”
They reached the end of the alley and peeled out onto the thoroughfare with Mr. Aloof after them on foot. Driving through the obstacle course of traffic backwards slowed them down just enough to allow their pursuer to keep pace.
“I left my gun in the trunk,” said RoadBlock.
“Here take mine,” keeping her eyes on the road through the rear window, CoverGirl threw her M1911A1 .45 caliber gun in RoadBlock's lap.
“Wait a minute girl, where did you conceal this hand-cannon with that dress?” he asked as he chambered the weapon.
“Thats not information you're privy to on a first date soldier!”
RoadBlock leaned out the side of the window and unloaded the pistol:
“I'm out”
“There's another clip in my purse, any luck?”
“I hit him dead center with 3 rounds. It didn't even slow him down. He's wearing high grade body armor.”
“Wait a minute, only 3? There's 15 rounds in that clip, try aiming next time!”
“I would if you weren't driving like ShipWreck on acid.”
“The next time we're being chased by a homicidal dumpster-tossing mutant, you drive.”
RoadBlock reloaded, leaned out of the window - this time sitting on the door - and started shooting at their pursuer:
Suddenly, CoverGirl swerved violently to avoid rear ending a nearby sedan that moved into her lane. The force threw RoadBlock out of the window, but he managed to avoid getting smeared on the street by hooking his arm around the side view mirror. He started to climb back in as CoverGirl - struggling to regain control of the vehicle - came dangerously close to a line of parked cars along the curb. RoadBlock managed to get one leg back inside when he noticed a door, from one of the parked cars, swing open in his path.
“Uh, Courtney...”
“Not now, you'll have to deal with it!”
He didn't have time to get his other leg back inside so he braced himself against the frame and kicked the oncoming open door as hard as he could. The force of his kick, added with the speed of the car, was sufficient to knock the door off of its hinges. RoadBlock caught the dislodged door in mid-air for fear that it would hit any nearby pedestrians. He didn't have nearly as much altruistic concern for Mr. Aloof however. With all of his strength he threw the door at him like a make-shift Frisbee - and it struck home. Mr. Aloof absorbed the force of the projectile, but physics demanded that he be knocked off his feet and sent skidding across the pavement to the other side of the street. Relieved, RoadBlock climbed back into the car as CoverGirl regained control of the vehicle. He found her yelling at the top of her lungs at the driver of the sedan that cut her off.
“Its called a blinker moron! Use it! ... I don't know what the world is coming to. People just lack common courtesy these days-”
“Courtney,” RoadBlock interrupted, “we're out of any immediate danger, but we have to get off this street. There's too many civies.”
“I agree.”
“Are you okay? You look down.”
“No, I was just thinking how sad it was that this is the best date I've had in months.”
End Chapter 3