I
The beautiful brunette prances back and forth along the desolate corridor of the abandoned warehouse, trying to ignore the loud smacking noise coming from a nearby room. Each time the smacking noise occurs, loud screams, cries and pleas fill the air and causes her to bite down on her bottom lip. Several times she approaches the door, reaches out to twist the knob and enter the room, but each time she suddenly stumps her feet and walks away.
As she walks over and gazes outside the window, she catches her reflection.
The sight of her shinny brown hair hanging below her shoulders, soft hazel eyes, full lips, almond shaped eyes and small nose makes her frown, reminding her how much she hated her mousy little girl look. At least she was thankful for her 36 inch breast, sharp curvy waist and thighs, small ankles and feet, fitting so nicely in her mini skirt and 2½ inch pumps which definitely stood against regulations, but as an undercover field operative, she could always claim it was part of the job.
The door to the room swings opens and she catches sight of the tall lanky man making his way to the bathroom across the hall.
She quickly follows him, pushes the door open, and enters the men's bathroom to find him bent over a sink, splashing cold water on his face.
"I take it you haven't broken him yet," she asks, folding her arms.
"Nah, but I'm close, real close, I'd say any minute now," the man answers, snatching a paper towel to dry his face.
"And suppose he doesn't tell you?"
"Then I'll just have to try a little harder."
"This doesn't make sense Monty; you've been at it for almost two hours now."
"I don't give a damn if it takes nine hours, that bastard's gonna tell me every thing I want to know."
"I took a peek at him, he looks pretty bad. I think he needs a doctor."
"If that prick doesn't tell me what I want to know, he's gonna need a mortician," the tall man grumbles.
"Respectfully sir, I think this is ethically and morally wrong, I don't think the general public, not to mention the guys up top are going to appreciate what you're doing in there."
"What I'm doing in there," the man frowns and steps back as if to scan the woman before him. "Listen up kid, I accepted you as a partner. I took you on because I saw something in you. Call it grit, call it gristle, or call it passion, but whatever it is, I believed you had it, so in spite of this babe-in-the-woods routine you're running on me, I'm gonna give you a little tip."
He withdraws and lights a cigarette, then takes a puff before continuing. "A long time ago, probably before your father was born, the bureau's been fighting the bad guys. From Hoover, to Purvis to Ness, our guys put the work in. At first it was rough and slow going, but eventually we caught on and learned to play the game. You wanna know what they learned," he never waited for her response, "they learned that you can't bring a pea-shooter to a Goddamn gunfight," he barks, his voice echoing about the walls.
"The bad guys had all the advantages, they had superior gunfire, they had superior transportation and most of all, they operated above, below, around the rules, but like I said, we caught on and took their asses down."
"That may be true, but it doesn't change the fact that if we operate like them, operating above, below and around the rules, then what makes us any different from them," she challenges. "I mean we're in an abandon warehouse in the middle of nowhere. I thought we were above all this."
His head slowly recoiles back in response, "You disappoint me agent, I would've thought you'd figured that one out on your own. He takes another long puff from his cigarette. "We're the good guys, it's guys like us that put our necks on the line when no one else will, we're the guys who make it possible for the general public to go about their business without having to look over their Goddamn shoulders, in other words, we protect them from the bad guys."
"But Mon..."
"That's enough kid, I've heard your piece, I was out here kicking ass when you were too young to wipe the shit from yours, so don't lecture me. Maybe one day when you're the senior partner you can call the shots, but with that attitude, I serious doubt it. It comes down to this, we're the good guys and there's a bad in there," he motions his hand toward the door, "with info that can help us end this case and take them down, so either you're with this or not. "He took a quick puff on his cigarette, before continuing, "Like I said, I thought you had grit, I thought you had some fire, I thought you wanted to make a difference, but if you can't handle this, then go out in the car and watch my back. That ought to help your uh...sensitive nature," he flicked his cigarette and watched tiny sparks scatter as it crashes into the wall. "I got work to do," he snaps and leaves the bathroom.
The String sat in the vehicle for five minutes before her eyes grew heavy and slumber descends upon here. Her mind drifts rapidly as she concentrates on her senior partner's advice and his willingness to bend the rules. Should she turn him in, accept stigmatism as a rat, play this game of hypocrisy, or perhaps it was time to contemplate another line of work?
The face of her cancer stricken father floods her mind, followed by visions of how her mother went bankrupt trying to pay for the overwhelming cost of medical treatment, and now her mother suffering from the same dreaded disease, and also sucking away everything she owed to pay for quality healthcare.
These thoughts and visions flashing through her mind making her ask a most pertinent question. How could she truly make a difference when the good guys she proposed to serve were just as ruthless, cutthroat, and dirty as the bad guys they fought to arrest and incarcerate?" She grappled and fought with these thoughts as she fell into slumber.
The sound of gunshots jars the young agent back to consciousness. Shaking her head vigorously to focus her vision and concentrate her thoughts, she jumps out the car, draws her handgun, and races toward the warehouse door.
Her heels cause her to stumble on the gravel covered driveway, just as the warehouse door swings open and a man carrying a weapon dashes out.
"Hold it, don't move," she shouts.
The man never hesitates to stop and open fire, before his eyes can adjust to the shadowy darkness surrounding the facility. The young agent aims her weapon and fires. The gun men staggers back, then attempts to run a few feet before he drops on his face.
Stringer races over, checks the wounded man, and discovers he's showing no vital signs. With the immediate threat removed, she scans the area for anyone else; she then makes her way to the warehouse. Once again she reaches the door, but this time it swings open and her partner Monty staggers out holding his stomach, before falling on his face.
String rolls him over on his back and quickly discovers his blood soaked shirt.
"Monty...what the hell happened in there?"
"What the hell happened out here is...a...better...question," the badly injured man labors to turn the question."
String swallows hard and then cries, "I...I fucked up Monty, I fucked up big time."
"Doesn't matter...," he cuts her off, then began coughing up blood. "Chalk one up for the bad guys."
"Holly shit...Monty, I'm so sorry, I'm calling the medics."
"No...no...no time, my card is punched. Listen up kid...this shit's gonna look...bad, real bad, so, so pay attention, this might be your only chance to save your...ca...career."
He coughs up more blood as he struggles to hold on to his rapidly shrinking window of life. "We...got here at about 8:15, I instructed you to stay outside while I went...wen...went inside. You heard gunshots, and let the story play out from there. You...you, you were never inside...hear me...you never came inside, you hear me...kid?"
"I hear you Monty," she answers as her voice cracking.
"One more thi...thing, check the trunk of his..." he cries, as his eyes began to roll to the back of his head.
II
On any given day, New York's Pennsylvania Station is a hustling, bustling hub of traveling humanity, severing over 300,000, passengers, and the most used traveling train station in the United States. It's grand Beaux-Arts style architecture reflects the majestic technological innovations as envisioned by the creators of this colossal project.
