Synopsis: In his last big heist, big-time thief Wayne hits even bigger trouble when the entire thing goes awry and plans have to be changed.

This is another thing that I've written in my spare time. Not sure if anybody here will enjoy this story or not, it's a crime thing with some interesting characters, themes and settings. This is a short story and this is therefore the only part, no six part epics that nobody reads because they're too long. Enjoy.
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It’s the biggest heist that I’ve held in over five years. It’s the big score; an amount of precious jewels that cannot be explained in value, only in weight. It is nearly twenty pounds of pure, uncut diamond and it is all flowing out of the hills of Northern Russia in one shipment. The best part of this little heist is that it is all flowing by rail, with little to no resistance standing between the rocks and my hands.
We’ve been staking out this hit for nearly two weeks after hearing about it, listening in on radio and telephone conferences, reading e-mails and letters, and watching certain offices, checkpoints and railway yards with spy-fly cameras. The pieces began presenting themselves one by one.
A drunken guard-in-charge, a cheap mine operator, a corrupt train operator and an idiotic country-side police force. Everything seems to be coming together, like all the ingredients for a fiendish cake. It was all we needed before we could make our move. The only tricky spot was to snatch the mother load before the train rolled into St. Petersburg. If it hit the city limits, we were screwed. But, that seemed to be always the risk: get your hand out of the trap before it snapped your wrist. I wouldn’t have it any differently.
“We’re ready, man.” A voice says through a little bud in my ear.
“Understood, I’m making my move.” I say back, finger pressed to my ear.
Rising from my seat, I slide into the aisle and begin to casually strut towards the back of the car, as if I were only moving to use the water closet. As I walk, I glance over each passenger and notice that my actions garner no attention. A fat businessman, a well-dressed lady, a churchly young couple and people that seemed to be dressed for the rain that drenched them in the north all populate the train car.
Lifting my eyes up, I smirk and walk to the back of the car. Once I am near the door that leads into the water closet, and also the door that leads off of this car, I look over my shoulder and up the aisle. Nobody moves, everybody is content and unaware of what is about to occur. I smile again and nod my head, knowing everything is fine.
Turning back, I open the door with a gloved hand, something that stands out against my fine, expensive suit, shining wingtips and dapper fedora, and slip out of the train. The wind whips against my body once I’m outside, cold and harsh in the April frost, but I close the door silently nonetheless, not wanting to catch anybody’s eye. Turning back around, I look to the car in front of me, while holding my arms out to the sides as not to fall to my death below the wheels of the train.
“Wayne, the safe is only two cars ahead. You’ll be going through a mail car first and then you’ll enter the armored car.” The voice says through the radio. “It should be plenty easy. The guards were bribed two stops back and there should be nobody standing between you and the jewels.”
“Thanks for the info, Casey.” I reply, over the sound of the heavy wind and rocking train cars.
I begin forward and jump from one car to another as the cars come together in their unpredictable ambling rock. As I land on the metal balcony on the mail car, my paw slips from beneath me, but, I immediately grab the metal handrails and balance myself. Looking over my shoulder, I see rocks slam up against the train wheels and make a terrible racket. I clear my throat and look away.
“I’ll have it soon, if I don’t fall to my death.” I say into the radio.
“Good one, Wayne. Listen, although we could bribe the guards, you’re going to have to handle the lock. It shouldn’t be that hard, honestly. With the mine owner valuing his dollar more than protection, I doubt you’ll be facing anything you can’t handle with a stethoscope.” Casey explains.
“Understood, and, hey, what are wolf ears good for if not cracking safes?” I joke back. “Don’t worry about my situation. Just get the truck ready for when I need to ditch out of here.”
“Right, Casey out.” Casey replies quickly.
Going to the door, I force it open with a strong arm and step inside. As I close the door behind me, I shiver and hug myself, thankful to be out of the cold. I look up and see that I stand in a large cargo car filled with crates, boxes and heavy bags. Some of the boxes are big enough to hold two or three men. Without taking too much time to take in my surroundings, I begin forward, my eyes looking up and down everything.
My ears twitch about and my eyes scan up and down each and every body, eying over shadows and even suspecting bags that are shaped strangely. I feel them over with my gloved hands as I pass by, but, don’t dwell on my suspicions. This entire operation seems to be going entirely too smoothly. This could be another SS Antwerp, smooth as silk. Or it could be liked the botched job back in Rio de Janeiro.
Lowering my eyes, I look into both corners opposite of each other at the far end of the car as I near the door. The shadows frighten me subtly, because not of what is there, but, what could be there. As I pass the shadows, I look through them and find nothing but some empty space on one side and a shipping package with a FedEx logo glued onto the side on the other.
I shake my head to try to clear my mind of the thoughts and then open the other door. The cold wind hits my face again and temporarily chases away the wary thoughts. The heavy metal door shuts behind me with ease and once again I spring from one rocking car to another, this time able to keep myself steady once I land.
Outside of the last car, I dust myself off as I stand up and then look to the door. With my gloved hands, I feel my jacket over, making sure I have everything that I need to take care of anything that presents itself. Nodding my head, sure that I am in possession of all necessary items, I begin forward.
But before I open the door, I turn my head to the side. Looking out beside the train, I look beyond the dirt road and see a lazy river ahead. There is a haze that lies upon the ground, a thin fog that makes everything look strange, even ghostly. I have a terrible feeling in my stomach. I’ve had the feeling since hearing about this whole thing at a bar in Ukraine.
The man that told us about this seemed to be a really shady character. A large man, possibly an equine or the like, tells us about a shipment of diamonds being made between the northern regions of Russia into the port city of Saint Petersburg. Then he informs us about all these people, we pay him in drink, he takes it all without touching a drop and then leaves.
I told both Casey and Ivan that there was something fishy about this whole thing. But that stupid Brit Casey gets us all excited about the thing and we start our plans. We’ve never rushed into anything like this before that hasn’t lead us to disaster. Anything that Casey gets started usually ends like that.
Ivan, the stalwart white tiger from somewhere in the boonies of what was the Soviet Union, said absolutely nothing about the situation. “I drive truck, I shoot gun, and I get paid.” He would always say. I always liked Ivan more than Casey simply because Ivan knew when the hell to shut his mouth.
Back in Rio, I remember him telling me, “Wayne, this isn’t right. There is a foul taste about the air. My stomach twists and turns and my tail cannot be still. This isn’t right; we need to abandon this plan.” I didn’t listen and Interpol showed up, guns a blazing, with Brazilian police screaming in Portuguese and with choppers circling above. We barely escaped through the sewer tunnels to our waiting boat hidden in a little cove in the nearby waterfront.
I’m having the same feeling now, the twisting and turning in my stomach. Unlike the feline Ivan, my tail can sit still, but, I am worried that this will end just as Rio did.
“Wayne, what’s taking you so long?” Casey’s voice shouts through the radio.
I shake my head and then rub my forehead with my hand, trying not to mess up my perfect hair. Shaking my head, I blink a few times and then push open the door leading into the treasure room. Once inside, I close the door behind me and stand in the silence of the armored room, listening and waiting.
“Sorry, thoughts are leading me afoul as of late.” I say into the radio.
“Well, get your head in the game, mate! The cheese at the end of the maze is right there, just take it and get out! We’re nearing the train with the truck now!” Casey yells in response.
I shake my head and turn around, facing the rear of the car. There I see only two things: A large crate that the guards must have used for a seat, and the safe that holds the twenty pounds of pure, uncut diamond. Taking a deep breath, I begin to step forward, slowly, the noise of my hard-bottomed shoes ricocheting off of the walls with each step.
“Casey.” I say low and slow. “I’ve got a horrible feeling about this.”
Moving forward, I walk past the crate and approach the safe. Stopping a few feet before the crate, I stop and look around. There are no cameras, no bugs on the wall, no lasers and nothing that could watch over the car. The windows looking outside are nothing but peepholes and gun ports. There is a door in the ceiling incase the car flips over. But, other than that, the entire room is desolate, smooth, unaltered from the state of factory new.
“What do you mean, Wayne?” Casey says. “I feel great about this. After this score, we can finally go down to Chile, buy a lot of property and never have to worry again.”
Kneeling before the safe, I lean forward and look up and down each side of the safe. It is smooth, untouched, yet very old. The safe must be nearly thirty years old, a gun safe or a private gold safe from a rich man’s mansion. Leaning back, I look to the combination for the lock and narrow my eyes. Sniffing, I smell nothing but iron.
“I mean, there’s a foul taste about the air.” I say sternly, quoting old Ivan. “There’s something wrong about this. Even with the things we had to do, this is way too easy. It’s like we’ve waltzed into a bank and found everybody asleep. The odds must be astronomical.”
With a steady hand, and my claws protruding slightly from the manufacturer-cut slits in the ends of the fingers, I place them on the plastic knob and begin to rotate it. As it turns back towards zero, I place my ear to the iron safe and hear the crunch of my gelled hair, and probably a bit of my gray fur, against the similarly-colored safe wall.
“Oh, would you stop complaining.” Casey says in return. “We haven’t had an opportunity like this presented to us in nearly five years. Not since the Los Angeles Art Heist. I’m not going to let your cold paws get the best of you. There is entirely too much money to be lost, here.”
Twisting the knob to the right, I quietly listen to each click-click until the combination hits the correct number, sounding with a loud ‘thong’ against my eardrum. Taking a slowly, cleansing breath, I begin in the other direction. This time, I must be patient enough for the knob to go around half way until it sounds again.
“Don’t you remember what happened in Rio, Casey, how close we came to death?” I say into the transmitter quietly. “We were almost done with stealing all of the stolen art out of that drug lord’s mansion when the armored cars rode up. If it weren’t for my quick thinking to slip through the sewers leading down the mountain, we would have either been killed in a police accident or would be spending life in a Brazilian jail.”
I take a quick break and shake my wrist freely before placing my hand upon the well-tailored suit just above my stomach. My stomach groans and grunts, crying out to me desperately to abandon this folly and make a break for freedom before the blade comes down. Licking the inside of my mouth and shaking my head, I return my hand to the combination and begin to twist to the other side once more.
“That was just an accident, Wayne, an unfortunate accident.” Casey replies, light-heartedly and happily, as if it weren’t as serious as it was. “So the police had a mole, it doesn’t mean that all of the sudden the police and Interpol will eternally be ready with a club to drop on our heads. Besides, once this robbery is complete, we can all retire from this work and go plant our lives somewhere warm.”
I gently turn the combination towards the right, slowly, my heart pounding again and again as it climbs into my throat one thump at a time. As the number comes around an almost full turn, the last number finally thuds into place and I lean back from the safe. Panting, hot and worked up by my own worries, I reach towards the large handle and grab on it with tight hands. Then, with butterflies angrily fluttering about within, I crank the handle to the side and begin to pull open the safe.
I continue to say, “The only thing is, Casey, what if this thing turns out not only to not have less value than you think. What if it turns out to be . . .?”
As the safe swings fully open, I look within and my heart sinks back into my chest. Immediately, I close my jaw and lean forward, reaching into the safe. With a shaky hand, I grab the only thing sitting inside and pull it out for me to see. I then hold it up to my eyes and begin to read.
“. . . Empty.” I finish.
“What do you mean, ‘empty’?” Casey demands angrily, surprised.
Standing up, I hold the card that was placed in the center of the safe over my stomach and sigh. Casey angrily curses with an accent so thick that I can hardly begin to decipher the string of crazed phrases that have slipped from his raccoon lips. A cold feeling envelops my body and holds me as I stand up fully. I know what must be coming next, as I hear loud footsteps rushing towards me across the steel platforms of the train cars.
“Hands up, don’t attempt to do anything stupid!” A feminine voice cries, as a hammer is cocked back.
Raising my hands gently into the air, I look over my shoulder, but, keep my muzzle pointed towards the safe. Peeking over my shoulder, I see a familiar figure standing with arms perpendicular to the body, holding a familiar pistol in a familiar pose.
“Too late, honey, you’ve caught me long after the stupidity.” I jest in return. “Once again Interpol has coming knocking and look which honorable officer they’ve sent to do their dirty work once again: nobody other than the lovely Officer Burns.”
“Quiet, you trash! You’re not getting away. You’re outnumbered and severely outgunned.” Burns threatens, her gun shaking under her angry hands.
Turning my head around, I look to the fox with unimpressed eyes and a happy smile pasted on my muzzle. Burns gasps and points the pistol towards my face, as if it will deter me from attempting an escape. But, turning my body around, I hold my hands at chest height and show her that I am not intimidated.
“Oh, they’ve made the attack dogs tag along, have they?” I say in a light and cheery tone. “They don’t trust you to take me down after you’re little debacle back in Rio.”
“That wasn’t a debacle, creep, it was simple an unfortunate miscalculation.” Burns says.
“Casey called it an unfortunate accident, but, I figure you’re both right.” I answer.
Stepping forward a few steps, I begin to creep towards Andrea Burns, hoping to get the pistol out from between the two of us. She sees my advance and widens her stance, her eyes blazing and her resolve strengthened. I simply smile in return, knowing that despite her police training, she’s a lot more prone to mistake than she would like to believe.
“Where are your partners, Mr. Newton?” Burns demands, talking more with the pistol than with her own words.
“They most likely already know about this whole and are probably half a world away, my dear.” I suavely respond.
I slide a few steps closer and dare to lower my hands gently, placing one against my chest. This alarms Burns and she points her hand towards my chest, as if I were motioning to draw a weapon of my own. I chuckle and smile calmly when I see her response and even paw a step closer.
“If you were the smart girl that I know you are, I would send out Interpol to catch them. Not that it matters; it’s just for looks. I know that’s what you and your boys are all about.” I say as I step slowly further, trying to keep the sound of my hard-bottomed shoes muffled. “Making it look like the world is safe when really the dirt and scum is always just . . . out . . . of view.”
When Burns is too occupied with what is going on above my neck, I leap forward with my hands and grab her wrists and twist them back, forcing my claws into the underside. She cries out through clenched teeth and then drops the pistols. Before she can react, I sidestep and throw her towards the back of the car.
As she tumbles onto the steel floor, I rush out of the door and then slam it shut behind her and then twisting it closed as tightly as I can, knowing that I am unable to lock it shut. Standing with my back to the door, I press a finger to my ear and then sigh, dropping the innocent act that I use to trick the officer that constantly is dogging my tail.
“The safe was absolutely empty, Casey, and I need a way out of here ASAP!” I yell into the transmitter.
Raising my head up, I see figures hurrying into the mail car in front of me and know that this must be the Russian Police, come to handle me if Officer Burns was unable to do so. Not seeing an immediately door out, I turn and go to a ladder that leads up to the roof of the car.
As I scurry like a rat to the top, the door leading into the mail car bursts open and two armed men wearing body armor rush out. Climbing like I’ve never climbed before, I almost launch myself up onto the metal roof of the car. I hear voices in Russian cry out, but, thankfully no gunshots. I suppose they had no clear shot.
The cold, biting wind slaps me full-force in the face, but, I manage to climb up onto my paws. My eyes narrowed to protect themselves; I look down the back of the train, which extends on for a few more cars. I suppose they are also other cargo cars linked before the caboose.
I look back and see that I have no choice but go for the back of the train. There’s no going towards the engine. With my arms out in front of me, I begin down the center of the top of the car, almost being blown off by the thrashing winds and shaking car. But, as I hear the Russian SWAT team climbing the steel ladder to the roof, I reach the back.
There is no ladder down to a landing on this side of the armored car. It’s a straight drop to the tracks. I have to jump to the next car, but, with my heart thumping and my lungs burning from the cold air, that’s impossible. Checking over my shoulder, I see the first officer reach the top of the ladder and begin to climb up and reach for the MP5 on his back.
Shaking my head and frightened out of my mind, I take three steps back and lower my arms to the ground. I say a quiet prayer to any deity that will listen and then begin forward. Pushing off from the roof, I sail through the air and slam down onto the roof of the car directly behind the armored one. But, I do not land correctly and slam onto my side, most likely breaking a rib.
As I lie on my side, the wind whipping at my form, I know that the police are approaching and are unafraid to make the leap of faith that I have just made. Grunting and groaning, I push up onto my hands and knees and then lift myself onto my paws. After shaking myself like a dog, a tick that I am unable to get under control, I skillfully maneuver down the center of the car.
When I am nearly halfway to the end of the car, the police officers lose their patience with the situation and one of them opens fire. Gunshots ricochet off of the steel top of the car, several of them near my shoes. Throwing my arms out, I yell in fear and begin to lose my balance.
Once again, I tumble to the steel roof of the train car, but, this time, I slide towards the side and my body falls over the side. My hands grasp out at anything I can wrap them around and, finding a bar that runs along the top of the side of the car, catch myself from falling.
The rest of my body slams onto the windows alongside of the cars, my nose planting itself directly onto the middle of a pane of glass. I moan and open my eyes to look through the glass at a man who sits with a laptop on his legs. He leans away from me and stares at me with awe. I snicker and then look upwards.
Cries come from the police officers who have given chase and they begin to move upwards. To my left I can see figures moving on the armored car above. My eyes go back to the bar above me and I see that it runs the entire length of the car. Grunting and groaning, I begin to slide along the side of the car, moving slowly but surely towards the back.
I cannot help but look below me and watch as the gravel that lines that tracks whizz by at nearly sixty miles an hour. Seeing this makes me gasp for air and my hands to become shaky. Falling here would definitely mean the death of me, even if the train were moving slower. Averting my eyes, I press onwards.
After many seconds that felt more like hours of terror, the bar finally comes to an end and I swing onto the landing behind the passenger coach. Landing hard, I catch myself against the handrail on the opposite side of the landing. Breathing heavily, I turn my eyes upwards and see that I have a moment of peace.
“Where are you two?” I demand through the transmitter. “I need an extraction immediately!”
“We’ll be pulling up near the train soon, just get to cover and try to make this another Rio.” Casey replies calmly through the radio.
“I think we’ve done enough to make this like Rio, Casey! Just get me out of here before I look like Swiss cheese and smell like Roquefort!” I yell in return.
Before Casey can respond, voices can be heard from the roof of the train car and, raising my head up to look, I know that they are not too far behind me. Over the deep cries of the men, I hear the distinct wail of a familiar, whiny woman. As I lower my muzzle to look ahead, I shake my head and begin forward.
As I stumble to the door leading into the next car and push open the door without thinking too hard. Rushing in, I do not stop to close the door behind me. Pain rises from my side and as I lower a hand to my suit, I grunt and slow my pace to a wavering wobble. Looking downwards, I lift my hand up and see some blood on the pads of my hand. More blood soaks the suit fabric. It seems I’ve done more than break a rib.
I look over my shoulder as I hear heavy footfalls upon metal and then push myself forward, down the center of an empty passenger coach. On the other side, I lean against the door, sputter out a cough and then roll the door open, letting gin the howling wind once more. Moments later I stumble outside and blindly wander towards the door leading into the caboose.
“There he is, go get him you fools!” Andrea yells.
Without looking back, I go out onto the coupling unit and then force open the door going into the caboose. Looking inwards at the darkness of the unused rolling structure, I feel as if walls were closing in on me. But, pressing forward, I try to evade what feels like the inevitable. The caboose, dark, dusty and cramped full of all of the obsolete equipment the company could not bring themselves to waste, the room feels smaller than a dog house.
Around me, the boxes and strange curves produced by sheets hung over heavy objects frighten me. The sound of my beating heart that has risen into my eardrums adds a terrifying orchestra to this horror film. Coughing, I raise a hand up to my mouth and grab the nearest crate. My body feels suddenly weak. The feeling of invincibility that I once possessed seems to have dissipated with last night’s rain.
“We’re coming up on the train, now, Wayne, just hold on.” Casey says calmly through the ear bud. “Tell me where you are, and hurry. I don’t like what the federals could pull out of their shirtsleeves.”
“The caboose,” I reply, “I’m in the caboose. And don’t underestimate Interpol. When it comes to dirty tricks, they’re worse than an American President arguing with a Soviet Premier. There is always a claw on the button, even if it’s under the bargaining table.”
“Just get to the back of the car and be ready to jump to the truck. We’re coming up fast, just be ready.” Casey replies.
Without responding, I stumble forward and to the door leading out onto the final stretch of the train. As I open up the door, I check over my shoulder and see the police officers all rushing towards me, submachine guns shouldered and ready to be fired. When the door is open, I step out and swing my head back around.
Immediately I grab the cast iron bar of the handrail that encloses the rear platform and look along the tracks set behind the train. I see nothing following them, but, looking to my left I see a big, old, red Dodge pickup rumbling along the dirt trail that runs parallel to the tracks. Trying to smile, I watch the truck and wait for my rescue.
But rescue doesn’t come quickly enough. Behind me, the heavy footfalls of the long arm of the law close in on me. Looking downwards, I turn my eyes upon a rusty oil barrel and half-smashed crate that sit beside me on the tiny platform. Guns are cocked and the footsteps cease.
“Alright, Mr. Newton, this is the end of the line for you.” Andrea says again. “And don’t think of think of turning around, because, I’ve had enough of your little games.”
“Little games,” I say and sputter, “Is that what you call them? Vegas didn’t seem like a little game and neither did Chicago.”
“Don’t even talk about those events, you dirty criminal!” She orders defensively.
“Oh, so you’re going to pretend they didn’t exist! Nothing existed, not one little shred of a belief!” I say and turn my head around.
Andrea stands behind me, her face a bit shocked and her hands wavering. Her eyes are wide, her pupils fixated upon me. Turning around slowly, I face her and look directly at her. My brow furrows and I hold my body to the railing as I try to bide my time until the truck can catch the train.
“You’ll pretend like every little encounter was just a mistake, just an accident, or, best of all, didn’t happen at all!” I’m yelling at the top of my lungs, yet the wind takes away some of the effect. “But these events aren’t the first times this has happened. Think about New York. You were there, running the show, but, I outfoxed you. The cunning of the fox can be as murderous as the violence of the wolf, and I am both!”
I glance over my shoulder and the see truck about to climb up the short hill that the tracks have the mounted upon, to make a flat surface. Turning my head around, I further furrow my brow and lean forward. The Russian police are confused as to what is going on, while, the Officer stands fuming with anger, but, reluctant to say something that she would soon regret.
“Enough of this banter!” Burns fights back. “A bunch of pretty words from the past are not enough to try to make me feel remorse for events that I cannot change!”
“What do you mean ‘change’? You mean sweep under the rug.” I reply. “But, hey, what does it matter? You got more time to chase me down. And what does it matter if there is an interview on the side? Or maybe a cover story for newspapers syndicate that would spread the article around the globe . . . or maybe an internet site? Hell, it was just good publicity. ‘The police at their finest; tracing the untraceable’, the headline would read.”
“It was just good journalism!” She yells.
“It was just good publicity.” I calmly state.
A loud roar enters my ear and I look over my shoulder to see the truck climb up the gravel-covered dirt mound and approach the railing. Slowly I turn my head back and watch as Andrea steps into the doorway, pistol ready. I’m not exactly sure how this is going to end. The Russians step forward as well, voices crying, muffled with static, through radios attached to their hips.
“Don’t even think about, you bastard, I’m not letting you go this time!” Burns yells confidently. “The three of us aren’t the only people tracking you. We have reinforcements inbound from St. Petersburg.”
“Hurry up, Wayne, hurry up!” Casey cries through the radio. “We’re right here! Just jump!”
“If you even think about it, I’ll shoot you dead!” Burns threatens, moving the pistol about to emphasize her point.
I raise my hands up beside my head again and smile gently, though the nagging pain in my side makes this more difficult than it should be. As I stand, thinking of exactly what to do, I begin to hear a beating sound, like an engine far off in the distance. Burns has me at gunpoint and seems true about her intentions, but, I’m also inches away from escape. It’s the same distance between life and death.
As I stand contemplating my choices, a helicopter swings overhead and behind me I hear Ivan, who is taking the wheel, swing the truck around. When a police helicopter becomes involved, escape is next to impossible by land. Through Casey’s radio I hear Ivan screaming in his native tongue.
“There is no escape this time, Wayne. This won’t be another Rio de Janeiro and this will not turn into another Las Vegas.” Burns says and shakes her head, her blazing eyes pinned upon mine.
“If you’re going to jump, Wayne, do it now!” Casey orders.
I stand silent for several long seconds with the only sounds hitting my ears are of the biting wind whistling over the speeding train, the beating blades of the helicopter and of the low, slow pound of my heart within my chest. Taking a deep breath, I look over my shoulder and see the truck begin to slow down, pulling away from the train.
Suddenly Ivan throws the wheel and the truck skids sideways as the train pulls away. The land disappears from around the tracks and the truck stops just inches from the edge. Beside the track, the land drops nearly three stories down to a calm river below. There isn’t escape this time, not one that is apparent.
“Turn around, get the handcuffs. We’ve got him this time.” Burns says.
I place my hands onto the iron railing and look down to the cool, blue river as it lazily twists and turns off into the distance. My eyes search frantically for a way out, well, one that couldn’t possibly end terribly for me. But, I find few ingredients and am out of time. Turning around, I put the small of my back against the iron railing and then slide up against the barrel that sits there.
“Wayne, this is Casey. You’re on your own. We’re through.”
The two Russian guards disappear back into the train car, stammering in a language I cannot comprehend, leaving Burns alone with me. Lowering the pistol, she holsters it and then pulls the pair of standard handcuffs from a pouch at her waist. Lifting them up, she readies herself to cuff me. I smirk a bit, unable to force myself to smile, as I put my hands down onto the barrel.
“I don’t think you’re going to catch me today, Officer Burns, I think you’re going to have to wait.” I tell her in a calm matter-of-fact voice. “What you’ll tell the news tabloids is all up to you, but, I’m sure this will be just another chapter in the book you’re compiling in your head. The only thing I have to say to you now as I teeter upon the edge is . . .”
Grabbing the barrel, I place it up onto the iron railing and then lift myself up onto it as well. Burns drops the handcuffs, which fall off of the train as it rattles and bumps about, and draws her pistol. Holding the barrel to balance myself, I cough and then give her a mocking scout’s salute.
“. . . Catch me if you can.”
Pushing the barrel off of the train, I effortlessly tumble off of the back of the train. As I fall, I turn my head towards the river and push the barrel down in front of me as I ready myself for a painful splashdown. Closing my eyes, I brace myself. In the darkness I hear the barrel smash against the water. Seconds later, I enter right after it.

Sputtering, coughing up water and drenched down to my bones, I grab a stone alongside of the river and pull myself up onto sandy ground. Shivering, I drag my body up and away from the water until I am unable to move. Then I flop over onto my back, spit up a mouthful of water and look towards the sky.
I’m alone, unarmed, injured and being pursued by a relentless woman bent on my destruction and her army of national police officers trained like army commandoes. As I rest my arms upon my head, I stare towards the brushed-blue sky and steady my breathing. Now, I regret telling her that. That’ll just give her a reason.