Eddie Smith sits in his chair contemplating whether to drink another glass. He stares deeper into his whisky bottle that’s propped up on his desk, wondering whether there is any gold at the bottom of this rainbow, or more to his circumstances, whether there is any hope at the bottom of the bottle.

‘Sir, what do you suggest we do?’ The officer’s voice penetrates Eddie’s thoughts. He finally levels his eyes up to the officer standing in his office and gives him a smile.

‘Well Officer….’ Eddie waits for the officer to state his name

‘Mullins sir, Officer Mullins’ states the officer.

‘Well officer Mullins, I suggest you keep on looking for this son of a bitch! What do you want me to do, go out there in a squad car with you and reel him in?’

‘No sir I…’

‘Don’t kid. I’m the District Attorney for Boston Massachusetts, My job is to insure the prosecution of criminals and clean these streets, ridding me of them all. You think I have the time to just dedicate my resources to one AWOL detective?’

‘No sir I don’t’

‘Well even though I can’t put all my officers into the fray, I have you! Seeing that you are so gung-ho then I’m tasking you with a special little mission’

Officer Mullins swallows hard, avoiding eye contact with the DA

‘Do you hear me?’ Asks Eddie

‘Yes sir, I here you.’

‘Aren’t you going to ask me what special assignment I have planned for you?’

There is a silence in the room that lasts only a few seconds

‘What’s my assignment sir?’

‘DO YOUR FUCKING JOB! IS THAT CLEAR OFFICER MULLINS?’ Shouts the DA.

‘Yes Sir!’ Mullins says, trying to compose himself.

‘Now get out there and search harder. Use the whole goddam Boston PD Reserves if you have to. I want Frank McKenzie In custody as soon as possible. Is that clear?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Good now get going’

Officer Mullins leaves the room, hat in hand, and pride non-existent. He closes the door behind him leaving the DA sitting at his desk in silence, Eddie breaths in deeply, trying to gain control over the situation.  He reaches into his coat jacket and pulls out a pack of twenty Lucky Strikes, brand new down to the film. He unwraps the protective packaging and rips open the top half of the cigarette packet, grabbing one cigarette and quickly lighting it up.

He blows smoke rings until the cigarette burns down to the filter. He flicks the butt into the bin, and grabs his whisky bottle. Pouring himself another drink he sighs and looks into the full glass of brown liquor.

‘End of the rainbow here I come’ He mutters to himself as he raises his glass to his mouth and takes a sip.

Thirty Five

‘Were going live in two minutes Chase’ says the bulky technician. Connor nods.

Connor Chase is sitting down on a crate, using it as a makeshift seat, staring hard into the camera lens. His reflection is distorted, bent, through the shiny surface of the 30 x zoom 28 megapixel camera. The camera is resting on a tripod; the feet are muddy due to the condition of the floor.

‘Not an ideal studio ay boys’ Connor laughs

The group of guards and technicians surrounding him don’t respond.

Connor surveys the surrounding area of the DIY studio they have put together in the offices of the M.I.T Building. The place is a mess with loose wiring and clutter. Debris from the trashing of the computers that once occupied that area are still strewn all over the place. The blood from the execution style killing of Tasha has stained the floor, meshing in with the dirt and plastic trimmings. Chase turns around to see the white sheet cover used as a background covered in blood.

‘I thought I told you guys to clean this place up. It looks like a slaughter house!’

One of the guards laughs. Connor gets up and walks over to the hired hand.

‘Is there something funny here that I’m missing?’

The guard shakes his head.

‘I could have sworn that I heard you laughing at my slaughter house remark’

‘No sir’ the man replies.

Connor grins.

‘Oh so your calling me a liar then?’

The guard emphatically shakes his head

‘No sir of course not’

‘Of course not’ says Connor in a calm manner.

Chase quickly grabs his gun from his holster and raises it forward. Before the barrel hits the direction of the burley guard, he shoots. The bullet hits the man in the chest; blood trickles out of the man’s mouth, while he falls to the ground, the sound finally catches up, and blasts the area with a deafening ringing sound.

‘Of course not’ He repeats as he holsters his weapon once more.

Chase turns around to witness his employees all staring at him, grim faced at the situation.

‘I don’t have time for people who question my actions, nor do I have time for people who force me into questionable actions. This here gentleman is an operation, and operations need leaders. If you feel that any of those leader type qualities are lacking in me then feel free to walk out. I have my reasons for being here and so do you. Your reasons may not match mine but I shit you not, mine are the only ones that matter! So when I tell you to do something, do it. I don’t want people watching these proceeding thinking that I’m some sort of maniac hell bent on killing people. That’s the wrong sort of message I’m trying to convey here. What we want gentleman, is true freedom and privacy to do what we want when we want. Our information is not currency, that’s what we are here for. Sometimes there are casualties of war, that inevitable. I understand that, and so should you. I don’t want to be surrounded by the actions of the past, nor do I want people to be constantly reminded of whoever we execute here. So when I tell you to clean it up, it’s not because I want some chores done, it’s because it could affect the way people see us. We killed and kill the people we kill because of one reason and one reason only. The government did not cooperate. If we have the place looking like a war zone then people won’t blame it on the government, they will call us terrorists, not revolutionaries! So clean this dam mess up!’

Connor brushes himself down and sits back on the crate staring deep into the lens once more.

Thirty six

‘It was risky coming down here Frank. They have an APB out on you, things could have gotten bad if any one radioed in your name. You would have gone up like a Christmas tree and then what?’ Jacob Asks McKenzie while pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Frank is sitting down on a chair facing Jacob’s official looking office desk. He looks around the room and notices the large paintings of Jacob on the wall, like a stately home would have back in the eighteen hundreds. He thinks to himself. Asks himself one question, why so much grandeur? Frank has come across a lot of people in the political game in his career. All of them share the same characteristics when it comes to life style. Cut from the poor, give to the rich. Most media like to portray certain politicians as “for the people” but a lot of them don’t take into account the huge expenses these men and women take while furnishing their buildings, dressing their selves up for functions and driving limos to the airport while hopping on to private jets for globetrotting.

‘Nice office Jacob’ Frank remarks.

Jacob looks around the office trying to figure out if Frank was being a smart ass or the latter.

‘Thanks’ He replies.

‘It’s very stately wouldn’t you say?’ Says Frank

‘Yeah, you’re probably right there. It does its job though.’

Frank shakes his head in disappointment while lighting a cigarette up, his second cigarette in twenty minutes.

‘Tell me something Jacob. Why do you need all those pictures of yourself in the office? Do you forget what you look like or something? Surely a mirror would do the job just fine. No need for portraits of yourself. It’s just my opinion.’