LOOK INTO THE EYES OF EVIL CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2


Special Agent Chris Delone ducked behind his Lincoln Navigator as another bullet whooshed past his ear.

"Marc, Get down," he yelled at his partner.

Marc Cullen finally came to his senses, and dove down next to him. Marc cried out as he hit his head on the undercarriage of the car.

"You ok?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, yeah. Hit my damn head."

Chris was peering out into the darkness. He couldn’t see a thing. The street was dark, and the sole illumination came from colorfully lit storefronts right behind them.

"Did you see where the shots came from?"

"Yeah, I saw the muzzle flash. He is hiding a couple of doorways down to the right. What’d you want to do?" Marc answered, rubbing his aching head.

"We need to get away from the light. He can see every move we make."

Marc nodded. He crouched his way to the next vehicle that was parked along the sidewalk.
The echo of another shot thundered through the street. This time Chris saw the flash. The bullet streaked across the hood of his Navigator and cracked the windshield. Chris cursed, `Should’ve spent the extra dollars on the bulletproof glass`, he thought as he fired two rounds of his Sig Sauer at the doorway.

Marc meanwhile had managed to move down by several cars. He kept his head low, while he waited for the gunman to make a move. His eyes were fixed on the doorway.

Chris caught up with him by two car lengths. They now were in a better position to see their target. Chris hoped somebody in the restaurant had heard the shots, and called the police. They could use the support. How the hell did they get themselves into this situation in the first place?

Marc won the coin toss and it'd been his choices of restaurants. Fort Lauderdale sure sported enough restaurants lined up along the beach front, but he had to pick Wong’s, of all the God damn places in town. They ordered the food and enjoyed the cozy atmosphere; twenty minutes later, all hell had broken loose. Marc was facing the front door and spilled his cup of herbal tea, as his mouth dropped open. Chris looked at him in surprise.

"What?" Chris asked. He tried to turn around, but Marc grabbed him by the arm.

"Don’t move," he mumbled. "You won’t believe who just walked in."

"Who? Elvis?" Chris asked, amused.

"Edgar Allen Williams," Marc answered. His eyes were still transfixed on the man.

"You kiddin` me, right? “THE” Edgar Allen Williams?"

Marc nodded his head. "I’m positive."

Chris’ heart started to gallop. Williams hunted the defenseless. He was the worst type of scum; a killer, who preyed upon children.
"Well, don’t be so damn obvious. You’re staring right at him," Chris hissed.

Marc realized that Williams had noticed him staring and figured him for a cop. The scum made a run for it. Williams knocked over a heavy set black woman, who was in line behind him, and struggled to get out the door.

"Too late," Marc said and bolted from his chair. He ran for the door.

"Ah damn," Chris uttered, and rose from his seat.

Marc tripped over the black woman’s feet, and went down on top of her. She screamed in pain and yelled something in Creole, as she pounded her hands in anger against his chest. Marc struggled to get back up off the ground. He finally regained his balance and ran outside.

Chris didn’t want to tangle with the woman. He managed to jump over her legs, but hit the front door face on. Chris cursed, and tried to shake off the blow. He pushed the door open and fished for his gun.

Marc was running back and fourth outside the restaurant. He'd lost sight of Williams. A few pedestrians scattered in horror at the sight of the guns.

"Damnit," Marc screamed. "I lost him."

Chris didn’t even get a chance to look at Williams. "What’s he wearing?" he asked as he scanned the crowd.

"Blue t-shirt, black jeans and black Nikes," Marc answered. A muzzle flash streaked in the darkness, before they even heard the shot. The storefront window behind them shattered into pieces.

"Jesus," Marc yelled, nearly sinking to his knees. Both men dove down and took cover behind Chris’ Navigator.

So here they were, pinned behind parked cars, shooting it out with Williams.

"Unreal," Marc babbled. "He’s wanted all over the freak’n` country and he goes out for Chinese."

"Man’s gotta eat," Chris replied.

"Williams, give it up man. FBI," Marc yelled across the street. The perp sent another round of bullets for an answer.

"How much ammo can he possibly have?" Marc asked.

Chris shrugged his shoulders and said, "Where the hell’s the backup? They should’ve been here by now." As soon as he’d had closed his mouth, they could hear sirens wail off in the distance.

"About freak`n time,” Marc chimed in, and yelled, “You hear that Williams, here comes your ride.” This time there was no reply. Marc’s eyebrows raised in suspicion as he waited several minutes for a response. He finally risked a look over the hood. Williams fired. Marc went down, hitting the ground hard.

Chris froze for a moment as a chill shuddered through his body.

"Marc," he yelled, and rushed over. "Marc," he called again. His friend was lying face down on the pavement, and didn’t stir. Chris turned him over, fearing the worst while Williams’ hysterical laughs echoed from across the street.

Marc’s face was bloody. His forehead sported a two inch cut just below his hairline. Marc moaned and finally opened his eyes. Disoriented, he tried to get up.

"Easy, buddy. You got grazed in the head."
Marc touched his forehead and noticed the blood.
Chris handed him his handkerchief, shaking his head in anger. "That’s what you get for sticking your damn head up. He could’ve killed you."

"Oh, I’m pissed off now," Marc groaned. He pulled himself into a sitting position, still dizzy from the blow.

Chris sighed with relief, thankful his partner was all right. "Well, at least we know he’s still holed up over there," he concluded.
They heard Williams laugh again. He yelled, "Come and get me pigs!"

Chris was beginning to think the guy was on drugs. The perp was sure too damn giddy.

The first of many sheriffs’ cruisers finally roared into view. Williams blasted them a fiery welcome. The driver blocked off the road and brought the car to a stand still. Two deputies poured out through the side door and used the cruiser as a shield.

Marc thought he recognized one of them, and hollered, "Hey, McPrice." He regretted that decision immediately, as he was rewarded with a devil of a headache. Marc sucked air into his lungs, and his face turned just a little paler.

"Yeah, who wants me?" A hesitant answer came from behind the cruiser.

"Welcome to our party. It’s Special Agent Marc Cullen, FBI."

"Don’t forget about me, pig!" Williams chimed in.

Marc cringed, then said, "I’m gonna go around the long way and have a chat with the Sarge."

Chris nodded. "Watch your ass."

Marc grinned for an answer and took off. He dashed from car to car until he came about the backside of the patrol car.

"Don’t shoot me," he hollered at the cops.

They had seen him coming. Sergeant McPrice looked at Marc’s head. "Shit, you need an ambulance?" he asked concerned.

"I could use a bandage and an aspirin," Marc replied.

McPrice glanced at his partner. The young deputy nodded and left to get the first aid kit.

"So, what the hell you got going here?" McPrice asked. He nearly had to scream the question, as a half dozen more patrol cars rushed onto the scene, with their sirens singing a maddening concerto.

Marc waited to answer, until the racket finally died down. His head felt as if it was about to explode. "The cocky prick that just shot your patrol car up," Marc paused.

"Yeah?"

"It’s none other than Edgar Allen Williams."

The sergeant’s face suddenly glowed. "That bastard, I’ll have his ass for putting holes in my car."

"Don’t get too excited, I got first dibs on him. After all, he nearly blew my head off."

The deputy finally returned, settled next to Marc and searched through the first aid kit. He selected the right sized bandage for the wound. Marc, impatient as ever, wanted to apply it himself and took it from the deputy. He glanced into the mirror of the patrol car and cleaned and bandaged the cut.

"There, I think I’ll live," Marc said with a grin. He then took an aspirin package from the first aid kit.

McPrice reached for a bottle of water in his side door. He handed it to the agent.

"Now, how do you want to play this?" the sergeant asked, while he watched Marc swallow the aspirin.

"Let’s smoke him out. We’ll see how fast he’ll give it up. We want to bring him in alive, Mac. So have your men stand-down."

"We’ll set up a perimeter. If he tries to sneak out the back way, we’ll know."

"Nah, I’m pretty sure he’s trapped over there,” Marc said, then added, “One thing, though, I think the guy’s high on something. So keep your eyes open."

"I hear ya," McPrice replied. He handed Marc a portable radio that was set on their channel of communication. "It’s your show; you tell me when to move."

"I need another favor," Marc said. "Williams caught us off guard. I need to borrow two Kevlar’s from you."

McPrice nodded. "No problem, I’ll give you two gas masks, too." The Sergeant turned around and instructed the deputy to get the bulletproof vests.

"Who’s with you?"

"Chris is holding down the fort," Marc replied. The deputy returned with the requested items. Marc nodded in appreciation. He took one of the vests and put it on right away, then asked, "Mind if I take the water?"

"It’s yours. Watch yourself on the way back," McPrice said.

Marc nodded again, and then snuck away the same way he came.

*

"What took you so long? I thought you got shot down again, and I was going to look for your corpse," Chris complained, upon his friends return.

Marc snickered. He handed Chris the vest and a gas mask.

"Williams hasn’t moved," Chris said, as he slipped into the vest.

"Well, Mac’s going to shoot some tear gas right up his ass," Marc said. He pulled the gas mask over his head, and left it dangling around his neck. Marc glanced at his partner and waited until Chris was ready.

"Ok, Mac. Let` er rip," Marc spoke into the radio.

Minutes later, two gas canisters flew across the street and landed two feet from the doorway. The wind picked up the fumes and blew the gas in William’s direction. Within seconds they heard the perp erupt into a massive cough and gagging spell. He finally screamed something incomprehensible, and ran out of the doorway. Williams dropped to his knees, using his hands to cover his tearstained face.

Marc trained his weapon on the man, while his partner patted him down. Chris found a .22 caliber pistol hidden in Williams’ sock and a Swiss army knife in his pants back pocket. Chris shook his head, cursing. The perp was well armed, and ready for any trouble. He handed Marc the weapons, then cuffed Williams in a hurry.

"I’ll look for the automatic," Marc said. It didn’t take him long to find it. Williams had dropped it in the doorway, since he’d spent all of his ammunition.

Chris guided the prisoner into the back of the Navigator, and then turned to look at Marc.

"Let’s stop by the hospital. He needs his eyes checked, and you need your head stitched up. You’re still bleeding," Chris said.

Marc’s face went sour. He opened his mouth to argue.

"Hey, I don’t want any arguments from you," Chris said, pointing at his friend. "And, by the way, I’m picking the restaurants from now on."


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