2007-09-14: Run Through


Jessica_icon.gif Niki_icon.gif

Guest Starring:

The Suits



Summary: The getaway from the men who spotted Niki/Jessica at the casino does not go smoothly.

Date It Happened: September 14th, 2007

Run Through

Las Vegas, Nevada

The trek down the stairs into the parking garage underneath the Royale is brisk but casual: blend in, get lost among the other casino-goers. Running away? Not this blonde. Nothing to see here. A few people, two couples, journey down ahead of her, but when they enter the underground garage, Jessica veers sharply away from them and takes off at a run toward a gleaming car the colour of polished gunmetal, a rented Nissan 350z with the top down. The sharp, sound of her boots on the cement floor, echoing stridently, are impossible to muffle — but save for the pair of couples heading for their own luxury cars, she seems to be alone. For now.

She gets in, shuts the door, throws her purse in the passenger seat, starts up the car and pulls out of the spot in a hurry; the tires squeal and she's gone.

* * *

Deja vu. Outside, the convertible rolls quickly along the strip between the Royale and the King's Hotel. There's a plaque affixed to the front of the casino, beside the grandiose entrance: a memorial to those who lost their lives when the accidental explosion during the heist (they left that part out) struck the facade of the casino in May of 2007.

Gone. But not forgotten. The Suits are, as it were, hot on her trail. Considering the fact that they were waiting outside of the parking garage in their less than inconspicuous vehicle. The moment the convertible rolls out and onto the strip, they pull off behind it. With the convertible's speed being more than a general cruise, the Suits find themselves unable to pull off the usual tailing tactics. Instead, they are going to have to follow much closer and weave when she weaves, if they're going to catch her.

This would be an ideal time to swear, but Jessica is too focused to even do that. Her expression says it all when she shoots a fast and critical glance to the rearview mirror. As the convertible leaves the casino-and-hotel in the past, its driver grips the steering wheel with a literal vice grip, making violent but effective turns around everything that gets in her way — in other words, traffic. So far she's hardly breaking any road rules except for pushing the Strip's speed limit more and more by the second, but she's not past it by a long shot. That less than inconspicuous vehicle is too close on her tail.

For reference, it's a Ford POS. Which means that it's good enough to keep up and maybe even catch the convertible, but there will be no contest when it comes to the long distance escape. The Suits are going to have to put her down. And put her down fast. So they shift off to the side, weaving around another couple cars and pour on the speed. Yes, they're about a lane over and literally trying to catch up to be alongside her. The window of the passenger side rolls down and out comes a hand with a gun. Shots are sent off in the direction of Jessica and her car!

Crap. With a screech of tires being forced to do something they don't want to do, the roadster weaves off to the far side of its lane as Jessica instinctively ducks down in the driver's seat. Close call. Bullets slam into the side of the rental. She swerves around the car ahead of her — which actually brings her closer to the men in suits for a few seconds, but where else is she going to go? The crowd's too thick off the road to swerve into. Jessica keeps low in the frustratingly open car as the need for speed becomes obvious. Must go faster.

In her haste, and with the listing of the car as she was weaving in and out, a few items have spilled out of Jessica's purse (Niki's, if you wanna be technical) onto the smooth burnt orange leather of the passenger seat. A cell phone is among them, shiny and red and… ringing. Like she needed another distraction.

The Suits are not exactly in the business of being worried about what happens to rental cars. As the convertible looks like it's speeding up, they do the same. The gunman pulls himself into the car and the Ford POS is sent on a collision course with the side of the convertible. Obviously, at this speed and this angle, these guys are clearly trying to run this woman off the road. Where are the police in all of this? Who knows. It's Las Vegas. Do police even exist in this neck of the woods?

If the police exist, they're going to have a tough job getting to Jessica and her pursuers in time. Everything happens too fast.

By now, as people look in their rearview mirrors and realize something is not quite right on the road, cars start to veer off to the side to get out of the way, inasmuch as they can in a place as teeming as this. Bonus: Jessica can hurtle down the Strip. Negative: so can the Ford, and it's headed straight for her. The vehicles touch, scrape, jostle. The Nissan has speed on its side, and the woman at the wheel isn't a shabby driver. They're not going to run her off the road just yet if Jessica has any say in her fate. With a burst of speed, for the moment, she has the upper hand… or so she'd like to believe.

All the while, the cell phone rings on with its generic musical tone, oblivious to the life-or-death race, not quite drowned out by the low roar of the engine and the Vegas chaos. She should ignore it. Crush it. Throw it out the window. But with a look to kill, she swipes it off the seat, flips it deftly open and tries not to freaking crash and die while she answers it.

PHONE: Jessica answers, after letting the phone ring and ring and ring and ring. Instantly, everything is loud. Engine, whipping wind, unidentifiable shouts, music… and a voice, injected with so much anger it practically jumps through the phone. "Kinda busy. If you call one more time— "

PHONE: Peter might actually be rather surprised when the phone finally gets answered. Days of trying to call and now— anger. Snappy voice. Definitely not Niki. "Jessica. Damnit." There'd probably been hope to talk to Niki first, but she's going to hang up on him from the sound of it, and threaten to kill him over the phone most likely. "I'm trying to call you about your husband! Niki's husband."

PHONE: Jessica is silent for a moment — out of surprise? No, the sound of engines revving fills the space. "I'm waiting."

PHONE: Peter doesn't wait anymore. Jessica might not be the one he wanted to tell, but… "He's alive. I don't know how, but he's alive."

Both of the Suits are silent in their pursuit. Which can be a good thing or a bad thing. Maybe they're just focused on what they should be doing. Or maybe they're just trying to make sure everything goes according to plan. Since, well, this particular method isn't exactly part of the plan. It's more of an improvisational venture to assist with the destruction of this woman. And her car. Or mostly, just the woman. But whatever. Speeding up and veering off to get behind the Nissan, this Ford POS rams at the back of the car and puts that massive amount of horsepower into effect. If they can just get her to crash… all will be well.

Jessica looks like she's about to throw the phone down - if she's even paying attention to the other line, it's a miracle. The woman's blue eyes reflect in the mirror as she keeps a close watch on the Ford, glinting sharply, coldly. As the other vehicle hones in, she's ready for it. A turn there, a swerve here. She has it mapped out. She can ride out the crash up over the curb, jump out of the car, make her getaway.

As she listens to the voice on the other end of the phone - or rather, starts to comprehend what it's saying - Jessica's eyes start to get heavy, as is she's suddenly fogged under by a sedative. Mascara-framed lashes flutter and fight; her confident grip on the steering wheel slackens; the phone drops out of her hand, falling off her thigh, between the seats. Cloudy, confused eyes fight to focus on something in the speeding blur as Niki is jarred into control, in a cold sweat almost instantly.

Terrified, there's nothing she can do. There's no time to turn. The Nissan is thrust straight toward the front of an establishment boasting itself as "The Neptune Cafe". A giant merman with a neon trident welcomes visitors off the Strip. This wasn't exactly what they had in mind.

PHONE: Niki or Jessica… there's no reply other than a loud thump screech of metal, ear-splitting crash and distant shouts and screams. The phone stays on, but everything becomes muffled.

PHONE: Peter pauses for quite some time, listening to the sound, flinching from hundreds of miles away. "Hello? Jessica? Niki? Are— are you okay?" Shouts and screams wouldn't be a good sign at all.

The Neptune Cafe is always the best place to eat when in Las Vegas. There's never a dull moment and it never closes. So when the Nissan comes crashing into the sign that is the giant Merman with a devilish grin on his face, holding his trident threateningly at those that dare to drive past… there's quite a few things that go wrong. Or on.

Sparks fly and people on the sidewalk scatter without so much as a second thought of self-preservation. People dive, scream and generally shove at each other to get themselves out of the way. Except for one lone, hooded figure that actually stands their ground, head bowed as they take in the sight of the woman in the vehicle.

The giant merman tilts, shifting its weight and creaking from pressure put on it. Though, it doesn't fall. It's sturdy enough to keep itself upright. The trident, on the other hand, was only held in place by a small latch. A latch that has come undone since the ramming of the sign.

The next thing happens pretty fast. Slipping from the merman's predetermined grip, the trident gets a push from gravity and falls. The angle is important, as it drops in a diagonal fall towards the windshield.. the glass… the driver's seat…

Completely, utterly unprepared for the wild ride — and more importantly, its finale — Niki is tossed about like a ragdoll when the car collides with the sign. Jessica was a bad girl, in too much of a hurry for a seatbelt. Whipped forward and back again in the pandemonium of bursting airbags and crumpling car-parts, her eyes squeeze shut, oblivious to the looming trident. Niki's head falls back against the seat. Already, she tries to start moving, to get out, to run, but she's jolted and out of sorts and barely seems like she has a handle on consciousness. Not that it matters. She doesn't have time to move more than inches. She looks straight up, eyes wide—

PHONE: Peter continues to repeat, growing a little more worried with each extended pause of silence, "Niki?" Crashing, engine, screams. This is why people shouldn't talk on the phone while driving.

PHONE: Niki doesn't — or can't — answer. There's a strange creak that gets louder and louder, a shattering of glass…

The merman's trident crashes straight into the windshield, shattering it in violent spiderwebs. Its momentum doesn't stop there. Niki's eyes seem pinned open, her expression caught in a state of perpetual, horrible shock. The wicked middle tine of the trident skewers the seat of the car. The whole vehicle lurches.

The trident passes straight through Niki's chest.

To Be Continued...

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License