Path of Ranger: Volume 1 (7 page)

JB noticed a sparkling electricity cable lying near the broken pillar. He slowly walked backward and negligently shoved the cord towards the pool of gas with his foot. In a few seconds, some of the sparkles fell into the gas puddle. JB didn’t watch anymore, he turned his back to those who wronged him. In a matter of moments, the car got absorbed with flames, the screams from inside were not louder than whispers to the gangster’s ear. He got on his motorcycle and went on.

The sirens sounded from far away. Police, firemen, ambulances, any possible service would soon would be there, although the last one would not be much use to anybody.

JB turned the bike around, when passing the backup car, he dropped the gun to one of the guys through the window. The other gangsters left the crime scene right after him.

The police were closer and closer. Jerry couldn’t go to the base, neither he couldn’t go home, that option would be even worse. The gun was taken care of, but he was driving an unregistered motorcycle. So he had to get rid of that as well, as soon as possible, and disappear from the neighborhood. He turned abruptly to the narrow alley, where he passed trash containers, some boxes, and other junk. Any path was safe where the cops couldn’t go through. JB needed to get to the pier where he could dispose of that motorcycle for good.

The destination was not too far, just a few more blocks. Bridgers reached the crossroad with the road that was leading to the pier, he just had a couple minutes left to the finish. Suddenly two police cars appeared behind him.

“Stop the vehicle!” a loud voice sounded from the speaker. “I repeat! Stop! Now!”

It went all over JB’s mind how they managed to get there so fast. It was like they knew where he was, the conspiracy paranoia got to him as it happened quite often lately. The motorcyclist stepped on the gas some more to elevate that insane speed even higher. He won some distance on the next couple blocks and went on to the seafront. Then he turned to the pier, switched lanes to the opposite one and increased his speed as high as he was able to. Several military class transportation vehicles appeared in front of him, so he had to bypass them with an extreme maneuver, which ended with riding on the sidewalk. Usually, there were lots of people at the pier during the evenings, but that night it was full of them. But Bridgers didn’t stop. Counting only on a dumb luck, he flashed through the crowd.

At first, JB didn’t understand why so many people were there since the curfew was on, but soon he saw the ferries that were sailing near the coast to evacuate the people. Although they were an obstacle for him to get through, he found in them an excellent cover to get away from the chase.

The last turn he took led him to the pier itself. It was the finish line. The road's end laid in about fifty yards ahead. JB was signaling as hard as he could for people to get out of his way. It was it, he pushed the gas for the last time, then he stood up on the foot pegs. The rest of the road in front of him was clear. Bridgers made a keen throw backward and leaped off the bike. The vehicle darted off the pier into the water. The big guy fell to the hard ground from where he kept rolling and rolling till his body was out of the initial velocity. All confused, beaten up, and covered in dirt and blood, he tried to walk it out. He wasn’t sure about what happened to the bike, where it landed. Every thought of his was all about getting out of that place.

An angry crowd gathered around the gangster, they were watching and whispering, but no one dared to come close. The talking and whispering were gradually transforming into disturbance and indignation. Some of the people were shouting at JB, but he couldn’t hear a thing, his head had taken a hard hit and the hearing was still blocked by an inner ringing. Soon he started getting back to his senses. He raised up on the feet. The ringing and vertigo were passing with each next second. The crowd’s attitude didn’t worry him much. But when his hearing returned he noticed that the familiar sirens were getting closer. The police cars were already on the waterfront; the gangster didn’t have much time. He ran along the pier to mix with the crowd, but it was impossible while he looked like he did.

People were watching the big guy running, none of them knew what was happening, but the interest grew. JB took off his jacket right on the run to dump it into the water, he did the same to the bloody t-shirt. All that had left on his torso were a ragged bulletproof vest covered in bullet dents from and a white singlet under it. He opened all of the clasps and instantly felt an enormous relief in the chest. It felt as he got rid of a colossal weight that was pressing on him forever. The used means of protection followed the other parts of JB’s outfit.

The policemen who were chasing JB arrived at the pier, four uniforms appeared from those two cars. They looked at the confused crowd, but the suspect wasn’t there anymore. Two of them went closer to the people to look around, ask some questions. Another two were searching those spots where JB dumped his clothes. Their efforts didn’t pay off: the suspect was gone, same as his motorcycle, the vest, and the clothes. Everything had drowned.

The cops were perplexed and angry. Just a few minutes before they were chasing the guy, and soon after he disappeared from the pier, which had a single exit controlled by them. After some more time of unsuccessful search, they gathered near their cars to have a discussion. The talk didn’t last for long, soon three law servants went back into their vehicles. The last one walked aside, he made sure of his solitude and pulled out a cell to make a call.

There were lots of yellow cabs around that area, in fact, most of the cars were. So it wouldn’t be hard to find a shelter inside one of them, like JB did. It wasn’t cheap though; the taxi driver took a thousand dollars to keep him safe. From there, the gangster gained a good point to watch the policeman who was talking over the phone. He recognized the guy, it was one of the locals, Officer Mentenny. The gang had an agreement with this exact law servant that meant to protect them from police intrusion. Yet he didn't.

One more time JB got lucky to avoid what was coming to him. He stopped watching the cops and turned to the cab driver.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Where to?” the wheelman asked.

“Just drive. Hurry up.”

While they were riding along the coast, JB saw a whole convoy of law enforcement vehicles rushing towards the pier. The sirens ruined once peaceful streets. Adrenaline still pumped in the veins, which was bringing some insane ideas to his mind. The shadow of a revenge wish kept coming back to him over and over. But he almost died twice during last hour. His chest burned in pain after the shooting and his limbs suffered after the fall. He had enough adventure for one day. It was time to let go. He looked back one more time to make sure that there nobody followed them. It seemed fine. By that time, they went far away from Lower Compton.

JB gave an address to the driver and they slowly kept rolling on that empty road.

The night streets led JB to his home. The yellow cab parked in front of the house. The big guy paid the driver what had been promised and left the car. The cab moved on.

Bridgers didn’t plan to go inside the building, just straight to the garage to take that Caddy with the cash. He looked terrible: all dirty, bruised, with damaged clothes and dry blood everywhere on them. The shower would be a great use for sure, but he thought it might be dangerous to stay there for a long time. He felt quite well, in general, the cocaine and adrenalin sunken into his blood partially blocked the pain. Still, he had to take care of himself. It was time to clean up.

Soon after coming into the garage JB reached the Escalade. Suddenly that strange, suspicious feeling got to him again. He stopped near the car, looked around. He was defenseless and he knew it.

If someone were following him, it would be best to deal with it right away, but he couldn’t kill the intruder where he lived. Moreover, he didn’t want to hurt anyone, there was enough blood for one day. The best way was to take a car and lose the tail, JB thought. Nevertheless, he wasn’t sure if there even was a tail or just his own imagination.

Putting himself together, JB took a spare key from under the truck since the main one had drowned along with the jacket. He unlocked the vehicle, went to the front passenger door, opened it, and reached inside to take a small metal box under it. Another “Desert Eagle” firearm was inside, just like the old one. There were four fully loaded magazines along with the gun. JB hurried to charge the pistol and shoved it behind his back. An extra bullet went to stay on the seat by and the box – under it. Before leaving the car, JB bent towards the steering wheel to turn on the engine. Then he moved to the rear door, where he found his brand new bulletproof vest and rushed to put it on. As soon as he was armed and protected he felt a great relief, as if he became complete again.

Still, his appearance wasn’t good enough to drive around the city. The chance to be checked by the police during the curfew was too big, especially near the airport. JB opened a middle glove box, from which he took a paper bag with brand new wide t-shirt, blue jeans, blue ‘Los Angeles Dodgers’ baseball cap and a pack of wipes. He always kept as much emergency supplies as he could, wherever he could.

The big guy looked at himself in the side mirror, his face and neck were covered in blood. He pulled out a couple of wipes from the pack to start rubbing the skin, cleaning up the dry stains of blood and filth. Then he took an antiseptic and a handkerchief from the same glove box. He wet the hanky with medicine to process all of the wounds as a matter of stopping blood and prevention of infection. After the dirt had been cleaned out, JB looked like a regular citizen once again. Although he still had those visible bruises on the upper forehead and the shoulders. He used a new white do-rag to cover his head and a t-shirt to take care of the rest of his body. The biker pants were replaced with a pair of blue jeans. He felt more free and comfy right away. The old pants went under the rear seat; they were too precious for him to trash them out. As for the rest of the old clothes, he put them into the paper bag and left it on the ground for the time being.

The red leather gumshoes that he wore were in extreme need of cleaning too. It took him about five minutes and every last wipe he had left to clean up those shoes. When everything was ready, JB picked up the paper bag, put the used wipes inside and walked to the nearest trash can. He dropped the bag into the trash, poured antiseptic over it and lit that all up with couple of matches. The flames burst upwards.

Before rolling on, JB looked under the front seat, the gray bag with cash was there, just like had he left it. He closed the door and went around the truck for the driver seat. After getting in the gangster locked all doors instantly to make sure of his safety. The garage was lit, but the present illumination wasn’t nearly enough to see everything. So JB turned on the headlights to look at the car, which he suspected to be watching him. Nobody was in there, or nearby. He was alone.

Bridgers rubbed his eyelids to take off some tension in the eyes. He was tired. He looked up again and prepared himself for the movement. The SUV’s interior lights faded and driver slightly pressed on the gas pedal. The truck moved forward.

The white Cadillac Escalade went out of underground parking space. It slowly followed the road, JB was watching the rearview mirror expecting the tail behind him. But after a half of block was passed the mystery follower of JB’s imagination didn’t show up. No matter how much the paranoia was proven wrong, those thoughts wouldn’t go away easily. He considered the possibility that the spy might have left the car outside and began following him in the garage on feet. Going straight to the airport could bring the tail with him. Paranoia kept thriving. He didn’t have much time though, the plane had to launch in two hours. It was the only flight that could guarantee the gangster safety. Search-free and with his guy inside.

The bypass road around the city was a whole different thing than inner streets. It was full of motion. All entrances were blocked, none could ride in, only out. All who arrived at the city border had to turn back or wait while the curfew to be over. JB along with a dozen of other cars reached the roadblock. The feeling of insecurity came back to him.

At first the roadblock seemed as quite a dangerous obstacle on his way to the freedom, the gangster supposed that vehicles were searched there. But after a few cars passed it quickly, he saw that it was just a traffic control.

Some more time still had left. JB had to use it effectively. So he tried to accomplish two objectives at once: get to the destination faster and to once more make sure if there anyone was following him. The highway was the fastest way to the airport. It was just the place to speed up and look if there anyone would do the same. JB thought of it as a good plan, but instantly he doubted himself and his suspicious imagination. Maybe there was no tail…

Such a nervousness was a part of Bridgers his whole life. And he had enough reasons for it. He moved to LA at a young age and soon walked into a cold world of crime. Then he went up among other gangsters, all the way to leading the entire gang. He had to keep that thin balance between life and death, not only his own but his people’s too. Every day brought new challenges, new troubles, new ways of doing things. Many years he was under lots of pressure, and most of them he remained just a teenager. A few scars on his personality were left during those years.

After giving up the business and all the pressure that came with it, JB felt an abyss inside. For the first time in years he was one step away from acquiring real freedom. But the pressure became a drug for him, and a freedom felt as something alien and strange. His hand was reaching to the pistol grip, and his soul was tearing towards Lower Compton, which meant a genuine home to him. He was ready to give up his life for it with no second thought. Maybe that psychological aspect was the reason for paranoia. Subconsciously JB didn’t want to leave his old dangerous life, full of adventures, for which according to his opinion he was born for.