This should have been apart of #7
Booker stepped from the taxi cab and onto the motel parking lot, paid the driver, walked a little ways, leaned against the only tree on the entire property – just outside the entrance – and slid down it. The exhaustion he felt was like a plastic bag over his head, tied at the neck, suffocating him. He drew breaths in rattling bursts as if he was hooked up to a nasal cannula and every inch of his skin either was bleeding or felt numb and dead. Leftover rain droplets that had percolated on the tree branches dripped down and spattered on him as he sat, electrifying him for a moment, reminding him that he was still there. Reminding him that he was still alive, for better or worse. And that he he had to do something. The information he had just overheard could influence the lives of thousands, maybe millions of people. Life and death hung in the balance. It hung on his shoulders, around his neck, and in his power. Congregations of future victims were held in his hands – fistfuls of them – and screamed for mercy.
He was a Themis, the goddess of justice, holding a pair of scales. He lives, he doesn't, he lives, he doesn't.
What can I do?
This was a catch-22. Booker was hemmed in by the law on one side and his Tong on the other. Both wanted him either dead or behind bars. And now he held a secret. A secret he could go to no one with. He couldn't report it to the government or life consisting of more than a ten by ten foot concrete cell's worth of walking space was over. It would be a bald scalps and orange jumpsuits for him. Sure, maybe they would knock a few years off of his double life sentence for aiding in the capture of prominent Black Dragon Tong leaders, but he would need one hell of a Fountain of Youth to ever see daylight again. They would be killing two birds with one stone. They would have him and Tsao.
Was it worth it?
Booker was tired of being the philanthropist. He was tired of putting others before himself. Screw goodwill, screw altruism, screw selfless acts of charity. He had been ready to give up Eva and Claire. He had been that close to throwing away the two good things about his life, for their sake. Not again. He couldn't do it again. He was only human, after all.
Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me...
But that made him just as bad as Tsao. Was he really willing to just stand by while Tsao gassed an airport? It wasn't the Tong leader's prerogative anymore, it was Booker's. Tsao wouldn't be the murderer if Booker turned the other way, he would be.
Booker leaned his head against the tree and fought back a sob. He didn't want this. This was a better man's job. His ass of a conscience was going to get in his way again and force him to give up his freedom. He knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't report the terrorist threat. He knew he would regret not stepping in, not mounting himself on a cross. This was his crown of thorns. Bleeding was a given.
And when Booker reported the terrorist threat, he would be tipping off each and every Black Dragon member in the process. They would all go to prison, from the lowest foot soldier to the richest drug dealer. And when paroled, every one of them would want revenge. Booker would be the anti-christ, the devil, public enemy number one. They would kill Eva and Claire. It was not a matter of “if”. Booker knew these people. They would kill his family while he rotted on a prison cot, unable to do anything to stop them.
But he still couldn't believe what he had heard. Vague words which spoke of Saudi Arabian terrorists and genetically engineered bacterium, and ransoms, and innocent dead men and women. These were things that only existed in the newspaper, or in far away countries which were removed and isolated and couldn't touch him in his air-conditioned faux paradise. Why would Tsao do something like this? It wasn't his style. Tsao wasn't a large scale man, he was the type of guy who stayed within well secured borders and established avenues of crime. This was one hell of a conversion. The Tong leader had gone from small-time extortion to mass kidnapping. And it just didn't make sense.
Booker also recalled the Tsao talking about Jin Lee. Did he have anything to do with this? Could his father have been involved as well? All war is deception, my jian. You win the battle by striking fast and striking with stealth. They never see it coming. They just stand there like those soldiers. You know the ones. Like the Terra Cotta army. Deception, my jian, makes statues out of the enemy. Maybe Jin Lee had planted the idea. Maybe his dream was merely being carried out by Tsao and the obscured voice over the speaker phone. It sounded like the old man. Extreme. Always extreme. He didn't care about the thousands. He cared about the one. And that was himself.
Booker felt his thigh vibrate warmly as his cell phone came to life. He hoped desperately it was Eva as he shakily flipped it open and pressed it to his ear. He just wanted to hear her voice. Just once...
“Yes?”
“I'm sorry to hear about the accident. Mercedes just don't go for pocket change these days. If you need our help buying a new one, just let me know. I'm always here to help.”
Booker was silent. It was Tsao.
Hang up! Something screamed inside of him.
“Before you hang up, Booker, I have something to tell you. I'm not sure how much of my conversation you overheard, but it was obviously enough for you to kill two men and total your car. And frankly, I don't care. You weren't supposed to hear any of it. It was for privileged ears only.” Tsao sighed, a crackling, staticky sound. “You can't be trusted, Booker. I know you. I knew you before you held your first gun and smoked your first cigarette. Actually, I met you the day you did both of those. Remember that? I can still picture the look on your face - ”
“You'll never get away with it, Tsao.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Booker's knuckles were white as he gripped the cell phone.
Finally, Tsao spoke,“And who the hell will stop me? You? Booker, you're not a hero. You have no right to be a hero. One good turn does not make up for a lifetime of crime and sin, as much as I hate to break to you. Deathbeds aren't for converting, they're for living some more. If you went to the FBI or whoever with this, you'd be locked away forever. Informants are as bad as the criminals, you know. Especially when they wear their rap sheet.”
“'The lives of the many, outweigh the lives of the few'”
“Do you have some sort of Savior's Complex or something? Do you want to get yourself killed? I don't think you understand any of this. There will be life after the airport. If you just keep your mouth shut, we can all get on with our lives when this is over with.”
Booker shook his head. “I'm hanging up.”
“We've got Eva.”
“What?” Booker asked dumbly.
“You heard me. And the kid. Just shut up and listen, hero.”
Eva's screaming voice drifted across the phone line, in complete hysterics. Booker pressed the phone harder against his ear and leaned forward, his heart pulping his ribcage and his face marble pale. “Eva!” he screamed. “Eva! You bastards, let her go!”
“Booker! They're going to kill her! They're going to kill her, for God's sake!” Eva's voice was drowned out by her own frantic sobs and gasps. Booker was on his knees, struggling forward through the grass, his lungs constricted as if someone had wrapped a fist around each one and was squeezing as hard as they could. They had Eva! Tsao had Eva. Booker collapsed in the parking lot, sobbing, trying to get up, trying to stand - trying to do something - but his muscles had failed him. All he could do was listen to Eva, her voice ricocheting in his ears, and all he could see was Tsao. Holding Eva. Holding her with a gun pressed against her head, breathing on her neck, whispering to her. Booker felt a surge of anger and helplessness and revenge and confusion.
They had Eva and Claire! They had his life. All it would take was one shot. Maybe two, and Booker would die. He would die across the phone line, prostrated in a motel parking lot. Bullets would fly passed the cell towers, with deadly accuracy, shatter his skull, and puncture his heart.
“Booker.”
Booker wanted to die. He wanted to get it over with. When he was gone, everyone would be better off. Eva and Claire would go free, Tsao would get his money, and the police would get a body.
No more Booker lee.
Now-I-am-and-now-I-ain't.
“Booker.”
“Go to hell, you bastard.”
“Booker, she doesn't need to die. Neither of them do.”
“Just kill me then!”
“No one needs to die.”
“What about the people in the airport?”
“Killing them is last resort. Eva and your child will be returned to you safely only if the attack is not interfered with. If we even see a hint of a SWAT team or any sort of search-and-destroy, we will kill both of them. The baby first. Eva will watch your child die. And then we will kill a hundred of the hostages as well, just in case you get any 'lives of the many' delusions. In twenty-four hours, Booker, I want you at the East Side drop point and we can all wait there together until it's done. If I get we get our money, everyone goes free. Got that?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I'll see you tomorrow then. I hope for your sake that everything goes well.”
Tsao hung up. Booker took the cell phone away from his ear and stared at it numbly. He had a choice now. The stakes had been raised. He had twenty-four hours to either barricade himself in his hotel room and save Eva or try to convince the authorities that they had a national security crunch on their hands and save people he didn't know, and probably never would.
It had started raining again. Booker stood up mechanically and headed for room 271.
The lives of the many, outweigh the lives of the few.
Booker wasn't so sure anymore.
Bear with me, I've had a long, busy day yesterday and not much sleep last night.
Just one will work.
lol Change the bolded part to something like "if Booker would report"
Poor Eva and Claire...Poor Booker. I'm anxious for the next part. ^^'
also I suggest putting these two sentences together.
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