Painted Lies 2

Everett had sent me the location of his hotel room. Gunshots got closer as I entered the door. 

“Were you followed?”

I pushed him into the wall and kicked the door shut. 

“What happened to being mates?” 

He joked, as he rubbed the back of his head. I thought you were behind me.

Was. 

I fell backwards onto the bed. I wanted to sleep but my eyelids refused to close. Knowing those gunshots were for me, it petrified me of shutting my eyes. Everett handed me a glass of water. After I gulped back half the glass, I slammed it on the bedside cabinet.

“Are you goin to explain yourself? Who the hell are those guys?”

Everett started pacing. I knew he was nervous. So he should be. I nearly got steam rolled by bullets. If this is how he treats mates, I hate to think what the opposite means.

“Those boys want me dead.”

Yeah, thought so. They thought I was you. Then, proceeded to shoot at me.

Everett reached over to his police radio. He turned it on and instantly, static filled the air. The radio waves went silent. 

Great. We have two morons trying to re-enact Columbine & no one wants to report on it. The police must be keeping it tight-lipped. What even happened to the group of them on Main Street? 

False flag?

“Why are they even after you?” I asked, sitting upright on the bed. 

Everett said nothing. He was still staring blankly at the radio, clenched in his fist. 

“Earth to Everett..”

It was close to 0430 and my head had transitioned into a thumping rock concert. I needed to leave this nightmare behind. The gunshots got closer as if they were out on Victoria Ave. How is anybody living through this? The radio spluttered back into life. Police Comms were asking for all units in the city. Confront the duo with courage. Where are they? I wonder. The gunshots seemed to have fizzled out. Have they run out of rounds?

All units.

The cry for help, yet no-one is responding. Were they all shot, prior?

All units, over.

No response. Someone fucking answer that radio.

I watched as Everett looked like he was going to keel over, under pressure. He was still sucking on the tip of the radio scanner aerial. I tried to study his face, but he was cowering in the dimly lit room. The scanner went quiet. More sirens filled the air. It sounded like an ambulance. I wonder if the police were rolling with the ambulance. The reason it tied this to Everett still eluded me. What did he do? Everett placed the scanner onto the table and went over to the kitchenette. The jug had already boiled. He asked if I wanted a coffee. I replied with that I wanted answers, but he clearly ignored that remark. He still made me a coffee, and it was strong. Guess I’m going to need it. The radio spluttered again.

All units.

Someone grumbled on the radio.

Where are you?

There’s life. There’s fucking life.

We got shot at.

No shit. Unlike you, I have two arseholes after me because they think I am a guy named Everett. Everett sat down heavily on the only armchair in the unit. He looked like a mess. Only a few hours ago were we all together, getting sloshed and playing beer pong and listening to good music. Everett was staring blankly. No way was he falling asleep and keeping me awake. On watch. I threw something at him.

“Stay awake!”

He jerked, then woke up, face scrunched up in disgust. He looked at me, then jumped. I stared him down. I reiterated my question to him. Why were they after me? Was i going to be the scapegoat. He sighed, took a swig from his cup. He looked me straight in the eye and confessed to being a bad boy.

No shit.

He shrugged.

Police Comms asked for a spare unit. They had some fresh intel from an informant who had seen a car escape after the first shoot out. Police Comms informed of a silver Ute with HBZ342–Hotel Bravo Zulu 3-4-2 skidding over the berm into Princess Street about three minutes after the first round of bullets. I looked over at Everett, eyes narrowed with anger. He had ditched me in his silver Ute and left me to defend for myself. Like I said earlier, whatever happened to being mates?

Static filled the air. A unit responded with an update on the owner of the silver Ute. The silver Ute was linked to a Levin address, that belonged to an Everett Grey.

Levin?

Everett didn’t even live in Levin. He wasn’t telling the whole story and he was withholding some information, as well.

Who would that be?

Everett told me to go into the bathroom. I obeyed. He crept to the door and opened it. I could hear two voices; both deep.

“Peasants!”

It was the two shooters. How are they connected? Why isn’t Everett being straight up with me?

“We did the deed,” the other shooter said, pushing past Everett.

What deed? I asked myself.

Everett tried to push him back outside, but the shooter thrusted the gun into his chest. He wasn’t escaping the shit storm just yet. The two shooters collapsed onto the bed. One of them eyed my cup. They looked at Everett.

“While we were shooting the place up,” the first one who likes to scream peasants, said. “This bastard was scheming on girls and probably had a quick one with them. Where is she?”

There’s no-one, pleaded Everett. The Peasant shooter touched the rim of the cup–it’s still hot. He sniffed the cup. Smells like booze.

Where is the person? He demanded. He stormed over to the closed bathroom door. I was foiled. He kicked the door open and the door burst off its hinges. I stood there, shit-scared.

Oh Everett, it’s him. The one you wanted dead.

Dead?

There was a bit of tussle, followed by some punches and jabs. Was my time up? Where would they take me? I don’t even know anything and they want me dead.

Shit.