John Wick: Embers Ch. 04

The rain was just beginning to let up as the tires screeched and a layer of rubber was laid down. The two old friends taking off down the street. As expected, a man stepped out of an alley and boldly walked to the edge of the sidewalk just as they were passing. He coldly looked into Elisa's face, their eyes locking for a breath of a moment. In his hand was a gun which he raised and fired a bullet that missed her and instead went through the front windshield directly between John and Elisa.

"Anyone you know?"

"Not personally." she answered looking back through the back window and seeing the shooter get into an SUV that was accompanied by two other cars. It was true that she had not ever met this assassin before, but she had seen him. After the death of Harun's father, many of the ambitious and money hungry had come out of the wood-work. Some were assassins of great notoriety and skill, while others were of the lowest common denominator. One such piece of shit was the only surviving brother of the Marquis, Andre Gramont. His own brother the Marquis had not seen him as worthy enough to elevate his status leaving him a junkyard dog aching for a fight to prove his value. He might have tried to avenge his brother's death, but you cannot avenge yourself on a 'dead' man. "I believe his last name is Gramont." At the sound of that name John looked at her then turned his dark eyes back to the road. "Know it?"

"Yeah."

Andre was not as suave or sophisticated as the Marquis. He was a butcher in his own right, but he lacked the panache of his brother or the power to manipulate others into being cut throats for him. If he wanted to rise, or even surpass his brother, then his best option was to seek out and kill the rightful heir to the seat above the high table and take it for himself. Of course that also meant taking out Azhdaya which would be a feather in any assassin's cap. If killing John Wick was the gold medal prize, then Elisa Drake was the silver and her son was an unfortunate bastard that needed to be removed from any possible succession. If he had to, he would lay both their heads before the high table to ensure that The Elder's seat was now his.

"Where to?" John asked, as calmly as one would order a hamburger through a drive through window.

"To the stars," she instructed just as calmly. He turned and looked at Elisa, their eyes meeting as she popped the magazine into her glock then pulled the slide back before tossing it into his lap. She then took the second gun and did the same, readying herself.

Racing down the street, they were a modern day Bonnie and Clyde intent on evading bullets while making their getaway. There were only two rules and they were simple: 1: you don't stop unless you either escape or you're dead, and 2: Take as many of them with you as possible. Looking through the back windshield Elisa could see the would-be assassin leaning out and seating himself on the passenger window, a Tavor 5.56 assault rifle in his hands and aiming right at them. In a burst of fire the back glass of the firebird was shattered.

"Red is too flashy." John commented in reference to her car's color while never taking his eyes off the street in front of him.

"Wasn't it your nice dark Mustang that got Ioseph Tarasov's attention and started all this bullshit?"

Instantly John gave the steering wheel a hard yank to the right, squealing the tires as the back end whipped around before dashing directly in front of another vehicle and down into an alley. Headlights suddenly appeared on the other side barrelling towards them. John immediately sent the car into reverse only to look back and see the way was blocked by a city bus. The two old friends ducked down into the seats bracing for impact which swiftly came. One of Andre's men leapt from their car and onto the firebird, but before he could turn his rifle at his query, Elisa started shooting, the bullet punching through the windshield and into his chest. Shock went through him, first from the wound then from the sight of a very alive Baba Yaga behind the wheel. This entire realization took less than a second as Elisa sent another bullet through his head.

As the body dropped, John punched the gas pedal to the floor, the gear still sitting in reverse. It was a fool that waited to see if another gunman would appear and they were the furthest thing from a fool. The tires once more laid down a layer or rubber and smoked as they screeched into action. Their assailant rolled off the car and onto the pavement serendipitously blocking his comrades' vehicle. For John and Elisa luck was back on their side as the bus moved out of the way, releasing the Pontiac from its confinement. John once more gave the wheel a hard turn getting back onto the street they had started from, backing into a parked car in the process.

"So, now that you're dead, how's life on the other side?" she asked as she turned to look out her window and see if they were still being followed.

"It's good."

Throwing the shifter back into drive they took off but were quickly met by one of the pursuing cars coming up alongside them. Not backing down, John swerved into its side pushing it until it went over the line towards oncoming traffic.

"Window." Elisa said calmly. John pressed the button lowering the driver's side glass as coolly as anyone just wanting a bit of fresh air. "Head," she followed up with and without hesitation John pressed his head as far back against the headrest. Elisa turned to John's window and began firing on the other vehicle hitting the passenger in the temple then the driver in the hand. With the injured hand the driver could no longer push back against the Pontiac and prevent themselves from going into the opposite lane smashing into oncoming cars.

The two old friends continued on, pushing every ounce of speed out of the Firebird that they could. Even so, the third SUV came up behind them and then moved in front of them. John used the left edge of the Firebird's bumper to press against the right edge of the attackers car causing it to spin and slam into another car. Seeing it had stopped, the Pontiac also stopped. John handed Elisa back the gun she had tossed at him then watched as she jumped out of the vehicle. She ran straight for the disabled car and fired bullets into the driver's window killing him. She then opened the door and proceeded to continue firing on the passenger and the shooter who thought he was hidden in the back seat. Satisfied, she ran back to the Firebird and got back in.

"Drive," she said.

John didn't need to be asked twice and once more stomping the gas they took off down the street. For thirty minutes they drove around, their eyes searching for the three vehicles that had chased them, but they never appeared. Neither spoke, all their senses on full alert. When she finally felt safe again, Elisa started giving directions to John, one road at a time, never once telling him the destination.

Eventually they turned off into a wooded area, the road no longer paved, but rather two deeply worn dirt ruts. Even then he still wasn't sure where they were going until they came around a bend and a house appeared. It was a two-story log cabin with rustic features, but also modern clean lines with large picture windows. He pulled up in front of a large detached garage and stopped the car. The two got out and looked over the car and all its damage before John handed Elisa back her keys. There were bullet holes, smashed bumpers and the rear and front windshield was long gone.

"Think it will buff out?" Elisa asked, assessing what was left of her precious cherry red Pontiac Firebird.

"Yeah, sure." John answered. His own Sixty-Nine Mustang had long ago been demolished when he attempted to reclaim it from one of the Tarasov chop shops.

"I'll make a call to Aurelio."