Weecho: First Shots

Chapter 1 - Hot Pics

Soul Patch whipped around and Weecho started backstepping. The two men jumped into the SUV. Weecho spun around and took off, just him and them, no one else in sight. 

Weecho darted a look back, saw the SUV coming fast, ran harder, swerving, Nikes do your number. The SUV tires were squealing right behind him, cutting back and forth every time he did. He jumped over a pile of trash, they plowed right through it.  

This wouldn’t end nice if he didn’t do something different. With their bumper maybe two feet off his tail, Weecho faked left, spun right, did a one-eighty and bee-lined back for the wreck. 

Headed for the truck cab. If he could get past the rig, there wasn’t room for them to get by in the SUV. If they chased him on foot, it’d be at least even, him being on the small side and quick. Able to get into places they couldn’t. He dove under the cab and crawled for where he could see it was clear, still keeping hold of the camera. Halfway through, he heard a terrible sound coming from the wrecked Mercedes. 

A high-pitched cry, a woman in pain.   

He scrambled through and stood up, could hear the SUV pull up on the other side of the trailer, heard the doors open and the two guys jump out. 

Heard the truck guy say, “He’s over there.”   

Soul Patch saying, “Just pop the little pissant and get the camera.” 

Which got Weecho back on the run.   

The woman in the Mercedes cried out again.  

Which got truck guy looking her way. “I thought she was dead.”     

“Just get the kid,” Soul Patch said. “I’ll do this.” 

He dug some matches out of his pocket, struck one and tossed it at the wrecked Mercedes. Poof! A pool of leaking gas ignited.  

Weecho was halfway down the block when a siren sounded from up on the BQE. Somebody must have called 911. He looked back, saw the truck guy under the cab now, aiming at him with a pistol. Bam! The bullet pinged off something nearby. Weecho put a light pole between him and the gun and kept running. 

He knew they wouldn’t be staying there with cops on the way, ran a little further, heard the SUV doors slam, heard the tires peel out. 

He slowed down, waited to make sure they were gone, then ran back to the wreck. Could see even before he got there and crawled under the trailer that they’d set the Mercedes on fire, car leaking gas, feeding the flames. 

“Please… get me out.” The woman inside was still alive. “I can’t move.” 

Had to be feeling the heat. Weecho set the camera down away from the car, crawled over and looked through the half-opened door.  

She was wedged between the back seat and a big dark guy in a blood-soaked suit. He had to go 300 pounds and was dead. There was probably a driver but Weecho couldn’t see him. The woman’s legs were pinned by the crushed roof, which in a minute would be like a hotplate. She had one hand free and was reaching to him. 

“Please…” 

She was maybe twenty-five and had a face that even in the wreckage Weecho could see was beyond gorgeous. A face that it hit him he knew from someplace. 

He grabbed her hand and started to pull, stopped when she screamed in pain. He had to get that dead guy off her. Wriggled inside and grabbed the guy’s shoulders, couldn’t budge him, Christ, all that fat. Weecho weighed maybe one-thirty, fully fed.