Read The Fine Print


else_icon.gif rourke_icon.gif

Scene Title Read the Fine Print
Synopsis Sometimes it is too late to learn an important life lesson.
Date November 8, 2010

Highway 87

Near Yonkers, New York

It's hard to say how long they've been driving for. Mileage is deceptive, given the bumper to bumper traffic the whole way. The roads out of New York City are packed with cars wanting to leave, the stink of exhaust fills the air and cars glitter with fresh droplets of water from lightly drizzling rain in a line of glowing tail lights towards the horizon.

"Q," Else states as she stares out the passenger side window, head in one hand, blonde tangle of hair snaked around her fingers. The man at her side, Andy Rourke, either didn't hear or didn't care or didn't understand whatever it is she said. Both hands gripped tight on the steering wheel, he's anxious to get where they're going, especially when he can see the exit he's supposed to take up ahead.

"C'mon you bloody fucks!" Andy slams the heel of his palm against the horn, "Go!" His hands pull away from the steering wheel, both palms rub over his face, and he slouches back into the seat, exhaling a sigh into his palms. Else, at his side, shifts her eyes to look side-long at him, dark brown shadowed by thick lashes.

"Q," she reiterates more pointedly, this time making fleeting eye contact with Andy. He looks around, momentarily baffled, then looks to Else with brows furrowed.


"Q." Else repeats for the third time, expectantly.

"Wh— Oh, ah, bloody hell," his eyes suddenly sweep around, scanning the horizon until he spots something right in front of the truck. "Quebec license plate, nice try though, almos' had me lookin' for a Quaker or some'fin." It's a hesitant smile Andy affords the blonde, looking ahead to the traffic, even if his sigh is a bit less patient than he possible could be.

A long silence falls between the two, and for all her jovial nature, Else's look to Andy is more serious. "D'you think we shoul' really be leavin' when all this shit's goin' down? They might need us, I mean— Colette said tha' Susan's gone all bugfuck, we can't…" Cold feet seem a lot like doubting, and that puts Andy on edge.

"Look," he grates with a wave of one hand, "what'd we do for'em? You'n me don't have any fuckin' special powers tha's any god in a gunfight. If th' Government's comin' t'knock on our fuckin' doors, what's me'n you gonna' do 'cept get in the way. 'Sides… like… there's better things we could be doin'. Ferry's gone tits fuckin' up since the council was picked. Tits fuckin' up."

Else's dark eyes consider Andy in his frustrated rant, brows furrowed and chin coming to rest on her palm. "C," she queries, eyes halfway lidded and one brow raised. Andy turns, gripping his hands on the wheel tightly, as a sigh slips out through his nose. Convoy, like the green military trucks headed down the southbound lane comes to mind. But something else also does:

It's going to be a long half mile.

One Hour Later

Yonkers, New York

Away from the congested traffic and off of highway 87, the city of Yonkers has a much more rural feel to it. Leafless trees glitter with rainwater on their bark, scattered leaves filling front yards of residential buildings. It always puzzled Else, how Andy's plan for escape involved going a couple hours out of the city. It's not that she doesn't trust him, but perhaps the veracity of his plans.

"How much further'r we drivin' for? I mean… I know you said we were only goin' up t'Yonkers, but you packed like— all'a your stuff. I only brought a backpack." Else sits up straight in her seat, hands folded in her lap and backpack between her feet on the floor. Andy's answer is an askance look to Else, followed by the click-click-click of his right directional as he turns on to a narrow, one way street lined with bare trees.

"Buy some new stuff," is Andy's dismissive response, quickly followed by. "Tell me when y'see the bloody sign fer James L. Fleming Park. Yeah?" Ducking close to the steering wheel, Andy scans the sides of the road, watching street signs for any indication of his destination. Seeing some small measure of amusement in the task, Else begins scouting for sighs of the park, keeping her question of why they're headed there to herself.

After several long minutes of driving down the windy, one way street, Andy finally spots a sign for the Yonkers Nodine Community Center, below which a sign for the park is displayed. Turning in to the driveway, Andy begins scanning the empty parking lot, dark eyes sweeping between cars, checking over his shoulder, all the way up until he finds the narrow road out to the baseball fields.

By now Else's curiosity has gotten to the best of her, and when Andy parks the truck, she doesn't move to get out when he does. "Andy," is her stern chastisement, "what'n th'fuck's going on? Why'r we stopping here, I thought we were goin t'meet up with friends'f yours?"

Carefully, Andy jerks his head to the side and motions towards the baseball field. "We are," he explains, slamming the driver's side door shut. Else's protest is muffled on the other side of the glass as he circles around to the back of the truck, getting his duffel bag. When Else's door swings open, her sneakers strike down to the pavement, zippers on her backpack jingling.

"Andy!" Else shouts, swinging the backpack over her shoulders. "Come on right now, why're we goin' out to a fuckin' baseball field. This ain't makin' sense, tell me what's //happ'nin." Andy doesn't answer, just hefts his duffel bag over his shoulder and steps away from the back of the truck, moving around Else and headed for the field.

"C'mon," he urges for her. "They's waitin."

Disbelief could also be anger, the look a lot alike, but when Else moves to hustle and catch up to Andy, there's no words for her frustration. Presuming Andy's friends will have the answers she wants, Else tags along, reluctantly. Out past the chainlink fence and onto the green of the field, the two foreign transplants make their way under drizzling rain to the middle of the playing yard, and when it starts to become clear that they're alone, Andy looks surprised.

"Fuck, where th' fuck's everyone?" Scanning up and down the field, no one is in sight. "Fuck me," Andy grumbles, dropping his duffel bag in a puddle and looking around. "That— fuckin' bitch sent me down th' goddamned river where's the helicopter!?" Backing away a step, Else's brows furrow and eyes shoe that clear confusion on her face, enough so that even Andy notices, causing him to stop and turn for Else.

"Look, Else it's— Susan told me that they'd be 'ere for us." Andy's words bring a look of horror to Else's face, one hand clasped over her mouth as her sneakers squeak in the grass. "Don't— fuckin' gimme that look goddamnit! I bloody well saved you, y'could be there at th' fuckin' Brick House when it went down. Don't— don't gimme' that look. This is the only way t'save our asses!"

"What did you do!?" Else throws her backpack down to the grass, voice cracking as she screams. "Andy! What— What did you do!?" It's the first time she's ever been angry around him, finally Else's saintly patience has run out.

"Don't give me that look! Don't fuckin' gimmie' that shit I didn't do nu'fin! Susan's th' one who contacted the DoEA, I jus' told'em what they wanted t'know. They never said they was gonna shoot nobody! Just— you've gotta fuckin' believe me. They ain't never said nothin' about shootin'. Susan prolly tried t— "

Else's tiny hands ball into fists at her side as she stomps over to Andy, winds up and slaps him across the mouth. "You're a fuckin' asshole, Andy! Susan tried t'kill Eileen an' you know it!" The smack has Andy recoiling, holding his cheek as he staggers to the side and levels a glare on Else.

"Good! Eileen an' her fuckin' friends are sodding monsters. Fuckin' man wot kiled everybody in fucking Manhattan just walkin' around like a lion without no bloody leash. She an' all her friends tried t'fuckin' kill us all1 Susan was doin' us a goddamned favor. Else, y'didn't know the Ferry before she weaseled her fuckin' way inta' it. She turned us inta' some fuckin' terrorists. Look what they did t'the goddamned hospital!"

Else shakes her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "Andy you prick! You're a fuckin' prick!" Bending down to grab her backpack, Else stops when she notices someone that wasn't there before standing on the edge of the field, a tall man in a dark suit, sunglasses, hair swept to one side. Her voice hitches in the back of her throat, posture gone tense.

Andy's about to continue the argument, maybe try to explain how he can't be a prick if he saved her life. Instead, he too notices the man in the suit, and smiles. "Fuckin' right on they did come. 'Ey! Ey!" Andy lifts one hand and waves for the agent to approach. Else is decidedly more nervous, rooted in place, not sure how to act or behave. Should she run? Should she stand her ground? Should she slap Andy in the back of the head?

Walking towards the Agent, Andy offers out one hand. "Andy Rourke, sah'. Good t'see tha' Susan's agreement got through t'you all." The agent stops out of arm's reach, looking over to Else, then Andy, then reaches inside of his jacket. From behind Andy, all Else hears is the first gunshot, she jumps— jolts— and clutches her chest in fear when Andy buckles to the ground onto his knees, hands fumbling where a bullet punched into his chest.

Wheezing breaths come out, before another gunshot jerks his head back and sends him over and onto his side. A scream rises up in the back of Else's throat as she covers her mouth, looks up with wide and tear-filled eyes to the agent. "No— no please stop— no— I didn't wan'na come out here! Please! I can't hurt nobo— "

Another gunshot, and Else flies backwards and off of her feet. When she hits the grass on her back, her chest aches and breathing feels like drowning. Blood bubbles up from her mouth, and she can hear slow footsteps coming over to her. Looking down, the agent standing over her aims the barrel of his gun down at her. She tries to speak, beg, plead, anything.

After the next gunshot rings out, the agent slowly slides his pistol into his underarm holster, trading it for a cell phone that he flips open and presses to one ear. There's a delay before he says, "It's Coates, take care of the rest."

"I'm done here."

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