They Call Me...Montey Greene

Chapter Fifty

THEY WERE IN front of the flower market near the Cité metro station on Rue de la Cité when Alejandra decided to take Gerald and Montey's advice, if nothing else but to hear what Paolo had to say about his no-show. It was a sudden gesture that probably saved their lives or at the very least from being admitted to a hospital. That's when Montey heard the clickity-clank of an engine shift into high gear followed by a high pitch whine, followed by rubber trying to grip asphalt for better traction. A combination of disturbing sounds that was completely out of place on this perfect summer August night in Paris.

Montey pushed Alejandra aside as he spun around, the fate changer with the silencer attached was already in his other hand, his index finger already working the trigger. He put four bullets in the windshield the moment that car jumped the curb. It wasn't a matter of him hitting whoever was driving. But if bullet holes started appearing in your windshield, just the sound of the glass shattering and those little holes appearing would be enough to make you flinch and duck, sending your car careening off course just like the pea-green colored car was doing now as it came to a violent stop after smashing through the storefront window of the flower market.

It pays to have luck on your side, combine that with certain skill sets and you're more apt to catch the long end of the stick. Montey could have been shooting blindly at a family out for a drive in a car that had suddenly lost control, but he caught enough of a glimpse of the inside of the car through his peripherals as he whipped his head around to see the passenger seats were empty, and by the time his eyes locked onto the windshield head-on, his brain had already registered that the driver was dressed strikingly similar to the woman lying dead in Alejandra's hotel suite.

If that wasn't a dead giveaway then it was the eyes as big as saucers staring through that windshield as the car came barreling towards them, the driver leaning forward with a menacing look on their face like they were trying to push the steering wheel through the dash and the accelerator pedal through the floor board.

In any event, Montey's brain had already processed the danger they were in, and sent the signal to his trigger finger to let them bullets fly.

His third instinct, after pushing Alejandra aside then depositing bullets in the car's windshield, was to help Alejandra to her feet who was already in the process of doing just that while juggling her cellphone.

His fourth instinct was to check the driver in the car to see if they were dead or just unconscious, and maybe rifle through their pockets to see what type of identification they were carrying. But that instinct was overridden when the onlookers who were out and about started to mill about the scene.

When something suddenly-chaotic happens startling the unsuspecting, it usually takes a few moments for the brain to catch up and piece together what you think you saw. Montey could only hope that the onlookers were paying more attention to the wrecked vehicle lodged in the flower markets front window as opposed to how the car actually got there.

"We need to get off the street, this damn wrinkled suit is gonna get me arrested," he said as he tucked the gun away.

He and Alejandra took those few precious seconds to flee briskly from the scene.