The Con Artist (A Michael Jackson fanfiction) (Completed)

Twenty

Stella

We were nearing the fourth hour and we had just reached the border, piled behind cars in the lineup to get to the true north before dark. It was nearly ten at night; Michael peered out the window in distress.

"We won't make it in time!" he worried, pinching the skin on his wrist to relieve himself of the anxiety building in him. We had a full hour before we had to get there, but I didn't blame him for being scared.

"I've got a Nexus card," Nathan replied, making a turn into a faster lane with only five cars in it instead of fifteen or twenty like the rest, "we'll be out of here soon."

How Nathan managed to get a Nexus card-identification that held all of your information and let you pass the border without getting questioned like everyone else-was beyond me, but I didn't question it, and Michael didn't either.

Once we passed into Canada, Nathan sped down highways and winding turns to the city of White Rock, BC. It was on the beach, with million dollar homes overlooking the sea into the night. Streaks of purple and deep blue painted the sky, as if to remind us that there was beauty in all of this; a tragic, horrible beauty that found itself in the dingy, dirty corners of the earth where scum like the man that had called us dwelled.

White Rock was a hilly place, and for the most part, we were driving downwards towards the waterfront. I could see that the tide was full, threatening to spill over and crash along the planks of the pier that was set at least ten feet above the observable shore line. There was a train track that ran along the beach, a little higher up, and was guarded by a blue rail to stop kids from playing near them. The city was quaint, complete with little waterfront shops and gelato places, and (had it been any other time) it would have been a nice vacation spot.

The city was quiet; nothing more than one person biking along the sea wall caught my attention. All the shops were closed and the pier was illuminated by faint lights hovering above the planks of wood. Nathan pulled up to a curb and parked momentarily.

"Michael, you drive down to the pier with Stella. I'm going to see I can get to the roof of one of these shops so I can get a better view of what's going on. Stella,"-he turned to me-"if it gets to a point where they threaten to kill, give yourself up but walk slowly. That'll give Michael time to shoot. And Michael, once you shoot, I'll step in. Are we clear? The first thing you do is save your family, okay?" he directed. Both of us nodded. Nathan and Michael stepped out the car, shaking hands before Nathan ran off westward into the darkness. Michael took the driver's seat.

"Before we go down there and...well... I just want you to know that I love you far too much to let you think I can live without you," I started. "We'll be fine, Michael. We will."

"I love you too," he whispered, his voice a little shaky. "How about this: once it's all over, you and I will go on that date we planned, okay? And I'll postpone the tour a bit and we can stay here for some time. That'd be nice, right?"

"That'd be perfect," I replied with a weak smile. Michael started the car and drove down to the parking lot right across from the pier, and sure enough, Michael's family-his mother, his sisters, and his brother-were tied together right at the end with a guard standing in front of them, and another man-older and well dressed- standing a few feet away, staring at his watch. The end of the pier was dimly lit and made it a little hard to see. Michael and I raced out of the car, our shoes clunking on the wooden planks, until we stood within focal range.

I recognized the man, and it was clear that Michael did too.

"Chief?" he called, disgusted, confused and appalled that he was the one holding his family at gunpoint. All of them had duct tape plastered to their mouths.