Available Darkness Season 2

mission.
    Yet, even as John condemned Mathews, he realized his hypocrisy in judging the man. They were both killers. The difference, at least in John’s eyes, was that his goal was righteous and true — to save Hope. Mathews’ goal seemed like nothing less than a blatant power grab.
    No sense in beating myself up. We’re here.
    They arrived at Mathews’ house at 12:16 a.m.
    John was still in the van when disappointment slapped him hard in the face.
    “Shit,” he said. “Mathews isn’t here.”
    “You sure?” Larry asked.
    John said, “Nobody in there but a sleeping dog.”
    “What now?”
    “Now, Plan B.” John said.
    “I fucking hate Plan B,” Larry said, even though he didn’t yet have a clue what Plan B was. Didn’t matter, Larry was right. John was certain he would hate it.

    **

Larry

    “This is a bad idea,” Larry repeated all the way to The Port Hole, a dive bar in the seediest part of the city.
    “This is the only way,” John had said.
    Larry waited in his van, idling in the parking lot, located in a large field between The Port Hole and a fairly popular seafood joint, meaning there were plenty of parked cars to blend in with. Lightning flashed overhead, the flickers accompanied by a deep roll of angry thunder.
    A storm is coming — a shit storm.
    The plan was for John to show up at the bar as if he’d just freed himself from Shadow and his men, and would call Mathews to request extraction. From there, John would attack as soon as he could, discover Hope’s location, then they’d go rescue her.
    That was the plan, but as evidenced earlier at Cromwell’s, and Tiny’s subsequent death, plans were made for getting blown to shit. Larry waited for nearly 20 minutes before he saw an Agency van gliding black on black through the parking lot, followed by a second, and then a third.
    Oh shit, Mathews didn’t come alone.
    “Hey, boss, you got a fucking party pulling up outside,” Larry said into his mic.
    “Who is it?”
    “Men in black. I think they’re Omega, but fuck if the good guys and bad guys aren’t dressing the same these days. They’ve got guns, lots of ‘em.”
    “Thanks,” John said. “Cutting radio now. Over.”
    Larry kept his headset on, just in case, and trained his binoculars on the front door as the men stormed inside the bar. He wondered if any of the men were Mike Mathews. Moments later, several of the men in black emerged, shoving a man in a black hood in front of them, out the door at gunpoint — John.
    Shit, shit!
    Larry watched as they shoved John into the back of a van and slammed the doors. All the men jumped back into their vehicles.
    Fuck, shit, fuck!
    Larry keyed the ignition and peeled from the parking lot, chasing the vans as they headed off.
    “I’m coming, John!” Larry screamed, hoping his friend could hear him, either through his earpiece or their mental connection.
    Larry was driving fast, following the red lights as the sky opened and rain began to pelt the van in thick sheets.
    “Really?” Larry said looking up at the invisible deity in the sky. “Really, G?”
    Larry followed at a distance as the vans continued down the main avenue. There were three, their taillights the only thing visible through the thick sheets of rain blurring Larry’s windshield.
    Larry sighed as he was forced to decrease his speed beneath the pounding rain. His windshield was a blanket of white, headlights bouncing straight into the rain and then reflecting back.
    The red lights ahead were gaining distance and sending Larry into a panic. There were too many side roads, and the vans could turn off at any moment. If that happened, he would be fucked.
    Larry sped up, trying to make sure he didn’t lose Omega. The speedometer said he was going 65 in a 50 zone. That gave him two things to worry about: feds, and cops.
    Come on, come on, where are you?
    He leaned closer to the steering wheel, straining to see through the whipping sheets of blinding rain. Suddenly, he spotted red, both low and high — a red light, and three vans, one in each lane, all stopped. The road was too slick for Larry to slam on his brakes without flipping the van, but if he slammed into a van going as fast as he was, he probably wouldn’t walk away from the crash.
    With only a second to think of his next move, Larry swerved into the opposite lanes, flying past the three vans and into the intersection, praying nobody was in the cross traffic as his van sped through, sliding.
    Oh, God; oh,