Flashback to October 1, 2012 (2:03 a.m.)…

Their job was simple enough: show up at the ex-Senator’s mansion and scare him.  Maybe rough him up a little.  Even a little property damage, if they felt like it.  The contract had come in yesterday and Frankie jumped on it.  He’d done hundreds of jobs like this, only this one actually sounded interesting.  Unlike the usually harassment jobs, this one came with a set of special instructions, and Frankie figured a little James Bond action would be a fun escape from the normal thuggery his job usually entailed.

The client specified a date and time (late night, naturally) and stressed that it was imperative to be punctual.  During this time, the Senator’s guard detail (head of security and his lieutenant) would be distracted long enough for them to get in and do their job.  Straying from the specified timeframe would put them at extreme risk.  They were also instructed to make a demand while “threatening”’ the Senator: “Tell the Senator that his baseball team, the Arlington Bureaucrats, must lose their upcoming playoff series against the Florida Featherheads by any means necessary”.  He wasn’t sure how the old man was going to pull that off, but Frankie didn’t really care.  Not his problem.

The Oldsmobile’s tires purred against the pavement as they slowly approached the main gate.  At 2:00 a.m., though, it sounded like there were coming down the street in a monster truck.

“Really, Steve? Snow tires in September?  We might as well blast the stereo while we’re at it,” said Frankie, a bit annoyed.  He had wanted to take his 1988 Fiero GT on the job to complete the superspy atmosphere, but Steve insisted that they would stand out too much if they drove around in the red coupe.

“Shut it, man.  I got ’em cheap at Wally’s.  Besides, it’s October now, smart***.”  Steve was one of those guys that thought he knew more than you did, even though he didn’t.  But with him at 6’3” and 230 pounds, not many people brought that reality to his attention; it was better to just let it go and keep the peace.  Besides, it was for the best not to misdirect Steve’s ‘roid rage right before they were about to start their job.

As they neared the entrance to Woods’s private drive, Steve switched off his headlights while craning his neck forward to look out the top of his windshield. “Street lights’re out, just like the instructions said.  Looks like it’s go time!”  Steve slowly made the turn without braking before launching them forward with a stomp on the gas pedal.  “Gate’s open, too.  I’ll be darned.  A’ight, we got 30 minutes to get in there and do our thing.”  Frankie nodded his head in silent agreement and gave a pat to his coat pocket to make sure his Glock was still there.

The car screeched to a halt in front of the standalone three-car garage at the end of the drive.  Both men threw open their doors and sprinted down the walkway to the front door.  It was nice to be able to actually use the front door for a change, the mansion being so far away from neighboring houses.  The big house was dark save for a single illuminated window on the second floor.  Making their final approach to the front door, Steve brought his sawed-off shotgun up from his under his jacket and prepared to make a running leap to kick open the door.

Except the door was already open a crack.  Frankie’s brain processed the brilliant tongues of flame that exploded from the gap between the door and frame before he heard the rapport of the double-barreled shotgun discharging both shells in quick succession.  Steve’s momentum was immediately erased as he crumpled awkwardly to the ground.  His partner’s superior foot speed saved Frankie’s life; the slower man was still fifteen feet behind.  In a panic, Frankie changed direction and scrambled towards the front porch, throwing himself face down at the base and into a furious crawl towards the side of the mansion.  The front door banged open and an automatic weapon discharged a long burst into the night.

“Sh**, I missed the second guy.  Stupid antique garbage,” a man whispered harshly from the front door.  Frankie could make out a row of bushes thanks to the moonlight and pushed his body into them, letting the branches and needles claw at his hands a face.  Now crouching as close to the ground as possible, he peeked through the bush and saw two men cautiously emerge from the main entrance.  The first was wielding a compact submachine gun while the other turned and tossed an old-fashioned shotgun back into the house.

“Which way?” asked the man with the machine gun, his eyes scanning the lawn.

“Our right, I think,” replied the second man.  Machine-Gun whipped around to his right and fired another burst of death in Frankie’s general direction.  He closed his eyes and prayed that none of the bullets found his hiding spot.  His heart was pounding in his chest and his mouth was dry and metallic tasting.  Without realizing it, he’d bitten down on his tongue as he waited to die.

“Forget him; we have to get out of here before the police show up.  We’ll leave Tesch behind to clean up,” whispered Second-Guy as he approached Steve’s lifeless body, with Machine-Gun scanning the lawn around him.  He crouched down and searched the body, finally retrieving Steve’s revolver from a shoulder holster under his blood-soaked coat.  Steve had always been proud of that holster.  He’d hung on to it from his previous career as a bodyguard.  Holding the gun gingerly in his gloved hand, Second-Guy emptied every chamber into the front entrance of the house before tossing it down next to the body.  Both men quickly retreated back into the house, their boots clunking noisily over the hardwood floor.

Frankie didn’t dare move, his body still too tense to be of any use.  Still, he had to get the hell out of there.  The car.  He could run to the car and hope that no one saw him make a run for it.  Crap, the keys… no, it could work: He’d run to Steve, get the keys and then haul it to the Olds.

After waiting for what seemed like an eternity with the adrenaline surging through his veins, Frankie bolted from his hiding spot straight for poor Steve across the front lawn.  Upon reaching his fallen partner, he frantically searched any pocket he could find.  His hands were shaking uncontrollably, which made the task harder than it should have been.  Keys now in hand, he ran towards the car with lungs burning.  Just when he thought he was going to make it, the middle garage door gave out with a bang and screeching metal as a black Hummer H1 smashed through.  Frankie collapsed in fear and shock as the small tank blasted into the front of Steve’s car, sending it careening backwards towards the stone wall that lined the driveway.  After the shock wore off, and with the Hummer a safe way down the drive and leaving in a hurry, Frankie was back on his feet and streaking towards the wounded vehicle.  It might still start, and he didn’t want to wait around for that Tesch person the men said they were leaving behind.