Fake

This came about as a product of being stuck in a car for three hours. Silly, inconsequential story set in an alternate universe in which the zombie apocalypse did not hit and our heroes are (for whatever reason) jewel thieves.

"We have you cornered now. Step off the ledge. Nobody has to get hurt today," the cop demanded. The air was chilly and still. It seemed as though every cop in the district had showed up for this particular call, but when priceless heirlooms were lifted from a bank display case in the middle of the day, it was bound to draw some attention.

Despite the drawn guns and tense cops, the young man did not seem to be worried. He stood on the corrugated steel railing of the bridge with a million dollar necklace in one hand and a manic grin spread across his face. His boots were filthy and untied and the hems of his jeans were tattered from being tread on.

He raised the necklace to catch the sun's rays as if contemplating his next move. Everyone held their breath as he wiggled it slightly. He appeared, for all intents and purposes, to grow bored with the priceless trinket. With a slight shrug, he tossed it over his shoulder with all the care of an empty pop can.

Everyone flinched, someone screamed a hoarse 'no', and a single gun was fired. It struck the young man in the chest. He jerked back like a marionette and tumbled off the bridge, clutching the wound.

The officers stared in shock for a moment before scrambling. Some ran to the edge to look down, others raced to their cars. The area quickly became a mass of black and blue blurs and radio squawks.

The boy in the air coughed and rolled his shoulder experimentally. It was largely numb from the gunshot. The ground was fast approaching, and he gauged the time he had left as he straightened himself out. He could hear nothing but the rush of wind in his ears. The ripcord for his chute danced away from his fumbling fingers. It took him several tries to finally snag it and jerk it outward in one violent motion. The wind ripped the expanding material upward and he was jostled violently as his downward momentum slowed. Unfortunately for the escape artist, the attempt came a little late. He bent his knees just in time to hit the ground and rolled with the momentum. He was anything but graceful as he slammed into the rocky riverbank.

Tangled in the parachute chords, he lay crumpled among the jagged stones and dusty muck. The (nylon) settled over his face and he was altogether too aware of the smell of blood and the sticky mess streaming into his eye, his nose, his mouth. Surprisingly, nothing much hurt, or at least, not in the way that he could pinpoint precisely what hurt or how much.

Something jostled him roughly, tossing him onto his stomach, then rolling him back into a supine position. A tearing sound met his ears, and then the parachute was off of his face. Another young man came into his view, his age, (blond) hair and a face pulled tight with worry. His lips moved. A slap stung Brad's cheek and suddenly, he could hear everything in real time.

"I'm fine, Joey" Brad groaned, seizing his friend by the wrist and hauling himself to his feet. It felt like someone was grinding broken glass into his joints. He could hardly breathe through the sensation.

"Why the fuck didn't you pull your chute sooner?" Joey asked as he gathered the item in question up and shoved it haphazardly into the backpack. Brad winced and almost fell backwards. Joey kept him up with one hand as he finished.

"I got shot. Couldn't use the arm for a bit, there," Brad explained.

"Well, shit. Let's just go."

The ATV was waiting a short distance away, engine still running. Brad wrapped his arms around Joey's waist and leaned into him heavily as they tore off through the woods. They had scoped the place out for weeks preceding the job. Joey knew the woods better than even the locals. The cops, who had mobilized on foot to clean up what should have been a deceased body, did not stand a chance of catching them.

"Fucking did it, man. What'd I tell you? I'm the MAN," Brad boasted. The jostling did not halt his enthusiasm much at all. Joey grinned despite himself.

The trees thinned until they reached a farm. A mile and a half later, they connected with a highway. Joey gunned the engine and hopped the bank, their wheels spitting gravel as the machine fought for traction. He nudged it up onto the shoulder and accelerated.

The brake lights of a white moving truck ahead of them flashed twice. Joey flashed his headlight in return. The backdoor opened. Meredith, decked out in a black mover's jumpsuit and a sensible ponytail threw up a quick hand signal which Joey answered in kind with another quick flick of the lights. She unfolded the metallic ramp and eyed it dubiously as it bobbed up and down. Hovering inches above the pavement, it sparked every time it struck the ground.

Joey's brow creased as he lined the ATV up. The truck slowed gently as it coasted. He held his breath as he accelerated. Sparks flew behind them as the weight ground the metal into the asphalt. The ATV jerked violently as the back wheels failed to catch up to the front. Joey barely managed to keep it upright. He lined it up again. Meredith yelled at him over the wind.

This time, when he accelerated, the entire hulking mess practically pounced up the ramp. He locked the breaks on but only just managed to keep from smashing into the opposing end of the truck.

Meredith eyed the traffic behind them. It was far off enough that she doubted they had seen much despite the sparks. She heaved the ramp back up and pulled the doors closed once more, plunging the crate in darkness.

"What the hell?" Meredith snapped. "You're late! We almost missed you entirely."

"We had technical problems," Joey replied, strangely calm despite Brad's dead weight pressing into his back. He turned the headlights on and squinted at the harsh white light. "Take him, would you?"

"He's bleeding everywhere. Does he have a concussion?" Meredith asked. Without waiting for an answer, she stripped him of his backpack and tore the bulletproof vest from his chest. An ugly purple bruise the size of the baseball was highly visible under his collar bone. "He got SHOT?"

"Apparently," Joey winced in sympathy. "I'm pretty sure he has a concussion. Could you work your magic?"

The frown did not leave her face as she jammed her thumb against Brad's sternum and dragged it downward. Brad's eyes shot open and he pushed her offending hand away.

"Harpy! I hate it when you do that."

"Next time I won't save you from permanent brain damage," she snarled back. "How the fuck did you manage to get shot you dumb ass? It was a smash and grab! How do you fuck that up?"

"I'll have you know it was an improvised bit of the plan," Brad explained solemnly.

"Next time, don't do that. Do the opposite of that," Joey massaged his temples. Brad just grinned at him. "What did you manage to break? You look pale as hell."

"My leg? It might just be-- what's the one where it's not all the way broken?"

"A fracture is still a break," Meredith pointed out.

"That's the one," Brad snapped his fingers. The blood gushing from the gash on his head had slowed to an unenthusiastic trickle. Meredith began the process of none too gently prodding at the wound to determine its severity. It looked like it needed stitches. Brad screwed his one eye shut as she worked. The other, he kept fixed on Joey.

"Man, you should have seen it, man. I had the necklace, right? And everyone had their guns drawn and they were trying to talk me down. I pulled an Eastwood. I didn't say nothing. I just looked them in the eye and threw the fucker off the bridge. That's when they shot m-" his story became a yelp. Meredith's blood slicked fingers seized his hair and pulled.

"You did what? Your improv involved throwing our entire payday away?" She was not yelling. The cold calm in her voice dripped a kind of violent venom that a raised voice could never match. It was the kind of voice she used when interrogating enemies. Joey had never heard her use it on one of THEM.

"The fuck is your problem?" Brad blinked at her as if catching up to what she had said as the pain ebbed. He seized her wrist and drove his thumb into the bundle of tendons there until she was forced to let him go. Her gaze was murderous. Joey rose to separate them.

"I threw away the fake," Brad explained. He drew a necklace from his front pocket and held it up. The way the light glinted promised riches.

"You never mentioned a fake," Meredith screeched, snatching at it. He let her take it.

"Yes I did. Didn't I?" He looked at Joey, who shook his head a bit. "Oh. Well," he laughed. "Well yeah. That's the beauty of my plan! I threw a fake. I figured it would snap into a bunch of pieces at the bottom there, and they'd waste a bunch of man power looking for all of them instead of worrying about catching up to us. We're small potatoes if the necklace is safe, right?"

"Was it worth getting shot and breaking your leg?" Meredith asked coldly. His manic grin returned in response.

When they finally got to stop, she was anything but gentle when she stitched his head up.