Shortcircuit V1 C9

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In retrospect, Wilbur wasn’t sure why he’d thought staking out a mafia hideout would be any cooler than it turned out to be, which wasn’t very. He’d been crouching in the woods for two hours just watching sweaty Italians wash cars. In the future, he’d need better plans. The place closed at eight, and last he checked the time it was seven-thirty.


The mobsters seemed to be taking an unusually long time with one particular car, and not doing much washing at that. They popped the trunk, removing – something. The window he was looking through was so small he could barely make out their movements. He pulled up the video camera on his phone, just in time for one of the mobsters to start placing powdery white bricks on a table.


“I think you guys need to get into a different business,” Wilbur chuckled to himself. Having gotten the footage he needed, he could go then if he wanted – but that wouldn’t have been any fun.


He waited until a few minutes after closing before sliding up to the window, gently rapping it with a knuckle. The mobster closest to him gave a blank stare, slowly pushed the desk with the bricks out of view, then opened the window.


“You short of a few brain cells? Get lost.”


“Me? You’re the one bringing drugs into my community, pal. Tell you what.” He wiggled his phone just out of reach. “Give me free washes for a month and I won’t send the pictures I took of your operation to the five-oh.”


“Yeah? How about I feed you that phone?”


The mobster jumped forward, grabbing wildly. Wilbur yanked him out by the arm, giving him a swift kick to the gut before disabling him with the gloves. The rest of the gang seemed stunned. Leaping inside, Wilbur was met with three drawn pistols.


Hope I spent well, he thought with a small laugh. Before the three mobsters could empty their magazines into him he brought both his arms up and zapped the two closest to him. The electric shock made their muscles clamp and squeeze the triggers, the guns firing wildly. Thankfully the shots went wide, missing him and breaking the open window behind him. The third gunman quickly got over his surprise and fired at Wilbur. Half-dodging and half-falling Wilbur threw himself behind the closest object, the red tool chest next to the car.


“Fuck!” Wilbur and the gunman exclaimed in unison. Wilbur had gotten tagged with two shots, one hitting the jacket straight on and the other grazing the front of the helmet. The kevlar vest and the outside layer of the helmet did its job in stopping the bullets, leaving him out of breath and with throbbing pain on the side of his chest. The mobster hadn’t been so lucky – he was on the ground clutching a wounded leg and screaming.


“Ricochet,” Wilbur said as he stood up and tried to catch his breath. “Always gets you when you least expect it.” He leaned around the tool box and gave the goon a quick zap. No point in giving the guy a chance to shoot him in the back.


He could hear the commotion in the other room as the rest of the gang reacted to the sound of gunfire. Hiding behind the the front of the car, he leaned so that he could get a good view of the door to the front of the shop without being an easy target.


“Yo, Antonio, what the hell is going on?” A mobster holding a gun opened the door and peaked in, quickly noticing his friends on the ground. “Oh, sh-” Wilbur didn’t let him finish before he fried him from his vantage point, making him fall back and leave the door half-open against his body. He could see the rest of the gang members step back in surprise, trying to find some cover. None of them had guns.


Sliding over the hood of the car he sprinted through the room and slammed his foot against the door, violently thrusting it into the man trying to get a view of the room. Letting his momentum carry him he threw himself against the man and grappled him against the wall. He quickly drove his knee into the man’s stomach and threw him on the ground, with a quick bolt for good measure.


Standing straight and stretching to alleviate the pain in his chest, he took a moment to further process the scene. The were only three goons left, holding wrenches and a screwdriver, staring him down. He couldn’t quite tell if they were nervous or simply sizing him up, so he feinted jumping at them, making them flinch and move a step back.


“Not so cocky without our boomsticks, are we?” he said, zapping the one closest to the exit. The other two flinched again.


“Alright look man, you win.” The goon lifted the wrench as if to shield himself. “Just take the money and we’ll let this slide.”


“What? No, no, I’m not robbing you. You’re the criminals here! I’m busting your drug operation!”


The two goons looked at each other before dropping their weapons and raising their hands. “Shit man, whatever you say. Just don’t fry us.”


Wilbur laughed victoriously, steadying himself on a desk. The goons looked back and forth between each other and him. “Guess I should call the cops now,” he said, catching his breath. He dialed Jeff’s number and picked the loose handgun off the ground. “You two go help your pal in the other room with his injury. Maybe help him with his aim too when you get out of prison.”


They hastily shuffled into the next room before Jeff picked up.


“Detective Higgins speaking.”


“Boy Jeff, do I have a present for you! Do you know Wash Rush in Little Italy?”


“Yeah, why?”


Wilbur followed the goons, walking around to the rear of the car he’d been spying on. There were dozens more drug bricks in the trunk. “The Vitellis have been running a drug distribution ring out of it. Smuggling bricks of cocaine through cars, probably delivered by Mexicans.”


“Shit.” Some shuffling. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be over there with backup ASAP.”


ASAP turned out to be almost thirty minutes. Talk about a waste of tax dollars. When the cops finally arrived, uniformed officers made a round of arrests and CSI began documenting the drugs. Jeff pulled him aside.


“How did you know about this operation?”


Wilbur shrugged. “Informant.”


“Right.” Jeff stroked his chin before gesturing around the shop. “And uh, the slasher movie scene? What’s up with that?”


“Hey, they attacked me first! I was just taking some pictures.”


Jeff raised an eyebrow. “They just randomly attacked you, no provocation?”


Wilbur shook his head. “Why are you questioning me? I’m not the one smuggling drugs here.”


“No, you’re the one who might be sued for assault and battery.”


“Pheh.” Wilbur waved him off. “Tell them to call my lawyer.”


Jeff groaned and pinched his nose. “There are rules to this, Mr. Circuit. Keep this up and I won’t be able to cover for you any longer.”


Wilbur put his hands on hips. “Rules? Aren’t you supposed to be suspended, Detective Higgins?”


“I’m on administrative duty,” Jeff grumbled. “Look, next time, if nobody is in immediate danger, just act as a good witness and give us a call. If you want to kick some ass, do MMA. It’s legal and you get paid for it.” He shrugged. “It’s not like you need the money, but.”


“Great!” Wilbur clapped. “Am I free to leave now officer?”


Jeff laughed. “Please.”


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