Kennedy slid and fell to the concrete, quickly peeling himself off it, dusting off and bolting down the lit streets with a bleeding upper lip. There was a stampede of feet inching closer toward him. “GET HIIIIM!” A deep thundering voice yelled. Kennedy was sweating profusely, he was panting, and his tongue was dry, lips pale; he was dying for a drink.
He jumped through an open window to screams and crashing, a group of girls were grooming each other. Screaming hysterically, one girl faints, Kennedy stormed through their bedroom door straight to the kitchen to get some water from the tap. He chugged down three glasses quickly. He could here that thundering voice again asking for where he was, he ducked and fell to the floor. On the ground he noticed one of the girls from the room was trembling and pointing at him. She couldn’t have been older than 10 years old. Ears streamed down her face frozen in fear and pointing at him.
Kennedy waved at her to put her finger down, he lipped, “I won’t hurt you.” She kept pointing and she shook her head afraid and unconvinced. He heard heavy footsteps on a staircase in the house and he quickly dashed to the living room and out the front door. The lttle girl who was pointing at him burst out screaming. The owner of the heavy footsteps emerged; a handsome man in his mid 40’s with salt and pepper hair. He lifted the hysterical girl asking her what was wrong realizing the front door was now ajar.
“THERE HE IS!!” Several male voices chorused outside. The stampede changed directions. Kennedy was panting and grasping at anything he could to topple over or barricade him from what was about to ensue. Gun shots began to rent the air.
Kennedy skid and slid underneath an old parked car, one of the many young men chasing him fell with a huge thud writhing in pain. He clasped his chest and looked at his hand, he was bleeding profusely. He was crying, “Help me!” he managed to muster looking directly at Kennedy, Kennedy tried to push his head in the other direction to avoid attention being directed at him.
“Hhh..elpp Me pleeeeease.” The voice was now a whisper and with a final gasp his head turned the opposite direction and no sound was heard from him again. More gun shots rent the air. From underneath the car, Kennedy couldn’t see what was happening, but with every two shots he heard exclamations of pain or profanity followed by a thud.
Kennedy was now lying under the car, drenched in his sweat, panting like a dog, fighting back tears and shaking, whatever was killing was coming for him. He heard foot steps and from the gap between the pavement and the bottom of the car, he saw the shoes. The ones he had always been told about; tanned brown Timberland boots with the initial, R.K. He wasn’t sure what brought the infamous bounty hunter / vigilante to his rescue. The feet turned and ran. Then turned back and he saw them at the car, Kennedy’s stomach began to growl, it startled him, he looked at the feet, he knew he would be shot, instead a note was tossed.
Kennedy only emerged once the police sirens rent the air replacing the gun shots. “Call Robert.” The note said. Who is Robert? He didn’t know anyone by that name. He was happy to be alive, but he was also very disturbed, what was the bounty hunter telling him? Was this a marker? Was it not over?