Cops, automatic cars, and drizzle

The car prowled the dark streets silently, and alone. Inside it was warm, crowded and loud. The car ignored stop signs. Mr. Sir, Allan, Dru and Blonde reclined in the crushed red leather afacing couches. Mr. Sir was languishing in the limelight in the rear “it used to be called the driver’s side door,” Allan thought. The others leaned forward to listen.
“So when I answered the door in my tuxedo, she thought I was the prostitute she had ordered for her husband. She was about to slap me until she cottoned on that her husband had requested a male!”
Chuckles cracked like party snaps as the car’s velocity suddenly dropped by twenty percent. Mr. Sir’s eyes darted to the window at his left. He casually draped his left hand out to, as if on a whim, and pressed the down button. The window didn’t move. His eyes shot to the ceiling. He looked to the front of the vehicle, to the window opposite to him and the floor. With his eyes still trained to the floor, a cigarette dangling loosely from the sinister corner of his face, he extracted a small revolver from within his cape. He leaned back, fired a round, shattering the window. He reached up, grabbing the cushioned red leather handle above the door, and kicked out the glass. The car was making a tight right at twenty miles an hour. Then he was gone.
The car came to a stop in the middle of the lane exactly beneath a dull yellow streetlight. Two police vehicles arrived simultaneously. One was a squad car, one an unmarked sedan. From one sprang four blue shirts, with caps. They mobilized around their car. The Lincoln-Acura Custom’s speakers barked, “This is the police. Allan Koontz, Dru Moscreivitz, and Rhonda Strathmore. Step out of the car.” The doors opened, the rear ones suicide.
The three emerged and faced the barrels of guns.
“Mr. Sir. Step out of the car.” A light drizzle started falling.
Seven figures froze squared off for twenty-five seconds. Then the front door of the other sedan opened. A perfectly polished Italian thin soled shoe dropped to the wet pavement. It fit its foot precisely. Yellow droplets of light appeared on the shiny dark purple leather. A perfectly manicured man slithered out of the vehicle and tightened the gordion knot that he wore as a silk neck tie. He was wearing dark glasses. He had a wire dangling from his left ear.
The man walked half way to the car and pointed his finger at Allan. He waved his hand to the side three times, beckoning him. Allan looked around him astonished and slowly approached the man.
“Mr. Koontz,” The man enunciated, drawing out the ‘r’. “You may consider me to be an agent. I would like to advise you that I have your well being on my heart.”
“Agent of which branch of government are you? City, State or Fed?”
“Oh, Mr. Koontz. Your terms are outdated and the answer is a matter of necessity. Of convenience, shall we way.” His thin lips flicked up. “You may consider me an agent of what you do not know, except that I have your well being foremost on my mind.”
“What do you want?”
“Mr. Koontz. Are you aware that the individual known by the alias ‘Mr. Sir,’” he said drawing out both r’s. “is tightly associated with a criminal element?”
“I have no idea what your are talking about, Mr. Agent.”
The man paused. “I see. Nevertheless, my advice to you is to avoid said individual in the future.” He suddenly became still and his head and left shoulder twitched. “We will locate him. We have already located him. I must orchestrate from the target location.”
The Agent turned and got in the car. Allan looked back at the other two prisoners in a silence of fire. The sedan sped off. As if on cue, the four cops backed up to their vehicle, slowly holstering their weapons. The cop car drove away into the dark street. The drizzle continued to fall.

End of chapter