The Wolf of Los Angeles

[Chapter 4: Fatal Chase]

Downstairs, chaos erupted. Hawke pulled his head back and turned to David, saying, "I have urgent business. I need to head back for a bit."

David was taken aback. "We just finished the scene; the crew is leaving! Aren't you going to pick up your paycheck? We've been busy all week!"

"You should leave early," Hawke said as he quickly exited the bathroom and entered the safety corridor, running down the stairs.

Recalling the person guarding the back door, he felt the front entrance just as likely had someone waiting.

Hawke's earlier hunch was correct; they were armed.

It would be like Tyson hitting a fifth grader -- there was no way he could go out the front door.

Arriving on the third floor, Hawke exited the safety corridor and glanced down the long hallway, where a large window nearly the height of a person loomed at the end.

He stripped off his bothersome jacket, removed his hood, and tossed it aside before sprinting toward the window.

...

Outside the back of the building, Freddy emerged from the crowd, clutching a bloodstained black hood. He hurried to a quiet spot by the back door, pulled out his cell phone, and assessed the situation.

He turned to the nearby black man and said, "The bastard didn't jump; go find him!"

The man pressed his earpiece and took off for the back door, with a white guy nearby being the first to rush into the building.

Freddy dialed producer Broderick's number again. "We've got a situation. The jerk said he was nervous and didn't jump. The one who came down was McKinn; I suspect he noticed something."

"Stay calm!" Although Broderick lacked the instincts of a seasoned producer, his tone remained steady. "Take him alive."

With Plan A failing, it was time to switch to Plan B.

Broderick worried about the possibility of the man moving to the second floor, so he pressed his communication button for his assistant and said, "Get all security team members over here."

Downstairs, Freddy hung up the phone, donned his earpiece, and pressed the mic. "Catch him."

...

At the far end of the third-floor hallway, Hawke swung open the push-pull window, scanning left and right. Sure enough, a more than eight-foot-tall streetlight pole stood nearby.

However, it wasn't directly across from the window; it was slightly to the south, over four meters away.

Hawke stepped back a dozen paces, took a deep breath, and picked up speed for a running leap to the window ledge.

He flew out like a large bird, arms outstretched, wrapping his legs around the streetlight pole and spinning down smoothly to the ground.

Hawke sprinted toward the trailer parked in front of the building. Inside the stunt crew's trailer lay his jacket containing the car keys and an M60 revolver.

Suddenly, a cold sensation hit his face as snowflakes began to fall from the sky.

Hawke charged across the space in front of the building and crashed through the trailer door, grabbing his jacket and feeling for the gun and keys as he ran toward the parking lot.

...

On the second floor in the producer's office, Broderick had just reached the window when he spotted the running figure. He immediately called Freddy. "He's heading for the parking lot."

Freddy had already alerted the other three, who bolted out of the building, with the black man and a white guy following suit.

Another person had gone up to the eighth floor and hadn't come down yet.

Freddy, supervising the stunt team, spotted Hawke's vehicle and shouted towards the far end of the parking lot at a pickup truck pulling out. "There! Quickly! Come with me!"

The three barely took a few steps when the pickup roared out of the lot.

Freddy sprinted in front of a black Mercedes, opened the driver's door, and hopped in.

As the other two climbed in, the Mercedes sped out like a bolt of lightning.

The black man urged, "Hurry up and chase him!"

"He won't get away!" Freddy knew his stuff when it came to movie stunts; driving was a necessary skill.

Even though the pickup was already out of sight, there was only one road leading to the main artery of the city from here.

...

The snow began to fall heavier.

Hawke slammed the gas pedal down, and the old pickup sputtered and roared as the engine struggled under pressure.

Once they hit the main road, he took a moment to think. Instead of heading west towards the cabin, he made a turn towards the north at the next intersection.

In hindsight, he figured the so-called crew health check and donation agreement concealed sinister intentions.

Coordinating a crew including Robert Downey Jr. and Katie Holmes meant the mastermind had substantial financial resources.

Having people wait at the cabin for him? That wouldn't be too difficult.

Provo was a small town, and the pickup quickly shot out of the urban area.

The area was mountainous, with winding roads, and the snowfall continued to increase, covering the sides of the roads in a blanket of white.

As he rounded a sharp corner onto a straight stretch, his fuel light came on out of nowhere. David had reminded him earlier that morning that he needed to refuel on the way back.

Hawke took a quick look at the light, glanced in the rearview mirror, and turned to catch a peek out of the back window.

In his line of sight, he spotted a black sedan emerging in the distance.

Hawke prepared for the worst -- was there a group of five suited men in the vehicle? All armed?

If that were the case, stranded on the road with no fuel and five against one?

Just ahead was a turn-off leading to the mountains. Without hesitation, he turned in.

He constantly scanned left and right; the mountains were rocky and provided plenty of hiding spots.

After two sharp turns, Hawke parked the pickup against the side of the road, shielded from view by the hillside's curves.

He opened the glove compartment and the passenger storage box, quickly rummaging through until he found a beanie, gloves, and a length of rope. Grabbing them, he jumped out of the vehicle and sprinted towards the rocky hillside, putting on the hat and gloves while retrieving his gun.

The snow was falling heavier, with real goose feathers quickly gathering on the ground.

Hawke climbed over some smaller rocks, casting a glance at the footprints on the ground before turning back to select a hiding spot.

Up ahead on the left slope stood many irregular giant stones.

Choosing a suitable rock, he climbed up using both hands and feet, nudging aside an elliptical stone for cover. He placed his beanie on the part of the rock that was about the size of a half-football.

From below, it would appear that someone was briefly resting against the giant stone.

He used the rope to tie the elliptical rock while throwing the other end toward the selected ambush point.

Time was limited, and he could only manage a simple disguise.

Hawke picked up his revolver and slipped back behind the boulder, jumping to the right and landing behind another rock.

Next, he grabbed the rope, leaped to his chosen ambush location, and hid behind a jutting rock.

From his high vantage point, the traces left in the snow were all too clear.

At the foot of the mountain, one could only see a long trail of footprints.

Through the swirling snow, the black sedan made a turn and parked not far from the pickup.

Hawke checked his gun, adjusting it to be ready to fire.

...

In the Mercedes, the black man in the passenger seat pulled out a Glock and opened the door.

In the back seat, a white man held a Glock in his left hand and a Taser in his right.

Freddy cut off the engine, retrieving a knife from the glove compartment.

The older black man shot a glance at Freddy.

Freddy whispered, "My gun's in Los Angeles; I don't have a Utah gun permit."

The footprints in the snow were unmistakable, and the white man knocked on the front seat, pointing toward the left of the pickup.

The black man nodded, disembarking with his gun drawn and quickly moving ahead.

The white man followed closely behind.

Freddy walked at the back.

This group first checked the pickup, confirming it was empty.

Freddy adjusted his grip on the knife, watching the footprints: "He went up the mountain."

The black man glanced at his phone. "No signal."

The white man said, "Let's go check it out."

Freddy surveyed their guns, reminding them, "Take him alive. Don't shoot the torso; his organs could be useful."

The three followed the footprints, chasing up the slope.

*****

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