The Bagman

Chapter 8
The Chase

Chapter Description: In which Johnny tries to get away. Short but sweet.

The Bagman Chapter 8: The Chase

Johnny booked it through the streets almost buck-ass naked. He pulled a hot pink Old Navy knock-off shirt over his head, his now nearly pre-pubescent junk flopping in the wind as he didn’t stop. Unsurprisingly, most people didn’t even turn their heads. This was New York after all.

Awkwardly, he stuffed the gun and cellphone into the pockets of the denim girls shorts as he ran and then hop-ran on one foot and then the other as he stuffed himself into it them. If anything they were a little wide in the hips and small in the crotch. A cursory glance revealed that Johnny was cross-dressing more than he had hoped. A denim flap over the front legs hung neatly like an apron. From the back, it looked like Johnny was wearing shorts. From the front, it looked like he was wearing a skirt. Johnny Spettro was wearing a skort.

Great, of all the kids’ rooms to store C-4 over and then need to rob as a black sorcerer employed by the mob de-aged him…it had to be a girly-girl. Couldn’t Johnny at least have crashed into a tomboy’s room? It was something of a landmark in Johnny’s life at this point that these words came to him without a trace of a smile, ridiculous as they were.

What to do, what to do? Johnny glanced behind his shoulder. Hidden in the crowd, a shadow penetrated the living mass of people, one with a fedora and trench coat. Oblivious the huddled masses walked on towards Johnny, on their way to work. The thing that was darkness slithered towards him, shooting out like a cobra as it struck. Maybe it was Johnny’s imagination playing tricks on him, maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe not. Johnny couldn’t take that chance.

Johnny yelped as he jumped from the sidewalk to the relative safety of oncoming traffic. Horns blared and breaks squealed as the twelve-year-old in drag bolted between cars. His feet were quickly becoming raw and red on the hot gravel and pavement. He hadn’t had the time or thought to steal some shoes. Fuckin’ high heels would be better than this! No wait…scratch that.

Johnny “oomphed” into the hood of a car when he wasn’t looking. Curses in several different languages assaulted his ears. His eyes made it worse though. Across the street, directly in front of him, head down, and lips curled into a sneer, was the Bagman. How could that be? Johnny looked behind him. It was difficult to make out, but Johnny could swear he saw that bastard’s shadow up against the wall of a corner store. Yet directly in front of him, was the necromancer in flesh and blood. Both shadow and man did a polite little “Hello” wave. The monster’s shoulders bobbed up in down in a little chuckle.

“Awww, now this just ain’t fair!” Johnny whined. Now what? He was fucked if he went forward and fucked if he went back. Then Johnny remembered about that fat Buddha guy he had half listened to about in some therapy session or another, and chose the middle path between two extremes. Well sort of. Johnny flung open the door of the nearest cab and slid in.

“I am very sorry little girl,” a thick Indian accent from behind the steering wheel droned. “I am off duty and it is the policy of the yellow cab company that all children must be accompanied by an adult. If you would like a less supervised form of transportation, may I recommend the subway?”

Girl? Johnny’s blood boiled for a second before looking down at himself. Awww screw it, not the point. Johnny reached into the pocket of his skort and pointed it at the cabbie’s head.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I am supervised. Meet my chaperone, Mr. Glock.” The cab driver’s eyes widened in terror and recognition.

“Please…” the man whimpered. “You don’t want to be doing this. I have a family, and no money. Everyone pays with credit-“

“I don’t want your money, or your life. I just want a ride outta here.” Johnny hissed, his voice barely a whisper. Johnny had learned from a long list of convenience store robberies that shouting got you nowhere, and you were better off if you kept things calm, quiet, and appeared fully in control.

“My dad used ta be a cabby”, Johnny lied, “before sand niggers like you took his job. Now get going, and if you so much as make one wrong move to try to signal a cop, flag somebody down, or call the depot, you’re gonna get to find out first hand if you really do reincarnate. Now get driving and hold on a second…” Johnny dug the phone out of his other pocket. He punched in three numbers and waited.

“Hello, 9-1-1? There’s been an explosion on Avenue D. I heard someone shout that it might be The Bagman. Just ask Detective Ditko, he’ll know what it means. There are first responders already on their way? Great. Thanks.” Johnny slammed the phone shut and tossed it out the window.

“Where to?” the driver nervously asked. Johnny smiled deviously. “St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and step on it as if your life depended on it.”

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The Bagman watched Johnny slide into the cab. He saw Johnny put the gun to the driver’s head. He wasn’t much of a lip reader but it didn’t take much of one to figure out what Johnny was doing. He cocked an eyebrow as Johnny opened a cell phone, spoke and tossed it out the window as the cab peeled off.

“Now what do you suppose that was about?” the Bagman asked himself. The distinctive wailing of police sirens gave him an idea. Not bad. Not bad at all. Playing the kamikaze card to throw him off his game. Neither of them wanted to get the police involved. Maybe this kid had a few brains to go with his guts after all.

It didn’t matter. He had Johnny’s name now. He could find Johnny literally anywhere. He waved his shadow over to him from across the street, and with a simple tip of his hat and muttering a few words, both man and shadow blended into the crowd.

Next Chatper: Rematch