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Counter Strike
Jake backed up against the crates so that he wasn't visible from the rooftop. He snapped a new clip into his weapon while considering his options. One of them definitely had a view of the street, taking shots with a scoped rifle and deadly accuracy. The other could be anywhere. There were at least two hostages inside the building and Lord only knows where his backup disappeared to.
Checking one last time that the man on the roof wasn't looking at him, Jake made a mad dash for the door of the building. He jumped in sideways, pointing his gun up the stairs, but it was clear. Slowly he crept up the stairs, only to be confronted by a long hallway - an easy place to get caught. He got low, then inched his way along the wall, past a soda machine, until he could see into the next room; there was nobody there.
Suddenly gunfire erupted. Jake couldn't tell where it was coming from, but he was pinned down. His field of vision filled with red, as he took round after round. He had a moment to turn around and saw, for the first time, the man sitting on top of the soda machine holding a submachine gun. Jake didn't have a prayer and collapsed to the floor.
Jake watched his killer hop down, then toss his gun aside and pick up Jake's.
"Dammit!" Jake yelled.
"Thanks for the Colt," Ford said from the computer behind Jake.
"I am just not getting the hang of this game," Jake replied.
"Relax. You'll get it. Just have fun."
"How can I have fun when every five seconds I'm getting my head blown off?"
"Don't worry about it, it's just a... DAMMIT!" Ford banged the table next to his computer.
"Dead?" Jake asked.
"Grenaded!" Lorna laughed from a different computer.
"Lucky shot," Ford retorted.
"My lucky shot smeared you all over the wall."
Jake could see Lorna's character on his screen. While she talked, her character wasn't moving, she was just standing in the street where she had been when she killed Ford. As she continued her taunting of Ford, she failed to notice Banana watching her from the rooftop. He crouched down to steady the rifle he was holding and focused on her. A moment later Jake heard the snap of the rifle and Lorna fell to the ground.
"What?!" She shouted.
"Head shot," Banana said. "Boom."
"I need a break from Counter-Strike," Jake said, getting to his feet as a new round started.
"Wow," Ford said. "If I had that kind of attitude I would've never survived my late twenties."
"Why's that?" Jake asked.
"Because they were spent in smoky arcades playing Pac-man and Galaxia. If I'd quit every time I'd died I wouldn't have played very much. Cyber-cafes are the arcades of the new millennium. Kids pissing away their allowances just to play."
"Yeah, well, I think I'm done pissing," Jake said.
"Jake, wait, don't -" Ford stopped himself. As he stood up, he noticed someone at one of the other computers; the man they had pulled over the night before sat just a few computers down, staring at the monitor in front of him and mercifully oblivious to Ford's presence. Hoping to avoid being embarrassed, Ford signaled to Lorna that he was leaving and walked to the cashier, making sure to keep his face turned away from the butcher.
"Now that's funny," Lorna said, back at the station. "I was wondering why you were running out of there like a scared rabbit."
"Hell," Jake said. "I would have left had I known he was there just on principles."
"Yeah, it could have turned into an ugly scene," Ford agreed.
"Ok, so are we still on for dinner tonight?" Lorna asked.
"You still cooking?" Ford asked.
"You remember what happened the last time you cooked," she laughed. Giving him a quick kiss, she turned and walked toward her car.
"So," Ford said, heading inside and walking toward his desk. "Morley says you're welcome to come to the last session with Lizzie."
"Yeah," Jake replied. "That sounds like fun. I'll be sure to..."
"Ford!" came a shout from doorway. Jefferson Lambert, his tie askew for probably the first time in his life, came storming over to Ford and Jake.
"You want to tell me just what the hell you think you're doing?" He yelled.
"Um," Ford said. "I was just about to get my keys and go home."
"I'm talking about the serial killer, you idiot," Lambert yelled.
"Were you?"
"Stay out of my case, Ford."
"Lambert, I have no interest in that case at all," Ford said.
"Bullshit. You've been investigating it. You know that's my case."
"Jeff..."
"My name is Jefferson!"
"You seem a bit tense."
"Between you and the FBI I'm..."
Ford stopped.
"The Bureau is stepping in?" he asked.
"Yes. This has officially become a serial killer case," Lambert said. "If I had something that seemed like a break then I could be a local liaison."
"But you've got squat," Ford said.
"I didn't say that," Lambert snapped. "I'm just telling you to stay away from the case. And I want to see your files on the two other murders."
"Certainly," Ford said. He opened a drawer and pulled out two manila folders and handed them to Lambert.
"Hey, wait a minute," Lambert said. "These are empty."
"That's right," Ford said, nonchalantly. "I never bother with paperwork."
"Ford," Lambert grumbled, poking a finger down at Ford. "If I find out you're withholding evidence on me I'll have you written up, and I mean it."
Ford patted his hand.
"Seriously, man, stress is a killer. You need to relax more."
Lambert continued to glare down at Ford for a few minutes before turning to leave. Spinning on his heels, however, he found himself looking up at Jake. Flustered, he glared at everyone again before storming out of the room. Ford, smiling, opened his desk and produced an envelope, which he handed to Jake.
"What's this?" Jake asked.
"The evidence I'm withholding from Lambert," Ford said. "It's going to get me a liaison position when the Bureau steps in."
"Boy am I glad I'm on your good side," Jake said.
"The difference between you and Lambert is that I can't use Lambert to meet women."
"You can't use me to meet women either," Jake replied. "Lorna would kill you."
"True," Ford said. "Very true."
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