"You set?" Dex asked.
Max nodded. A cigarette dangled from his lips; he was leaning up against the wall as if posing. A gun hanging at his side and dark sunglasses on.
After all, got to look good. You never know who is watching this, he thought.
"Good," Dex replied, slinging the rucksack onto his shoulder. "Let's rock."
Dex picked up the baseball bat, his pride and joy, his signature weapon, and kicked the door open.
Max glanced back at the rag-tag crew that he had recently teamed up with; a Shaolin monk who was a tiger at one time, a stubborn ninja who killed with silent ease, a street punk with a bible fetish, and a huge street-savvy cop.
Is this my story that's unfolding? he thought. Or am I just a secondary character to one of them?
Max could see the camera angle on the shot. His mind working in overtime, he was going through an unscripted scene, but since this was only a series of movies he felt as comfortable as James Bond. Because Bond was always back in the next movie. Not always the actors who portrayed Bond, but Bond himself.
If I am going nuts, I am going to go out in style.
Dex led the way through the door, bringing that bat down on the head of the first of the Mooks. Max could hear the crack of the Mook's skull.
They always die easy. Mooks are only extras who don't even know that they are pawns.
No comments:
Post a Comment