A Wrong Decision

J.D. Cook, 2007

August 22, 2007
By J.D. Cook

Chapter I    The Man In the Grey Honda

Wellington opened the door to let a sliver of light illuminate his cheap motel room. The light gave credence to many of the suspicions he had the night before. The sheets were indeed yellow; still being white on certain portions. A cockroach crawled into a hole in the corner, cob webs, and dust curtained the television, and the dresser it stood upon. Fortunately for Wellington none of this bothered him. He had stayed in worse while on the run. He had stayed in motels with greenish water, and he had slept in the woods with nothing, but the clothes on his back. He had done it all in futile attempts to escape the man in the grey Honda.
Wellington looked out the crack he had allowed his door to make; searching for the signature gray Honda. It wasn’t in view to Wellington, and he breathed a sigh of relief. A white mini-van was all that occupied the parking lot in addition to his dark green Bronco truck. A cough escaped him as he shut the door, and began to collect his things. He zipped open his blue duffel bag, and stuffed his only change of clothes into it. After a quick search he found his deodorant under the yellow sheets. At last he pulled his Glock 9mm out of the bedside drawer, and placed it in his back pocket.
Exiting the room Wellington again slowly opened the door; until he was convinced nothing had changed in the few minutes it took him to pack. Once the fresh air hit his nose he realized immediately how stale, and bad the air in the motel room had been. Another cough escaped him as he walked to his car. He fumbled with the keys in his pockets, and just as he got them free of his pocket the gray Honda appeared at the parking lot entrance.
Wellington rushed to put the key in the door; the haste resulted in him missing the lock hole altogether, and dropping the keys. The gray Honda had pulled up behind his Bronco keeping him from escaping. His hand went for his Glock on instinct.

Wellington brought the gun’s aim on the Honda, but before he could fire its reverse flew on, and the Honda was in the street. He used the extra second to pick up his keys and unlock his door. As he got in the Honda reversed itself again, and was heading to block Wellington’s Bronco in again. He started the Bronco as the Honda retook its position behind him.
The Glock still in hand Wellington turned around to fire, and found a gun aimed directly back at him through the side window of the gray Honda. The man in the gray Honda was holding some sort of small revolver. His face was older then Wellington had thought it would be. He seemed like he could be seventy in his face, but his muscles told another story; he was toned, and looked like he worked out regularly. His eyes gave Wellington the impression that he wouldn’t miss if his aim was tested.
Something snapped inside Wellington he couldn’t control his finger as it pulled back on the trigger, and let loose a cap of speeding metal. Perhaps it was that he was mull nourished, or because he was sick, but if leveled to one thing Wellington knew he was just plain tired of running from the man in the gray Honda. As his bullet smashed through his rear windows glass, and into the side window of the gray Honda another gun was fired. The sound of the first shot combined with the second to cause Wellington to momentarily lose hearing.
Something hot scraped his neck as another hole entered his rear windshield. Blood splattered on his passenger window. The realization of being hit in the neck with a bullet was enough to cause Wellington to use what ever time he had left to punish the person responsible for his pain. With his free hand Wellington cupped his neck stopping the loss of anymore blood; simultaneously he fired back at the gray Honda. He fired until a resounding click filled his Bronco. Suddenly his driver side door opened, and the man from the Honda punched him in the face.


J.D. Cook

I'm Jerry...Housewares...and writer...overall Renaissance Man