Who: Clem & Alex & a really big car What: An accident that isn't accidental Where: Las Vegas Blvd When: Nowish Warnings/Rating: Blood
Clementine's refusal to let him see Jude, her loose lips on the journals, her bitchiness at the very last conversation, it all came to this. He'd told them all once that he didn't believe in violence against women, and he still didn't, he just didn't equate Clementine with being female any longer. There were no goodbyes to Chloe, only a single question about the knife -- wiped, and then placed in his jacket pocket by a gloved hand -- and no promises of 'see you soon' as he went to get the keys from one of her bodyguards: an owner of a giant Hummer with a license plate that read 50CALMIA (these American's with their fucking cars) that went by the name of Gus. Gus with no neck and plenty of skin reddened by the sun and marked with more tattoos than Alexander cared to count gave the keys over easily. He didn't ask any questions and Alexander didn't answer any before he left the building, muscle jumping in his jaw.
The black SUV on steroids gave a chirp when he depressed the button on the key in the parking garage. It was a bloody behemoth, but certain to make any car into scrap metal and any loose lipped traitoresses into a bloody mess of bone and flesh. Such a shame to waste that blood, but he couldn't mourn that. No. There was too much to pay for and if he had to send her off on a fucking river of red, he'd sit on the docks and wave.
The motor roared to life, not like a lean purr of a Jaguar, or the muted rumble of a house tabby, but more like a lion followed by a wet gurgling chum-chum-chum. He floored the gas pedal just to hear it again before releasing the brake and snarling out of the parking place. The police station, that's where he had to go, and that's where he directed the great big beast towards. Wherever she was coming from didn't matter, it only mattered where she thought she was going to go-- and where he was never going to let her get to. Teeth gritted and lips tight, he drove past the police station first, carefully obeying the speed limit. Then again. No sign of her. And again. Up to the light and left, another left, another, one more circle and then he saw her.
Pretty little blonde profile in the back of a cab stopped at a light. He jerked the steering wheel hard down an alley, and doubled back in time to see the impatient cabbie blocking the intersection, waiting to turn. Everything else faded, the driver of the cab, the other cars, their proximity to the police station as Alex stomped on the gas pedal again, swerved into the empty oncoming lane with the needle in the Hummer skating past thirty, forty, and he got to see her face through the windshield in that last second before the hummer came to a plowing halt in the side of the cab. The seat belt jerked him back against the seat as white exploded in his face, dust and bag that made him cough in those few bewildered seconds after collision. Had he gotten her? His shoulder ached where the seat belt had hung onto him and if his hands were shaking as he hit the button to relieve it, he didn't notice. Nor did he notice as he stumbled out of the car and towards the taxi, going down to his knees hard on the pavement, hips hips aching something fierce. He reached the driver first, used the handle on the door to get himself back to his feet and opened the door to yank the man out. "Go, just go," he snarled, tasting blood as he shoved the man towards the nearest curb. Had he bitten himself on impact? The back seat received a very bloody smile and he tossed the knife he'd taken from Chloe into the rear. Catch, Clementine, catch.
No, no, his nose was bleeding, he noticed as he stumbled back to the SUV, one hand on the smoking hood and swayed against the door. Did he go back for her? No. No. Instead he reached for the small dagger -- lean, sharp, good for cutting skin -- he kept sheathed to his calf and cut the airbag out of his way, levered himself up with a groan. "That one was definitely for me," he muttered as he got back inside and threw the Hummer into reverse to ram the car again. For Chloe. Again. For Jude. Again. For her fucking truce. Again. For her smug little face when she wouldn't let him see his brother. His own blood never tasted so sweet as he reversed again, far enough this time that one headlight, the one that hadn't broken on impact shone on her face.
He laughed. Was still laughing as he pulled away, his ribs on the right side aching as the Hummer went limping down the street.
Clem wasn't real sure where she was going.
She hadn't really thought past getting out of that hotel, even with Graham there, because she assumed Alex would shoot her down dead without even talking. But Alex had talked, calm as nothing, asking where Jude's body was hid. Which door? And there was no way Clem was telling. She'd bloodied every damn doorway going off that lobby as she waited for Alex and Graham to show, and he didn't have a key anyway, even if she told the door. Heck, she didn't have a key. She'd thrown Jude's - which she'd found in his pocket - in after him. Wasn't any way that Alex was going to get in that place. Wasn't any way that anyone was. But Alex hadn't screamed or shot, and maybe that was thanks to Graham standing there, stoic and silent, and she wondered if Lorelei had ever just wanted to shake him into saying things. Or maybe he'd said things to her, to Lore, and the rest of the world just got varying shades of silence. Didn't matter none, in the end, Alex had gone off, and Clem had followed Graham on home for hot water and so much soap that she ran through a bar of it just to get the blood out.
And she knew Kara was over in Gotham without her. She'd seen her posting on the journals, talking to that boy she was keen on. And so Clem didn't have even a lick of confidence that Jude was still breathing. But she wasn't telling, even on the off chance, because she didn't trust Chloe or Alex not to get him killed all over. Come to that, she didn't trust Shane not to finish what he'd started. Jude was safer - if he was alive - over there. Over here was nothing but waiting for death to happen, and she knew that right as she knew the sun would rise come morning. And Jude was the only thing that mattered to her these days, other than Graham. She wasn't telling. She wouldn't tell.
Clean and wearing one of Graham's shirts, she went to burrow beneath blankets on the couch. A night spent tossing and turning, and she didn't get a lick of sleep. She called her daddy hours before sun-up, and she came clean about all of it.
Now, her daddy had always said she was his only child. The child of his heart, he'd said, as he sat her on his knee and dragged his long and capable fingers through her then-brown hair. And maybe that was too familiar, and maybe it'd gone on too long, but the Murphys were always wrong folks. She thought her momma liked that, all that taboo shifting snakelike just under the surface. Lore had hated it, and Lore hadn't felt real kindly about time spent with Clem's daddy, but Clem trusted the man more than she trusted her own heart to keep on beating. He said her money was almost where it needed to be, and that he'd see it there by morning. He wanted her to come on home, away from Alex and Chloe. He'd listened while she cried for Jude, and he told her he'd come get her personal at the airport, that a ticket would be waiting.
Graham was still sleeping, and Clem slipped a pair of shorts on with that borrowed shirt. She slid into sneakers, and she called a cab, and it was time to do something or let it all be. She thought on talking to Cal. Cal was always real calm and real plain. She'd stop there first. After all, he'd said the cops would take her turning things over into account. And she had plenty to say, plenty to turn over, and her daddy said he'd help too.
But she still wasn't sure, because Jude would want her to turn and go. He'd want her overseas, where her daddy could hide her from her siblings. That was what Jude would want. But Graham was here, and she liked him more than she ought. And she wasn't used to having people, not real people that weren't twisted blood. The only way for any of them to sleep safe in their beds at night was for Chloe and Alex to go behind bars. The only way for her to sleep safe was to turn them in.
And that's what made her decide.
If she wanted to live into old age, and if she wanted to end this, then Chloe and Alex had to go away for a real long time. And Jude deserved avenging, and this all traced back to Chloe.
The sun wasn't up yet, but the city was still bustling. Vegas never did sleep, and it made Clem feel safe some. And the cab driver was a big old man. She climbed in, gave him the address of the station, and she sent off some messages to Graham (You keep yourself home until I call) and Cal (Meet me at the station?), and then she distracted herself by wishing she was in one of those clubs that was all neon lit. She wanted her life to get back to normal, dancing and aching feet in an unfamiliar bed come morning, but that seemed impossible, and missing Jude was like aching.
And it was all on account of Chloe and her damn narcissism. Jude was gone on account of her, and Clem had never hated her more.
And that was her last thought before something hit them like a train come plowing through. Was that a damn tank? There was shock, and there was a moment of red-hot pain, but she couldn't even tell what hurt. She saw teeth and Alexander's smile, and it was through a haze that she saw the front door to the cab open. She didn't see Chloe's knife come flying, and she wasn't even aware that time had passed before the world shook again. She could hear sirens, screaming and car horns, but they sounded real far off. She opened her eyes, and the bleeding wouldn't let her see. Move, but she couldn't, and she would have laughed if she could have. Figures, they were going to get away with this.
And then there was nothing. Nothing at all, and she wasn't there by the time the ambulance came. Chest compressions, and folks screaming about a thready pulse as the ambulance went off toward UMC.