Re: log: patrick/frank - the capital, a meetup
Patrick didn't have anything resembling the talents or abilities shared by the members of his family, but he was gifted in knowing when to let himself be dragged along by a very tall man with weapons. When the man let him go, Patrick widened his stance to keep from falling on his ass. No pissing himself, and no falling on his ass. These things weren't on the schedule for this well-planned evening.
Behind the pallet, he turned slightly, showing off classic Ranger training intended to make oneself a smaller target. It wasn't anything Patrick had ever needed to practice, but he had the stance down. And for all his bravado, Patrick didn't argue with this guy about movies. He was willing to admit that he might need a little more practical experience in this particular field. Because Patrick had thought they were out of the red, but then he heard that other guard coming to check on shit, and this was all unfortunate. The shout made Patrick wince, and his new compadre was over here reloading his gun. "How about we cut losses here, my man? We can just go, beat it, and I can call for backup once we're clear of this spot." Even as he said the words, he knew perfectly that this shit was not going to fly.
Frank ran.
Patrick cursed. "Oh, for fuck's sake."
But he didn't have much choice at this point, did he? He lifted his weapon, and he used the remaining rounds to shoot out the tires as Frank ran. "I'm calling for backup!" He yelled it loudly. Very loudly. Repeatedly, and don't ask why he was warning the sniper guy, because that made absolutely no sense. Patrick blamed it on a misplaced sense of gratefulness.
He waited two beats, and then he pulled out his real phone, the one that wasn't a fake he'd handed over without battery, and he dialed the station. "Deputy Gunster here." He rattled of his badge number, and he rattled off incident numbers, and he cursed this entire evening's escapade. Well done, Gunster.