Escape to the Wildey Book 2 by David Kempher

Author:David Kempher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: David Kempher

“Wake up, wake up, running dog of Wall Street,” said the voice prodding Harry Smith. Opening his drowsy bloodshot eyes, Harry glanced to his left.

“The hooker you hired left hours ago,” said the voice.

Harry looked down at a Makarov with a silencer pressed against his chest. “Now get up!”

Slowly Harry braced his middle-aged body out of bed and looked at the three men in his bedroom wearing Donald Duck masks and black suits.

“Cooperate and you won’t get hurt,” said Bung. “Now get dressed,” he ordered waving the pistol toward a closet.

“What do you three want?” asked an anxious Harry as he put on his pants.

“All we want,” said Wee, “are the ten boxes in your vault.”

Harry suddenly looked up from zipping his pants. “Oh my God! Are you crazy? Do you know who that money belongs to?”

“Of course we do,” said Yoo. “Now keep getting dressed.”

Harry buttoned his shirt and shook his head. “Ok, it’s your funeral.”

“No, it’s your funeral if you don’t hurry up,” said Bung, getting impatient.

Outside they stuffed Harry into the side of a stolen van and drove to the back of the bank, arriving just as the sun started peeking above the eastern horizon. Harry cooperated and while Bung had him open the vault Yoo found the camera and alarm system and disabled it. After checking one of the boxes to make sure it was what they thought it was Yoo and Wee carried their loot to the van. When they were done, Bung waved Harry into the vault with his pistol. He took aim at Harry’s head.

“Wait, wait,” shouted a frantic Harry. “But you said…”

Bung fired a single shot through his Harry’s head and watched him crumple to the floor. Then, rejoining his brothers in the van, high fives were exchanged for a job well done and they congratulated each other on their future Socialist Hero medals.

“Next stop,” announced Wee, “North Euphorea.”

They timed their escape perfectly. At the airport, their executive jet waited for them while their pilot, Yu Fuk-Me, kept the engines running. Opening the belly of the aircraft, they swiftly loaded the boxes inside. Suddenly, just as the three brothers closed the cargo hatch and locked it they heard loud sirens at the edge of the airport. The aircraft gunned its engines and the force of the thrust sent Bung, Yoo, and Wee hurtling violently to the ground. They scrambled to their feet just as four police cars surrounded them with guns drawn. The three brothers slowly raised their hands while Bung watched the aircraft making an emergency takeoff from the taxi way and strip away the imagined Socialist Hero medal from his chest.

“Well,” said a disheartened Bung, sighing. “Shit!”

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