Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)

This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.

Hosted by Denise

Hey, gonna try something different this week. Our story (me and Tom‘s) is moving right along and we’re getting up there in terms of ‘chapters’. The hardest thing about writing a Serial Six is providing a new Reader (or a regular Reader who might want to refresh their memory) an opportunity to read the whole thing. So, here is a link to ‘…of Heroes and the MisUnderstood‘.

Prompt word:

ACE

Even with the front door closed, Moonbeam could hear the unmistakable metallic-cough of noise-suppressor equipped rifles followed by the dull thumps of bodies hitting the ground. Oddly enough, the sound seemed to originate inside the two storey house which had the immediate effect of causing his elegant left eyebrow to freeze mid-sarcasm; the front door opened and the lead dancer at Lou Ceasare’s Bottom of the Sea Strip Club and Lounge leaned into the foyer,

“Come on, Ace, you’ve got thirty seconds to decide which side you’re on; we leave in fifteen and, if you do choose Curtain Number 2, remind me to make you explain what your interest in my visit here is; btw…twelve…eleven.”

Rocco stepped past Rue, reached under a sofa cushion and, approaching the wounded girl like a professional square dancer at a Minuet competition, turned her left hand behind her back, twirled her to the right and and secured both in a pair of handcuffs; unchecked, her rotation brought her around to face Rocco and, crouching slightly, lifted her over his shoulder. Turning towards the front door he bound her ankles with a second pair of cuffs, unlike the shiny metal on her wrists, these, rather incongruously were red-velvet wrapped; he immediately trotted out to the back of a van idling nose-out in the driveway.

“…Eight” Rue, now behind the wheel of the rust-scaled white Vauxhall Vivero, called out the open driver-side window even as the well-dressed Supervillain ran through the glare of headlights on his way to the front passenger side door, “As my boss Lou is fond of saying, when you’re off home turf, it never hurts to take along a button man or two, you know, keep the surprise visit factor to a minimum.”

Slamming the van into Drive before Moonbeam had both feet in, Rue DeNite stamped on the accelerator, side-swiping a Volvo parked on the opposite side of the street as she turned left; the bang of the collision was punctuated by a female shriek of pain and male laughter from the rear of the van; “Rocco, remind me to give our Superhosts here a 4.8 Star rating for our little airbnb stay.”