Deadly Delivery

“Do you ever think whilst walking about town ‘Is everything all that it seems?’

I wrote this story in answer to the following prompts:
FOWC with Fandango  — Pregnant
Pensitivity’s Three Things Challenge — Homely – Welcome – Smiling
Authorworld — Picture – Secret Agent
Your Daily Word — Bodacious

Deadly Delivery

Nobody would suspect the skinny bloke riding his bike through the city centre of being anything but normal. Well, maybe the bodacious pregnant woman smiling in his direction as if she knew more than she should.

Nobody would suspect the milk float driver ahead of possible terrorism either.

Barrett pedalled harder, determined to keep close to the vehicle.

A black Hackney cab roared out of a side road directly in front of him.

Barrett swerved his bicycle. Mounting the pavement, he grabbed a lamppost and used it to pivot him back onto the road. “Welcome to London, homely, friendly and full of murderous taxi drivers!” he breathed.

Ahead the milk float made a right turn.

On his bicycle, Barrett had one advantage. He veered into an alley, causing a man to swear violence against him.

“My humble apologies, pal!” Barrett grinned as he kicked off a wall, throwing the bike around a tight bend. Pedalling hard, he shot back onto the road, two car-lengths behind his target.

The white milk float was a battery-operated van. It had a top speed of 45 miles an hour. Its rear was open to the elements, showing green crates filled with milk and groceries stacked inside. The vehicle was forced to stop behind a tour bus as the traffic lights turned red.

Barrett weaved through traffic, up alongside the float. Now, he could see the target, he recognised from the photos he’d seen earlier. This man with his head full of blasphemous tattoos and studs might look like a milkman in his green uniform. However, he was a cold-blooded murderer without conscience.

The man turned his cold, almost demonic eyes upon the cyclist alongside him. “Mawning!” he said in a voice an octave too cheerful.

“Morning, where are you delivering today, Cyrus?” Barrett asked.

“This lot’s destined for the Westminster Ho— Shit!” The milkman went from friendly to angry in a heartbeat. Drawing a PC9 he opened fire upon the cyclist.

Barrett ducked. he recognised the pistol as an Iranian version of the SIG-Sauer P226 9MM handgun he carried. A barrage of rounds assaulted his cycle and burrowed into the car behind leaving the female driver screaming.

The traffic lights turned green and the float surged forward. Its sudden acceleration proving it had been modified for the early-morning mission.

Undeterred, Barrett pedalled after it. This is where his Tour de France training would come in handy. He’d been in the top ten cyclists four years running and despite joining the British Secret Service he continued to cycle every day. Now the race was on.

The float made the turn onto Westminster Bridge. The Houses of Parliament and the Queen Elizabeth tower loomed on the other side. East and West, the grey-green waters of the river Thames flowed below.

Barrett was standing on the pedals now. Sweating but determined, he powered through the traffic.

Even still the float was getting away.

Seeing a chance, Barrett grabbed the tailgate of a flatbed truck. Using every muscle in his legs he bunny-hopped the bicycle into the back. Now he was going thirty miles an hour without peddling.

The milk float made the right turn toward Downing Street. The home of the Prime Minister. It would have to make two right turns back onto the riverside to reach the hotel.

Barrett jumped his bike from the van. He kicked off the railings and sent himself flying off the bridge. “Whoa shit!” He cried as he plummeted almost twenty feet to the promenade below.

The impact was brutal, it jarred every bone in his body. Worse it buckled the rear wheel of the bicycle. Barrett discarded the bicycle, his helmet and rucksack and set off running with a slight limp. The hotel was in sight now, so was the milk float coming straight towards him.

If there was a flaw in the mission, it was that Barrett didn’t know if Cyrus was intending to detonate the milk float outside the hotel. He might need to deliver the explosives inside with the milk. Either way, he had to be stopped fast!

Cyrus bludgeoned a Mini Cooper off the road. It skittled into lampposts and slammed into the river wall.

Screams of horror filled the promenade. The milk float had turned murderous as the road became blocked. It veered onto the path and mowed its way through pedestrians.

Barrett leapt onto the bonnet of a parked car and mantled his way to the roof. Drawing his SIG-Sauer, he took a breath, aimed and fired two shots.

The milk floats windscreen crazed but didn’t shatter.

“Bollocks it’s bulletproof!” Barrett saw a muzzle flash and threw himself off the roof. Bullets slammed into the bodywork of the car and zinged off the tarmac.

Barrett rolled away bleeding from shrapnel wounds.  

The milk float bludgeoned a man through a door as it scythed wing mirrors from parked vehicles on its way down the path. “Welcome to Cyrus’s Inferno!” he screamed as the passenger’s door caught a street light and vanished in a hail of sparks.

“I don’t think so!” Barrett yelled as he vaulted over another car and dove feet first into the milk floats cab.

Cyrus swore as boots connected with his skull and shoulder. The impact drove him from the cab and slammed him into a shop window.

Barrett saw a subway sign loomed before him. “Shit!” He yelped and threw himself out of the door.

The milk floats journey ended in an abrupt earth-shaking bang. The front grill wrapped itself around the signpost. Glass and metal exploded from the vehicle as it bucked into the air slammed into a row of parked mopeds.

“Well, that stop —Argh!” A leg slammed into Barrett’s chest driving him against the wall.

“Now, I’ll kill ya!” Cyrus swung a handful of rings.

Barrett weaved away.

Cyrus screamed as his knuckles crackled against the brickwork buckling and breaking his rings.

“Ouch!” Barrett remarked as he landed a couple of body shots and jinked away from the enraged terrorist’s flailing fists.

Cyrus dropped his head and charged.

Barrett felt ribs crack as the air shot from his lungs as he was lifted and slammed into the side of the van with a hollow thud.

Cyrus hadn’t let go. Drawing him back, he made to slam the agent again.

Barrett grabbed a handful of broken fingers and twisted.

The terrorist’s eyes grew wide as he was forced to turn with the pain.

Barrett used the momentum and sent him headfirst through the driver-side window. Drawing him back introduced him into a lamppost and dumped him unconsciously to the floor.

“You’re both under arrest for dangerous driving, criminal damage and assault!” yelled a police officer running up with a stun gun in hand.

“Ha! Typical bobbies, arriving when the jobs done!” Barrett groaned as he revealed his secret agent credentials.

“Our mistake. Can we lend you a hand?” The officer smiled as he holstered his weapon.

“Indeed, take him into the cells. My people will deal with him later.” Barrett approached the remains of the milk float. Cheese and milk were scattered everywhere.

“Wow! You almost made vehicular mac, n, cheese, minus the pasta!” said the officer.

“No kidding! We’ll need the bomb squad too. All the cheddar in here is plastic explosives.” Barret indicated a Double Gloucester with a detonator.

“Damn, you’re supposed to bake mac, n, cheese not blow it up!” the officer turned pale as he got on the radio for backup.

Barrett crossed the road to a food truck.

The operator looked stunned at what happened.   

Barrett smiled at him. “Morning, I’d like a strong coffee and bacon roll, please.”

The End


Thanks for reading my friends.

There’s more in the Poetry CornerPoetry Nook, and the Short Story Collection

Have a great day!

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