Half a Million- Dead or Alive

This week's prompt: Your Character trying to survive all obstacles to defeat a killer.  

Dave’s phone buzzed; he put down his bottle of Bud and walked to the window.  

“Yeah,” he answered,  

“It's me,” was the reply.  

“Yeah, I know it's you, you nob; your name comes up on the screen, what do you want?”    

“I've heard there's a bounty out on you.”  

“What?” he laughed. “Where did you hear this from?”  

“Didn't hear it; it's on the Dark Web, you know that Bounty Hunters Guild site.”  

“How much?” Dave asked. Curiosity hit him.  

“Half a Mill, dead or alive.”  

  Dave dropped his phone, staring out the window. It started raining, and there were some seriously dark clouds in the sky. His mind went into overdrive thinking about who would take the job. Could he get away? Where would he go? If Jacob took on the bounty, he had no chance; he was the best.   

Packing a bag, Dave then emptied his safe of three passports, five thousand, split between British Pounds, euros, and US Dollars, and his Glock 9mm. Grabbing his bag and his keys, he took the service exit down to the hotel carpark, his head on a swivel looking in all the dark corners, waiting, listening. He pressed the open-door button on the fob; it never sounded so loud. The interior light came on. SHIT, forgot about that, still watching, kneeling to check under his car, you never know, he thought.  

Voices, a man and a woman, footsteps, laughter, the click of a car door, an engine started, screech of tyres, they were gone. Slowing down his breath, Dave became more relaxed. Foot on the brake, he started his engine, checked all around, and slowly moved the dial into drive. Ping, ping, ping. “Ok, I know I've not got my seatbelt on.” He shouted at the car.   

Down one lane, past the elevator, down another. The exit ramp came into view. “Just let me get out of here." The outside light was getting closer, noise from outside taking over the silence. He hit the ramp; his car bounced onto the road. Left or right, I need to get to my place in the country, left through the city then onto the motorway,   

Lights on Red, come on, come on change, still looking round; everyone was staring at him. Did everyone know? Did they all want half a million?  

The light turned green. Dave slammed his foot down, tyres screeching as he surged into the city traffic. Every pedestrian looked like a threat. The hotdog seller was reaching into his cart—for a sausage or a silencer? The window cleaner was dropping his squeegee—was he pulling out a blade?  

His phone buzzed—no name but an unknown number.  

Dave swiped to answer, steering with one hand. "Who is this?"  

"Check your rearview, Dave," a gravelly voice whispered. "Green SUV. Two cars back."  

Dave’s eyes darted towards the mirror. A dark green Range Rover was tailing him, its headlights cutting through the heavy rain.  

"Jacob," Dave breathed, his throat tightened.  

"You were always too slow," the voice said. "Pull over. Let's make this easy."  

Instead, Dave yanked the wheel right, cutting across three lanes of traffic and tearing down a narrow alleyway. The Glock sat heavy in his jacket pocket. He had to reach the motorway, but the hunter was already on his bumper.  

Dave slammed the brakes, throwing the car into a hard slide. He cut through a brick archway just as the Range Rover smashed into his rear bumper. Metal twisted. Sparks flew.  

He punched the accelerator, pushing his battered car up the motorway slip road and out of the suffocating city. The rain was a solid wall of water now. Behind him, the green SUV loomed like a phantom, its high beams blinding him in the rearview mirror.  

Twenty minutes of white-knuckle driving took him to the gravel track of his country cottage. Dave spun the wheel, fishtailing wildly past the dark tree line. The SUV rammed him again, spinning Dave’s car out until it slammed sideways into a stone wall.  

The airbags didn't deploy. Dave’s head cracked against the side window. Dazed, he grabbed his Glock and the bag of cash just as the Range Rover boxed him in.  

Crack-crack-crack!  

Several bullets shattered his windscreen. Dave rolled out of the passenger door onto the wet gravel, firing blindly over the hood. He scrambled toward the porch, wood splinters flying around his head as Jacob returned fire with a suppressed submachine gun.  

Dave kicked his front door open, dived inside, and threw the heavy oak bolt shut. A heavy silhouette appeared on the window. Dave levelled his Glock, his heart hammering against his ribs.  

The heavy oak door groaned under a massive kick. Dave didn't wait. He fired three times straight through the wood.  

A heavy thud echoed from the porch. Silence followed, save for the dripping rain.  

Dave waited, breath held, until he finally stepped out to the porch. Jacob sat on the ground, leaning against a pillar, completely defeated. The most relentless killer in the business had finally been outmanoeuvred.  

Dave leaned back against the siding, his heart hammering against his ribs. The confrontation is over, for now.  

Buzz.  

His phone vibrated in his hand. A text from the same unknown number lit up the screen:  

“Disregard the earlier alert. System glitch on the Guild server. Target was David Miller, not David Vance. Sorry, wrong Dave.”  

Dave sniggered, then laughed, then cried.