The rain came down slowly; cascading from above and striking the ground with an underwhelming amount of force. The grey sky rumbled like a giant deity was moving about above them all; watching as each individual creature made their merry way about the planet while desperately clinging onto its surface. Even in the bad weather; life still continued and people went on with their day as if nothing had changed.
Bo exited the taxi and instantly felt the chill of the English weather. He adjusted his thin black tie, which contrasted to his crisp white shirt, in an attempt to stop it being whipped away by the wind. Pinning down the article of clothing underneath the lapels of his jacket; Bo unconsciously ran his hand along his bald scalp, wiping away droplets of water which were slowly making their way down his cranium, while also checking for any hair which might have grown in the last hour but to no avail. They hadn't allowed him to have his driver's licence back yet so he had to pay someone else to drive him around which was getting quite expensive considering he made many frequent journeys throughout the day: though this had been the first time in months since he'd come back to this very spot. London Police Central Head Quarters.
Handing over the crisp ten pound note to the overweight driver; Bo scanned him with his eyes. "Have a nice day," the cabbie grinned; storing the cash away in a compartment under his seat and flashing a yellow toothed grin that made Bo cringe.
"It won't be for you," Bo said, putting his hands into his leather smoking jacket; not that Bo actually smoked, he'd preferred to die like a hero instead of drowning in tar. "You're wife's been having an affair."
"What?" the cabbie's face turning into a sneer; an angry sneer.
"In the back seat," Bo nodded to the seating compartment where he was moments ago. "Semen stains were in between the seat cushions along with a black sock; size ten. It's clearly not yours as you're a size eight and also you have a blatant erectile dysfunction which I would not rather go into. Conclusion: affair."
"Are you saying my wife's been fucking in the back of my cab!" the driver hissed.
"How do you-"
"Know this?" Bo finished his sentence. "Reason number one: because of your problems in the bedroom department which I've previously stated and would prefer not to go into and two – well – look at yourself man. Who wouldn't cheat on you?"
"Why you!" The cabbie never finished his sentence as he delved into the nearby glove compartment and produced an aged firearm made of a dull black metal. As quickly as he could with his large clammy hands, the driver leaned out of the open window with his finger on the trigger. Without flinching, Bo raised his arm and caught the weapon. In a single movement, Bo twisted the owner's wrist around further than it should go; just on the threshold of fracturing it. The fat over-weight male with blatant halitosis made a mistake. A big mistake.
"Do you have a license for this?" Bo enquired.
The man leaned backwards in an attempt to pull Bo off his centre of gravity but to no avail. The bald man didn't budge an inch. With a single flick of his hand; he broke the driver's wrist. The sharp jolt of pain flew up his appendage and was swiftly followed by a high-pitched outcry. He writhed in pain as Bo let go of him and stepped back; taking the firearm with him.
The man hissed; he could barely speak. "I'll – have – you – for – that!"
"No you won't actually," Bo replied; touching the face of his wrist watch. The screen which displayed the time, while also functioning as a communicator, lit up and began to work as a holographic projector. Instantly, an object began to take shape. An identity card. Or to be more precise; a warrant card. "Detective Inspector Bo Holt, CID."
Bo looked down at the weapon. It was merely a stun gun with incapacitation rounds, legal, but looked out of date. He doubted very much that he had some form of permit which allowed him to possess it. "Illegal possession of fire arms can get you up to five years in prison. I think I might just have to take you in."
"You wouldn't," the driver pleaded; his hostility turning to worry.
"I'm afraid I do," he replied. "Especially considering you just admitted to not having a license."
"Oh shit!" the driver exclaimed; realising how he had played right into the Detective's hands. Instantly his good hand flew to the wheel and his foot hit the accelerator. The hover pad under the car's body flared up with a bright blue hue as it rose a few inches off the ground and began to move away.
In an instant, Bo raised his arm and squeezed the trigger of the confiscated weapon. A projectile flew from the firearm but harmlessly struck the window. Bo supressed a curse and instead reach outwards as the car whizzed past him. Clinging onto a small crevice in the back of the vehicle; Bo was yanked off his feet.
The only problem with hover cars, unlike their wheel-bound counterparts, was that they were too damn fast. Buildings whizzed by as Bo attempted to pull himself on top of the speeding car. Luckily he had no hair to get in his eyes so Bo had no impediment stopping him from continuing his climb.
People up and down the street stared as the black taxi soared down the pavement with a man clinging onto the body: not that it wasn't normal for the people of London to see such an event, it was just that they hadn't seen this particular Detective clinging to a rooftop in a long while.
Steadying himself on the metal surface, Bo reached into his jacket and produced his own standard issue firearm. The black, light weight, weapon the size of his hand whirred as he brought it to life with a single touch. It worked in two modes; stun and kill. Stun bullets wouldn't pierce the blatantly reinforce rooftop so it would have to 'kill'.
Squeezing the trigger, Bo instantly fired a round which pierce the air and sliced through it like a knife; striking the metal. He fired again, again and again until four holes in the metal sat in a perfect square formation.
The cabbie, looking in his wing mirror, noticed Bo on his roof and jerked the vehicle to the right in an attempt to shake him off. Bo stored the weapon back into the holster under his jacket, strapped to his chest, and grabbed onto the holes which were still warm after being created by a firearm at such close range. He hissed in pain as the material began to cut into his skin; knowing that it would heal soon.
Swerving in and out of traffic, the driver tried to get rid of the Police Detective which clung to the roof of his taxi. 'How is he staying on?' was all he could think as he went straight threw a red light; narrowly avoiding a collision with a hover-cyclist.
Bo sat back up, adjusting to the wind pressure, and reeled back his fist. One punch was all it took. Instantly the metal caved inwards and snapped. A perfect square cut clean away from the roof; just the right size to encompass Bo's broad shoulders.
Gripping either side, he slung his legs into the vehicle and dropped downwards. The cabbie spun his head around to see Bo aiming a weapon at the back of his neck. Bo watched a bead of sweat move in between the fat fold's in the man's neck; he was truly a sight to repulse, no wonder his wife was having an affair.
"Illegal weapons possession, attempting to assault and kill a sanctioned Police Detective, resisting arrest and running a red light," Bo stated the charges. "The penalty: Death."
Without a hint of hesitation; Bo squeezed the trigger on his weapon. Blood splattered outwards as a vertebra was fractured and the jugular was severed. The bullet exited out of the wound and straight out through the glass windshield; shattering it upon impact. The crimson liquid splashed across Bo's face as he leaned forwards; stretching out his finger to press a button on the control console; killing the engine.
The car stopped instantly before dropping onto the ground with a heavy thud. Bo's heart was pounding in his ears as he leaned back in the chair and tried to catch his breath. He'd just killed someone. He'd just killed someone. Images began to flash in his mind. Blood so much blood. His vision began to turn red and his breathing jagged.
Remember the lessons. Remember what she said. Take a deep breath and think about the present. Don't go back into the past, stay in the moment and live there. He followed the words which repeated like a mantra in his head.
Slowly, he regulated his breathing, counting each inhalation and exhalation; trying to even them out. As the numbers grew and his heart rate slowed; Bo smiled to himself. His muscles loosened and he lowered his weapon. The battle was won. But that was all in a day's work.
What a hell of a first day back.